“Don’t try my patience, Sergeant Major, I’m not in the mood.”
I hated that he’d used my military rank. Hell, I hated that he even knew my military rank. “You know about me, but I know nothing about you, and I don’t mind saying… that seriously pisses me off. You’ve had occasions to tell me exactly who you were, Agent Turnbull, and you haven’t. So I’m inclined not to cooperate with you.”
No response.
“If I’d known what you were up to, maybe you wouldn’t be pissy about me supposedly fucking up your op.”
Stone-cold glare.
I kicked my antagonism up a notch. “But just like all the other spooks, you prefer to follow your own agenda and place blame after the fact, right?”
“You don’t have a high opinion of the government after being in Uncle Sam’s employ for so many years,” he said dryly.
Inside I seethed, but I kept my tone even. “My opinion of the armed forces is just jim-dandy. My opinion of governmental agencies that showed up and tried to tell us how to do our jobs, while infringing upon our ability to do those jobs? That makes my blood boil. I’ve been down this road before, far too many times. Ask a question, and your ilk pulls the standard ‘We can’t discuss classified cases’ line of bullshit. Jesus. Sometimes it was easier dealing with the Taliban than the inner workings of U.S. government agencies.”
“Your past experiences with other agencies-good or bad-are not my concern.”
“Then why are you here?”
That gave him pause. “Why do you think I’m in Eagle River County, Mercy?”
“Besides to annoy me? I’m guessing if all those federal agencies are involved, it’s something big.”
“That’s vague.” Agent Turnbull folded his arms over his chest. “Come on, you’re a smart cookie, yet you’re struggling to believe what’s right in front of you.”
I allowed the same cool stare he’d leveled on me.
“Indulge me,” he prompted. “What conclusions have you drawn in your quest to find out who killed your buddy, Major Jason Hawley?”
Don’t do it. Maybe he doesn’t know diddly and he’s trolling for information.
As much as civilians claimed the right hand didn’t know what the left hand was doing, elite government agencies made it their business to know every goddamned thing.
My mouth engaged before my brain. “I’m betting you’re here because Jason Hawley had more than a couple of bottles of OxyContin in his possession. Since he crossed state lines, it becomes a federal matter, so the DEA is involved. But the group that runs the drug trade in these parts is based out of the Eagle River Reservation, which means involving the BIA. Since the BIA deals with the FBI, they’re also brought on board. So every agency knows the particulars, except local law enforcement. For some reason you’ve kept the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department in the dark.” I mimicked his posture-arms crossed, head cocked pertly. “Am I close to getting a cookie, Agent Turnbull?”
“Not bad. With a couple of exceptions. One, the DEA turned the cases involving reservations over to us-the multigroup task force-early this year. We’ve maintained a low profile, even while we’ve been tracking the movements of the suspected key players on this specific case. Two, we haven’t kept Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department out of the loop. Sheriff Dawson is cooperating with us fully.”
My jaw dropped. I must’ve misheard him. “What?”
“Sheriff Dawson is aware of our multiagency objective. He’s not happy about us taking over all aspects of investigation of this case.”
“All aspects of it?” I repeated inanely.
“Every bit. He’s not allowed to discuss this case with his deputies or anyone else. He cannot proceed with any line of investigation he initially started. He cannot issue a statement of any type about this case without contacting me first.”
The breath whooshed from my body. I’d jumped in the race for sheriff because I believed Dawson hadn’t been doing his job clearing up J-Hawk’s murder. When in reality, Dawson had no choice. He hadn’t been slacking in his investigative duties at all. The feds had tied his hands and his tongue.
Fuck.
My thoughts raced back to Dawson chewing out Turnbull for showing up at the crime scene at Clementine’s. It must’ve rankled Dawson, knowing he’d lose out on investigating the case before the victim’s body had cooled. Knowing his investigative techniques would be questioned again. Knowing I’d be his harshest critic. Except this time, I’d taken my concerns public, setting out to prove to the community that I was better qualified to be sheriff than Mason Dawson.
Now I really felt like tossing my cookies.
The almighty Mercy Gunderson, who prided herself on her cool-headed, rational approach, had gone off half cocked. The thought of losing the election wasn’t nearly as excruciating as the suspicion that I’d lost something even more important.
Agent Turnbull stared at me. “You all right?”
No. I wasn’t in the mood to play nice. Or to reveal my insecurities on any level to a fucking fed. “As I’m a candidate for sheriff, you should’ve told me about this task force earlier.”
“Why?”
“Because if I win the election, I’ll be in Dawson’s position, looking like an idiot when it appears I’m not doing my job, when I’ve sworn I’d handle things differently than he does specifically for that reason.”
“I warned you not to make blanket statements.” He rested his elbows on the table, the picture of earnestness. “Look, this caught you off guard. I’ll tell you what I know, but I’ll need your word it won’t go farther than you.”
“Fine.”
“Early this year, across North and South Dakota, four Intertribal Co-op Health Hospital storage facilities were hit, and their inventory of OxyContin was stolen. The problem is, no one knew when the thefts occurred, outside of a general time frame.”
“Why not?”
“The ICHH buys in bulk twice a year, based on the previous six months’ sales, then distributes to the individual hospitals’ storage facilities. The pay-in-advance business model has been standard practice for years.”
“Why?”
Bitterness flickered in his eyes. “From the advent of the formation of the ICHH, none of the pharmaceutical companies trusted the tribes to pay their bills. They refused to offer them credit and required advance payment and advance orders. No exceptions.”
“Even now?”
“Yes, except if an individual hospital needs additional prescriptions, it can reorder in small quantities. Cash up front.”
“Is the bulk-ordering mandate common knowledge within the ICHH?”
Agent Turnbull shook his head. “Just among the key adminis-trators, and they’re subject to nondisclosure.”
I held up my hand. “Interesting, but what does this have to do with Jason Hawley? He’s not Indian. Chances are slim he’d know about this arrangement.”
“Major Hawley received the information about the separate storage facilities at ICHH and delivery of pharmaceuticals from his Titan Oil coworker, Ellis LeFleur. Near as we can figure, LeFleur was fired by the ICHH about two months before he started working for Titan Oil.”
“Why was he fired?”
“Suspected sexual harassment. He claims a white female office worker falsely accused him, and the hospital administration didn’t back him up. No charges were ever filed, but they fired him outright.”
“What was his job at ICHH?”
Agent Turnbull looked chagrined. “District warehouse manager. Plus, LeFleur was a registered member of the Standing Rock Tribe. So Titan Oil hired him as their token Indian.”
“Token Indian?” I repeated.
“Titan Oil needed the Indian landowners around the various reservations to get on board with the pipeline, and LeFleur was their Native American man to offer a convincing argument.” Turnbull scowled. “Rumor had it LeFleur could charm the bees from the flowers. But he was young and inexperienced in sales, so the executives paired him with a more seasoned pitchman.”