I’d had enough of his male posturing. I poked him twice on the chest, right below his snappy turquoise bolo tie. “You don’t scare me. You never have. So don’t even fucking try.”
Evidently, the guys in conference room two had heard our exchange. They were mighty quiet when we entered the room.
Good.
14
I didn’t share my after-work plans with Turnbull. He’d argue. Blather on about the FBI’s role, and mine.
The sporadic bouts of snow on the drive home were irritating. Just enough of the white stuff fell from the sky to cover the ground, but not enough to mask the barrenness of winter fields.
The jail was on the bottom level of the tribal PD building. The space wasn’t much different from any other jail I’d been in, with the exception of the Iraq prisons, which were little more than latrines.
A harried woman around my age inspected me. “Visiting hours ended at five.”
I slid the lanyard bearing my federal ID into the metal tray.
Her gaze dropped to my right hip. “You’re not carrying, are you Special Agent Gunderson?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Sign in, please. Who are you here for?”
“Rollie Rondeaux.”
“Mr. Rondeaux has requested no visitors.”
“He’ll see me.” I smiled. “I’ll wait over here until I’m cleared through.”
The pamphlets in the waiting area shouldn’t have amused me, but they did. How to cope with having a loved one in jail. The importance of family during a prisoner’s incarceration. Advice on how to support the person behind bars, while disapproving of the crime committed.
I circled the coffee table, piled with magazines, and stopped in front of the map that detailed the borders of the Eagle River Reservation.
“Agent Gunderson?”
I whirled around. “Yes?”
“Mr. Rondeaux will see you. At the buzzer, enter on the right.”
A loud buzz, and then the sound of locks disengaging.
I stepped into a small room with a state-of-the-art full-body X-ray machine. A voice instructed me, “Feet shoulder width apart, arms at your sides, take a breath and hold it.”
Beeeep.
“All clear. Exit through the rear door, Agent Gunderson.”
Another buzzing sound and more locks disengaging. I found myself in one of those rooms like on TV, where individual cubicles were separated by pegboard walls. A Plexiglas wall divided the two spaces. A phone hung on the right on each side.
The dingy gray-walled opposite room was empty.
A steel door opened, and a guard led an orange-jumpsuit-wearing, handcuffed Rollie into the room.
The guard pointed at the center section, and I sat.
Rollie plopped into the chair across from me. The guard didn’t undo his handcuffs. He didn’t leave after he’d handed Rollie the phone, either, but took the chair by the door and leafed through a magazine.
Surprisingly, Rollie didn’t look bad.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you, hey,” he said.
“That’s my goal in life. To defy expectations.”
He snorted.
“Dare I ask how you are?”
“Been better.” He rested his elbows on the counter, hunching over like an old man. That was the only way he could hold the receiver in both hands. “They spent a couple hours goin’ over the rules. But it ain’t like I got freedom to make any choices, so it was kinda pointless. I scrubbed the bathrooms upstairs in the cop shop. Guess that’s my daily duty. I also gotta mop in here tonight and clean the windows.” He paused.
“What?”
“Which Mercy am I lookin’ at right now?”
“Do you mean am I here as a fed? Or as your friend?” I noticed his grip on the receiver tightened. “I’m here as your friend, old man.”
Rollie nodded. “Don’t got many of them.”
“So what did you do that landed you in the tribal jail?”
“Ran a Stop sign. Didn’t realize I had a cop behind me for about two miles, ’cause I ain’t got a rearview mirror and the side mirrors are cracked. Got me for evading arrest. When I got here, they made a big stinkin’ issue about my parking tickets.”
“How many tickets are we talking?”
“Fifty-seven.”
“Seriously? You were issued that many tickets in a year?”
Rollie shook his head. “Been a coupla years. They ain’t all mine, but they’re for cars registered to me. Or stolen from me.” He shrugged. “Ain’t my fault, but there’s nothin’ I can do. Tribal cops been waitin’ to get their hands on me for a while, so I’m pretty sure they’re gonna let me rot in here.”
That’s when I realized Turnbull’s suspicions were somewhat correct. Rollie’s arrest was to keep him on the reservation and out of federal hands. It wasn’t even a power play on the part of the tribal police; it was Rollie’s. Smart move. It didn’t convince me of his guilt in not wanting to be brought up on federal charges for killing Verline and Arlette.
“Who arrested you?”
“Spotted Bear. That power-hungry bastard.”
How long had Officer Spotted Bear owed Rollie a favor?
Rollie tipped his head back, and I saw a cut on top of a bruise right under his jawline. “He even punched me. Course, he’s telling everyone I slipped.” He snorted. “The whole department had a good laugh at me on my knees today, scrubbing their shit from the toilet.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”
His brown eyes turned shrewd. “Does Turnbull know you’re here?”
“No, I had to flash my badge to get in, since I missed visiting hours.”
“You gonna be in trouble, Mercy girl?”
“Probably. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“I’m sure he’s brought up some of the bad things I did over there a long time ago. I’m not that same gung-ho marine kid, following orders. I’m an old man.” Agony and sadness flitted across his face. “I didn’t do that to Verline. I don’t even know what was done to the other girl, and they think I was responsible.”
If I’d entertained-however briefly-any serious thought that Rollie might’ve killed Verline, it ended in that moment. I recognized that grief, where the numbness of shock would be preferable to the sharp-edged feeling of constant pain. I knew in my gut, in my bones, and in my soul that he wasn’t guilty.
“Rollie,” I said his name softly so he looked at me. “I never thought you did it.”
“Then you are the only one. Even my son…” He held the phone away and coughed. Like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Sorry. That kid. Always working an angle. I’d be proud of him if he wasn’t so stupid.”
“What’s up with the no-visitors rule?”
“Ain’t nobody I wanna see. And unless I refuse to see everyone, then they can make me see anyone who shows up.”
“Anyone in particular you’re avoiding, besides Junior?”
Rollie studied me. “Ask the question you came here for, hey. You know this dancin’ around the subject stuff just ticks me off.”
I smiled at the flash of grumpy Rollie. Now that I knew in my gut Rollie was innocent, I could move on to the other reason I’d come. “Devlin Pretty Horses owes you money.”
He nodded.
“I heard you say he also owes Saro money.”
Another nod.
“Did he borrow money from Latimer Elk Thunder, too?”
A cold stare. “Ain’t smart messing in this.”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to sort what’s relevant and what isn’t. Are you and Latimer in competition for loan customers?”
He shook his head. “I ain’t gonna claim to be altruistic, but my customers don’t use the money they borrow from me for gambling.”
“So Devlin didn’t blow the cash you lent him at the casino?”
“He assured me the money was for specialized cancer-treatment drugs for Penny. I believed him. It was a way of helping her because…” He cleared his throat. “That part don’t matter. I found out he’d lied to me that night at your place.”