Sheldon refreshed my memory on the process before I selected a roll. Then I began the arduous process of separating out articles specifically regarding women, looking for any information on car accidents, suspicious deaths, missing persons, reports of suicide, and fund-raisers-which were usually for a health-related issue.
Residents of the Eagle River Reservation had a high mortality rate. This wasn’t one of those situations where a prescription for Lopressor or adding more fiber to a diet would change those stats.
I focused on young women between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five. In a one-year span, forty women died, which didn’t seem significant until I reminded myself the entire population of Eagle River was ten thousand residents. And I was looking at only a twenty-year age span for victims. The only age group that had it worse than women of that age group? Babies.
I’d been damn glad to go home, because this assignment really was beginning to feel like punishment.
So yeah, I’d dragged ass, getting to tribal HQ on Thursday morning. Lex hadn’t been thrilled I’d been tasked with car-pool duty again. Especially since Mason had had to work late the last two nights, which left me to ask Lex if he had his homework done.
I stopped by Sophie’s house to talk to Penny. I half expected Devlin would answer my knock, but no one came to the door. I gave up in case Penny was resting and told myself not to get pissy when I noticed John-John’s El Dorado was parked across the street.
Instead of going directly to the archives, I stopped in at the tribal PD. While Fergie didn’t have any news on the case-not that she’d tell me anyway, since Turnbull was in charge-she told me a funny story about her most recent night in a patrol car. I realized since I’d joined the FBI, Dawson no longer shared stuff like that with me.
It was almost nine thirty when I hit the call button to be let into the archives department. Five minutes passed with no response. But every minute I wasn’t in that room looking at sobering statistics was a happy minute. Still, I hit the call button again.
Sheldon finally answered and seemed annoyed to see me.
“Morning, Sheldon. I know I’m a little late-”
“Yes, you are. I understand you don’t punch a time clock, Agent Gunderson, but I do. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only days the archives are closed to the public so I can catch up on my work. Except today, I have to open up at ten since we’ll be closed tomorrow. I wasted a half an hour this morning waiting around up front because I expected you earlier, and now I’m behind. When I get in the back rooms, I cannot hear the buzzer.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to add to your workload when you’ve been so helpful to me.” I followed him to the desk. “You’re closing tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’m taking a much-needed personal day.”
I curbed my disappointment there wasn’t coffee. And I knew I had to make nice. This would be a test, making nice without the benefit of caffeine. “Lucky you. Do you plan on doing something fun?”
Sheldon stared at me, as if gauging the sincerity of my interest. “I’m going hunting.”
I gave him a big smile. “Really? That’s great! Where?”
“Near Viewfield. A friend lets me hunt on his place.”
“Good thing you’ve got permission. I tend to shoot hunters who trespass on our land.”
He didn’t find my attempt at humor funny. “You can’t possibly catch all the trespassers, hunters or otherwise, with the size of the Gunderson Ranch.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun trying to catch them.”
Another dour look. “What about the Sheriff? Does he bring his buddies or his family to hunt in such a prime location?”
Sheldon was pissy today, but I doubted it was due entirely to my late arrival. “Dawson hasn’t asked specifically that we open it up to his friends from Minnesota or his colleagues in the sheriff’s office. There are a few local families that’ve been hunting on Gunderson land for years. They follow the rules, or they lose the privilege.”
“Do you hunt?”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t done it for years since I’ve been gone during hunting season. We scored antelope buck tags this year and both bagged ours last weekend. Usually I hunt alone, but luckily the sheriff and I have complimentary hunting styles.” I paused, wondering if I was blathering. “What tag did you end up with?”
“Deer tag for does. I put in for the elk lottery every year, but I’ve never been chosen.”
I shrugged. “Elk are too freakin’ big to pack out. And guaranteed, the damn thing is deep in the forest when you track one. I’m not that crazy about elk meat anyway.” I smiled. “But I’m all over getting to use a bigger hunting gun.”
Sheldon finally smiled back. “I wouldn’t know.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about being snappy. I know this doesn’t seem like a stressful job, but it is.”
“Understood. And I am sorry I was late.”
He glanced at the clock. “Do you know where you’ll be working today?”
“With police logs and cases.”
“That room is unlocked. If you’ll excuse me, I have three things to finish before I open the doors.”
It surprised me how many people came in through the course of the day. I hadn’t paid attention yesterday, since I’d been in a room off limits to the general public. Evidently, the reference section was better than those at the high school or the Indian college.
Sheldon and I both worked through lunch. When four o’clock rolled around, I put away all the file boxes and microfiche rolls. I pawed through the extensive military history section while I waited until Sheldon finished helping an elderly woman with her genealogy questions.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you so much for all your help. You went above and beyond, Sheldon, and I appreciate it.”
“You did find the information you needed?”
“I think so. I’ll have to compile my findings and present everything to the boss to see if it gets my ass out of the hot seat.”
He smiled. “You know where to find me if you need anything else.”
“Good luck with the hunt tomorrow.” I wondered if he took offense when I practically skipped out of the dungeon.
• • •
Although Director Shenker wasn’t in the Rapid City office, Turnbull asked to see what I’d found, so I spent Friday morning at home putting all the data together before I headed into town.
“All right, Special Agent Gunderson. Wow me.”
No pressure. I looked at him. “You realize this report is raw. I haven’t had time to create flowcharts, graphs, timelines, or any of that fancy shit.”
“Yes. I get it.”
“I backtracked five years and focused on deaths of women in that initial age group.” My lists referred to the women as numbers, which I hated, but it appeared more concise on paper. “And between us? Not fun information to compile.”
“If we were in a bigger FBI office, you could’ve passed that tedious job onto an intern.” Shay looked at me expectantly. “Bottom line. Any validity to your theory?”
“Yes. And no.”
“See? If nothing else, you’re getting the hang of writing government reports.”
“Ha-ha. What I found is a lot of deaths. Mostly explainable. But each year for the past five years, there have been three or four deaths in a short period of time that weren’t explained or investigated.” I pointed to one report. “All with a… theme. If that makes sense. Three years ago, all three victims were killed in car accidents. Strange car accidents with no rhyme or reason. No witnesses. No other passengers in the car. And all the cars were found in remote areas.”
Turnbull frowned.
“Then two years ago, all the women who died had been documented former drug users.”
“Not unheard-of. The relapse rate is pretty high around here,” he pointed out.