I pocketed my keys and faced her. “I take it that wasn’t the first time you’d landed on Nita’s doorstep.”
She shook her head. “Far from it. We get several calls during the year with reports of domestic disturbances. Usually the neighbors call it in, and we’re obliged to check it out. And even if one of them is beat to hell and bleeding? No one ever presses charges.”
“Who’s involved in the domestics?”
“Nita’s daughters, never the same one. And I have a helluva time keeping them straight.”
“How many kids does she have?”
“Nine. Two boys and seven girls. Ten years ago, her teenage daughter-I think her name was Arlene-died in a hit-and-run, and the family blamed the cops for some reason. Five years ago, her daughter Eileen was killed in a car accident. Both her sons are in the state pen. Now she’s lost another kid.” Fergie shook her head. “It’s sad. No matter how much we wanna help them, nothin’ changes. My understanding is that Nita got smacked around all the time by her kids’ assorted baby daddies. For a while, rather than allowing her kids to get placed in foster care, they were shuffled among family members. But since her first daughter died, Nita has kept most the family together. Including her sons’ kids and most of her grandkids. I’ve been told almost two dozen people live in that trailer.”
And that information, while appreciated, sent off a warning that Officer Ferguson knew way more about the Dupris family than just gossip. She must’ve read my expression because she blushed.
“I only know all that because I busted Nita’s daughter Doreen two years ago for possession. She did ninety days in jail. None of her family came to see her. As soon as she got out, she packed up her two kids and moved to Rapid. So she is trying to break the cycle. I just hope when she comes back here-”
“She doesn’t get sucked in again.”
She nodded.
“Me, too. Let’s see what other shitty tasks the boys have lined up for us.”
The tribal police station was surprisingly quiet. But before I snagged a cup of crappy coffee, Turnbull hailed me.
He waited outside a closed door to a room I’d never been in. “What’s up?”
“The tribal president is here, and he wants an update on where we are on the Shooting Star case.”
I frowned. “You’re the senior agent. Why didn’t you handle it?”
His golden brown eyes held suspicion. “You tell me, Gunderson, because he specifically asked for you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because I assume he’s tired of seeing my ugly mug.”
“Ugly,” I snorted. “Right, pretty boy.”
Shay leaned a fraction closer. “Seriously. No postulating, no wild theories, just the facts we know, okay?”
“Fine. But we’d know a helluva lot more if we’d been allowed to interview him.”
“I think so, too. But watch your step with him.”
I pushed open the door to the office.
Latimer Elk Thunder finished his cell phone conversation and rose, thrusting his hand across the table. “Special Agent Gunderson. Good to see you again.”
I shook his hand. “Likewise, President Elk Thunder.”
“Please. Have a seat,” he said. “Could we get you anything to drink?”
“No. I’m good.” Rather than make small talk about the weather or ask if he regularly took over the tribal police chief’s office, I said, “So I understand from Special Agent Turnbull that you want a status report on your niece’s case?”
“Only in how it relates to the other young woman found murdered this morning.”
I felt Turnbull’s quizzical gaze but didn’t acknowledge it. “To be honest, sir, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath this morning, let alone look at the possible correlations between the cases.”
His eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression there was already a suspect in the Dupris case.”
I didn’t bother to mask my reaction. “Your impression-your information-is wrong. We’ve brought no one in for questioning. And we just informed Verline Dupris’s next of kin of her death. So I’m suggesting you allow us at least a couple of days to proceed with this investigation before we start checking to see if there are similarities.”
He leveled a cool gaze on me. Expecting I’d crack under the weight of his disapproving stare? I’d have been offended if his puffed-up attempt at intimidation wasn’t so laughable-and predictable. I studied him with equal aloofness.
Latimer Elk Thunder dressed to impress. His hair was neatly trimmed, his face mostly smooth, save for the wrinkles on his forehead and bracketing his mouth. I might call him a distinguished elder, but that seemed premature. Far as I knew, he’d done nothing to earn that honor.
“Well, Agent Gunderson. I’ll admit I’m disappointed in your verbal report. I’d hoped bringing the FBI in on this would result in much quicker… results. But I appreciate your taking the time to explain the reason why there’s been little to no progress.”
For fuck’s sake, Mercy, bite your goddamn tongue.
“Let my secretary know when you have new information, and she’ll schedule an appointment.”
Dismissed. Thank God. I booked it out of the room, Turnbull on my heels. I didn’t stop moving until I pushed through the door to the stairs. When I looked at Shay, he was grinning in a way that annoyed me. “What?”
“Well done, grasshopper.”
“I’ve been dressed down by generals. I know how to placate the brass on the fly, even if it’s not what they want to hear.”
“Good to know.” He rested one shoulder against the wall. “Anything notable happen at the Dupris residence?”
“Not really. I told them to come in for questioning today and threatened a warrant if they didn’t show, so we’ll see if they do.”
“Not a bad morning’s work. Now if you’d only gotten to pull your gun.”
“It ain’t quitting time yet.”
He laughed.
“Glad I amuse you.” I held my hand to my stomach when it growled. I didn’t feel like eating, but my body didn’t care. “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Do a little research over at the tribal HQ. Ping me when Rollie and the Dupris family arrives.” I squinted at him. “I am sitting in on the interviews, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is Carsten?”
He scowled. “Yes.”
“What’s your problem with her?”
“Why would I have a problem with a privileged, know-it-all white girl who landed a job with the FBI because she wants to right the wrongs inflicted upon Native American people?”
“She said that?”
“No, but that’s her attitude, and it pisses me the fuck off.”
“With all due respect, sir, I hope you don’t expect me to play referee between you two.”
Shay bristled. “I can handle Carsten just fine.”
I suspected that might be part of the problem. He’d like to handle the very attractive VS in a wholly different and unofficial manner.
I headed down the stairs and out the back door. So much for thinking that cutting behind the buildings was easier than going through the front entrance. I’d never realized how spread out the buildings were; the angle from the front created the illusion they were closer together. Plus, being built on top of a hill, entrances were actually on the second floor, not the first floor.
Since this was the first time I’d been at this vantage point, I’d never noticed the first level of the tribal HQ had an asphalt driveway running behind it like it’d once been used as a loading dock.
Steel doors bookended each corner. I wandered closer to the first door. It appeared to have been painted shut. Dead weeds lined the cracks in the faded blacktop. The width of the building was more than I’d initially gauged when I reached the second door. This one had been opened recently. I tried the handle, on the off chance that it was open and it’d save me a trip around the front of the building.
But it was locked.