He wore an expectant look, like he wanted to keep talking. And I realized, as he alternately smirked, preened, and showed sympathy, that his ego would be his downfall. Latimer Elk Thunder needed to prove to me that he was smarter than me.
Rollie’s warning popped into my head: Mark my words, whoever is doin’ this is one smart SOB.
Not only was Elk Thunder smart, he was slick. So I had to ask him the right questions so he would feel he was doing me a favor as well as putting me in my place. “It is sad. No one can prepare for something like that.”
“True. But between us, Penny was better prepared than most. The tribe provides a great benefits and retirement package to employees, complete with 401k, disability insurance, and life insurance.”
A life insurance policy.
Whoa. Why had he specifically mentioned that?
Because it mattered that Penny had a life insurance policy now that she was dead.
Penny would have had to name a beneficiary.
But who? Not Sophie. Before the cancer diagnosis Penny probably assumed she’d outlive her mother. Plus, Sophie would call a financial windfall from death “blood money.”
Would Penny name her son the beneficiary? Most likely. But John-John ran a successful bar, and he’d have the same attitude about the money as Sophie.
That left one other family member.
Surely Penny hadn’t been dumb enough to list Devlin as her beneficiary?
John-John and Sophie would both feel too guilty to take the money from Penny’s life insurance policy. But Devlin wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. He’d snatch that cash like it was his due.
The tribal president knew how much Penny’s life insurance policy was worth. He also had to have known that the long-term outlook for Penny’s cancer survival hadn’t been good. So he could lend Devlin the face value of the policy. He’d know exactly when the insurance company cut the check to Penny’s beneficiary. He’d make sure he collected every dime, plus whatever astronomical interest fee, before the ink on the insurance company check was even dry.
Something truly awful occurred to me. If there was a double indemnity clause on the life insurance policy? Then Penny’s getting murdered would double the cash payout.
“Agent Gunderson?”
I refocused. “Sorry. I’m just-”
“Understandable.” He patted my hand like I was a child.
Which pissed me off. “So did Arlette have life insurance? I mean, as your ward she would fall under your health insurance policy.”
He stilled.
“I’m also curious as to why you didn’t come into the tribal PD for an official interview. It looks a little suspicious, don’t you think? That the tribal president, who was all fired up to have the FBI in on a missing-persons case, who was also worried about impropriety, wouldn’t make himself available for questions.”
“What are you implying, Agent Gunderson?”
“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Elk Thunder. Just stating a fact. I have to wonder just how long you’d hold the position of tribal president if some of the facts in this case were made public to the members of the tribe.” I ticked the points off on my fingers. “Arlette’s body was found on your political rival’s land. Verline’s body was found on your political rival’s land. Penny Pretty Horses’s body was found on your political rival’s rental property. One might draw… conclusions. Especially when it’s revealed that Arlette was secretly seeing Junior Rondeaux on the sly. And isn’t it ironic the next victim, Verline Dupris, was living with Rollie Rondeaux, who backed your rival’s campaign for president? As did the next victim, Penny Pretty Horses?
“What if it was also disclosed that you benefit from all three deaths? You never wanted your wife’s niece to live with you, so you’re rid of her and you receive a death benefit payment. With Rollie Rondeaux in jail, you’re probably picking up some of his loan customers. Now that Penny is dead, her brother can collect on her life insurance policy and make full restitution for the money you lent him.” I stood and loomed over him. “Think you’d survive the political storm if any of this was leaked to the press?”
He laughed, but his eyes were nearly black with anger. “Oh, Agent Gunderson, I’m not the one who should be worried about surviving. The reservation is a dangerous place for feds. And women, apparently. Since you’re both? Well, waiscu, watch your back.”
Waiscu. The derogatory Lakota name for a white girl. “Are you threatening me, Tribal President Elk Thunder?”
“Just stating a fact.” He pushed up quickly from the desk, surprising me and literally knocking me off balance.
I stumbled over my chair and into the wall.
He gave me a scathing once-over, bit off something guttural-sounding in Lakota, spun on his heel, and left.
Goddammit.
Rather than letting my anger send my blood pressure to stroke level, I sat in my chair and furiously wrote down my thoughts. After that display? Latimer Elk Thunder jumped to the top of my list as the killer. Part of me thought he wouldn’t sully his hands; he’d hire someone else to do it for cash-or as a task to settle a loan. But part of me also believed he’d take pride in getting blood on his hands and doing the job his way.
But then… my theory about the past murders disguised as random deaths wouldn’t hold water.
My thoughts raced back and forth until I was nearly dizzy.
I had no one to talk to about any of this.
In that moment I missed Dawson with an ache so acute I had to put my head between my legs to stop the pain.
Focus, Mercy.
I breathed.
That’s all I could do: take one breath at a time.
• • •
I was still in that addled and agitated state of mind when I headed to my pickup. As I messed with my key fob to unlock the door, I saw a manila envelope taped to my steering wheel. Immediately, my gun was in my hand as I spun around, scanning the area. I didn’t see anyone. I shoved my gun in my holster and tried the door handle.
Unlocked.
Good thing I hadn’t left any guns in my truck.
I slid in and shut the door. The envelope hadn’t been sealed. There were no markings of any kind. I tipped the envelope, and pictures spilled onto my lap.
The first picture had been shot through my living room window. I had Joy on my hip, and her head had been crossed out with an X in red marker. The next picture was Hope in her car, backing down the driveway of her house, her head crossed out. The third photo of Jake had been snapped while he rode his horse, his hat-covered head crossed out. The fourth shot showed Lex waiting for the school bus, his face inside his hoodie marked with a red X. The last picture was of Dawson standing beside his patrol car out in the middle of nowhere, talking on his phone, his face also obliterated by a red X.
My lungs were absent of air for long enough that spots began to dance in front of my eyes. Somehow I gulped in oxygen and let it out. And did it again. I stared at the images, wondering what this sick son of a bitch had planned. To fuck with me? Gauging how homicidal I’d get? Or how scared I’d get?
I was already there-on both counts.
Anyone could’ve put these in my pickup.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Fight back? Take this to the FBI? I don’t know how long I sat there, weighing my options and finding none viable because I was still flying blind. I had no one to talk to about this. One by one, I slid the pictures back into the envelope.
Two loud raps on my window made me jump. My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Sheldon War Bonnet’s shocked face through the glass.
Shit.
Casually, I set aside the envelope and cranked down the window. But I couldn’t muster a smile.
“Agent Gunderson? Are you all right?”