Merciless (29 page)

“And it has?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe. About an hour ago two people came in and reported a missing
person. To be honest, that happens all the damn time; then the missing person rolls
back home after a couple of days being on a bender.”

“Is the missing person female?”

“That’s the thing. Yes, she’s female, but she doesn’t fit the pattern of the other
two victims. First, she’s older.”

I paced. “Like how much older?”

“Old enough to be the other girls’ grandmother. And the other thing? You know her.”

I froze. “Who is it?”

“Penny Pretty Horses.”

“She’s missing? Who filled out the report?”

“Her mother. Sophie Red Leaf? Who, I understand, used to work for you. And her son.
John-John Pretty Horses? Who, I understand, you used to work for at Clementine’s?”

“Yes. How long since anyone last saw her?”

“According to the report, they waited twenty-four hours.” Officer Orson sighed. “Look.
I’m not supposed to do this, but do you have a fax number where I can send this report?
I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the Shooting Star and Dupris cases because . . .”

Rollie Rondeaux was in jail. Even Officer Orson believed Rollie was guilty.

“You can send them to my home fax, and then if I think the FBI needs to get involved,
I’ll talk to Agent Turnbull.”

“Thanks. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, but I also didn’t want the feds to accuse
us of dropping the ball again.”

“So noted.” I gave him the fax number.

I’d forgotten Hope was in the office working on the books. She glanced up expectantly
as I came in. “A fax is coming through for me.”

She returned to her calculator.

A minute later the fax machine beeped and spit out paper. I skimmed the part about
name, age, etc., and skipped to the last-known whereabouts section.

Evidently, Penny had gone for her noon walk and hadn’t returned. Sophie hadn’t immediately
panicked because Penny had a tendency to go where the road took her. Sophie claimed
she hadn’t kept too close tabs on her daughter because Penny was easily upset if she
was treated like a child.

When Penny hadn’t returned by noon the following day, Sophie contacted John-John.
They called her friends and checked the hospital, but no one had seen her.

“Mercy?” Hope asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you talked to Sophie recently?”

She looked at the papers in my hand and then back at me. “Not since she picked up
her final paycheck. Why?”

“This can’t go any further than us, but I just got word Sophie and John-John reported
Penny missing a couple hours ago.”

Hope’s face paled. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we oughta just call Sophie and ask.” Hope picked up the phone.

“Don’t. I’m not supposed to have this information.”

Hope looked at me. “Well, obviously, I won’t ask about that. But Sophie might tell
me something if I call to see how she’s doing.”

I straddled the chair opposite the desk as she dialed.

She drummed her fingers on the desk, and it struck me how . . . confident she acted.

“Devlin? Hey, it’s Hope.” She frowned. “Jake’s wife? Yeah.” She listened for a minute
or so before she said, “Is Sophie around? Oh. No. Don’t wake her. Just tell her . . . I
miss seeing her, and I wanted to know how she was doing. Okay. Bye.” She scowled at
the receiver. “Devlin is such a shithead. I’ve never liked him. He acted like he didn’t
know who I was. Anyway, Devlin claimed Sophie was taking a nap, but I could hear her
and John-John talking in the background.”

“But he didn’t say anything about Penny being missing?”

“Nope.”

I stood. “I think I’ll take a drive.”

“I’d offer to go,” Hope started, “but I want to get this done while Jake is taking
care of Joy.”

Made me happy Hope could let go of her mama responsibilities, even for a little while,
just to do the ranch books. “That’s okay. I’ve had my fill of domestic stuff. A little
alone time will be good for me.”

Things had been tense in the Gunderson/Dawson household since our little blowup, and
so far we hadn’t kissed and made up. Mason had a rare weekend off, so he and Lex had
been inseparable and underfoot. Every day had been the same. First they’d watch a
movie—a loud movie. Then they’d play video games—loud video games. All of which required
popcorn, pretzels, and peanuts—loud snacks.

Earlier that morning, when I’d needed a break, I’d gone outside with a couple of guns
to keep up with my shooting skills. Practice had almost become an addiction for me.
With nothing better to do after supper while I was at Quantico, I spent at least two
hours at the shooting range
every night. Four hours on the weekends if we weren’t tasked with other training.

But my target practice session had been short-lived. Mason and Lex had decided to
throw a football around. Then a baseball. When I was tempted to shoot their balls
out of the air, I knew I needed to go. I’d spent the rest of the day inside.

Now I would’ve liked someone’s company besides the radio.

Jake called on my way into Eagle River after he’d heard from John-John that Sophie
was so distraught over Penny’s disappearance that she’d gone straight to bed.

He advised me to turn around.

I kept right on driving.

The shades were drawn at Sophie’s house. There weren’t a bunch of cars on the street.
Was no one here supporting them? After all Sophie had done for her grandkids?

John-John wouldn’t let me past the front door. “She doesn’t want visitors, Mercy.”

“But I’m . . .”
Family.

Wasn’t I? Sophie had been an enormous part of my life, seen me through some bad times,
and I wanted to return the favor.

The raw anger on John-John’s face indicated I’d be wasting my breath, trying to convince
him to let me in.

“Fine, I’ll go. But you’d better tell her I was here.”

He looked off into the distance, his jaw set so rigidly the tendons in his neck stood
out. Then he nodded and closed the door in my face.

•   •   •

On my way to work Tuesday morning I’d just turned off the gravel onto the blacktop
when I saw Shay standing beside his vehicle, parked on the shoulder.

What the hell? I threw my truck in park and jumped from the cab, clenching my teeth
against the wind slicing through my clothing. “You have an aversion to my ranch? It’s
just three miles up the road.”

Shay wore dark sunglasses. “Couldn’t chance slurping coffee with the people in your
household, Mercy.”

People, meaning Dawson. “This couldn’t wait until I got to the office?”

“We’re not going to the office.” He shifted his stance against his car, which was
one of Shay’s few tells.

Bad news. My stomach dropped to the tips of my boots. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Another body. This one ID’d by Officer Spotted Bear as Penny Pretty Horses.”

Blood whooshed in my ears. “What? When?”

“An hour ago.”

“Does Sophie know? John-John? Devlin?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

I blinked at him. Cocked my head as if I’d misunderstood. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. And since, for all intents and purposes, you’re related to members of the Pretty
Horses and Red Leaf families, you’ll have to ride with me to the scene and refrain
from using your cell phone.”

That chapped my ass. “You think I’m gonna . . . Why would I want to call Sophie and
give her this shitty news?” This would destroy her.

His agitation was laced with sadness. “Just get in, okay?”

I fished my cell phone out of my front pocket, shut it off, and tossed it to him.
“You know it’s the only cell I’ve got. Keep it to assure yourself that I’m not making
any unauthorized calls. But no way in hell am I riding with you, Agent Turnbull. I
need some time to get my head on straight.”

Shay couldn’t argue with that logic. He climbed into his vehicle and pulled a U-turn,
I followed him.

Penny Pretty Horses. Dead.

Then it occurred to me that Turnbull hadn’t said anything about it being a murder.
Only that they’d found a body. So maybe Penny, in her drugged-up state from cancer
medication, had wandered off. Or maybe
she’d gotten tired of the pain and the looming death and had decided to take matters
into her own hands. End her life where and how she wanted.

That fit with the arguments Sophie had been having with Penny about treatment—or the
lack thereof.

Still. It made me sick. Poor Sophie. Poor John-John.

I hoped I wouldn’t be tasked with telling them the news.

Frosted bits of white swirled in the air as the sky tried hard to snow. The wind picked
up, and I had to hold tight to the steering wheel to keep from blowing across the
damn road.

I hated days like this. Gloomy, with just enough water in the air to turn the normally
dry air humid, but without enough precipitation to make snow.

Tumbleweeds the size of compact cars drifted and bounced across the highway. The yellow
metal sign warning of slippery road conditions twisted in the wind like a piece of
cheap cardboard.

Mentally bitching about the weather kept my mind off what I’d be facing. Turnbull’s
vehicle hung a right at the last residential street on the rez. There’d be no jurisdictional
issues this time. Several emergency vehicles already lined the street.

Turnbull waited, and I noticed he’d added a heavy jacket over his clothing, the back
emblazoned with FBI in enormous white letters. Before I had an attack of jacket envy,
he handed me an identical coat.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I hope to hell we aren’t out here long. I’d really like to get the body
down soon.”

I looked at him. “Down?”

“The scene is behind the house. Mostly hidden from the street.”

I rounded the corner and stopped in my tracks.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Counted to ten and reopened them.

But the same grisly sight greeted me.

Penny. Naked. Hanging upside down from a tree branch. A meat hook jammed through both
her Achilles tendons and chains secured around her ankles.

Just like an animal kill.

Dried blood trailed down the backs of her calves and thighs.

I forced my eyes to travel the length of her naked torso. Her arms hung down like
misshapen animal limbs. Her wrists had been slit, and blood pooled in the dirt beneath
her in irregular splotches. As if the wind had blown her around as she’d bled to death.
Or like she’d been moving, trying to get away, trying to stop her lifeblood from slowly
dripping out.

The turbanlike covering she’d worn to hide her bald head was gone, leaving her skull
bare, showing where her hair had started to grow in and the patches where it hadn’t.

That turned my stomach. Penny had been so self-conscious about being bald. For her,
having her head exposed would’ve been worse than being naked.

And the indignity went on.

I wanted to look away, but I forced my gaze to stay on . . . this. On what some sick
bastard had done. Killed a woman with cancer. Stripped her, humiliated her, and hung
her up like a prized kill. Slit her throat and left her to die.

Rage filled me. Then sorrow. Then a combination of both that lodged in my throat like
a logjam.

Another hour passed before the members of the Emergency Response Team arrived from
Rapid City. They were thorough. Which equaled slow.

A crowd gathered. The tribal cops were doing their best to contain it.

Then I heard that awful noise. One I recognized. A howl of outrage, pain, disbelief,
shock, and grief. But I’d never before heard that sound coming from my friend John-John.

I heard it again, this time from Sophie. The word
no,
followed by a long wail. Over and over.

If I heard that sound in the wild, I’d find the animal and put it out of its misery.
But I could do nothing but stand there and bear witness to their sorrow.

After five minutes of mournful keening, I looked at Shay. “How fucking much longer
are you gonna leave her up in that goddamn tree?”

“Agent Gunderson—”

“Get her down or build a damn barricade around her. No one should see this. Least
of all her family.”

“That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard from the FBI since we got the call,” Chief
Looks Twice said.

He and Shay conferred. Then Shay finally motioned for his crew to take her down.

Because Carsten wasn’t on scene yet, I went to deal with the family.

The family.
Like they weren’t my family. Like I could keep professional distance in this situation.

Sophie sat on the ground, rocking back and forth and wailing in a low-pitched tremolo,
nearly catatonic in her grief.

John-John also sat on the ground. His face was stoic through the tears streaming down.

Devlin wasn’t overtly grieving. Devlin was mad. As soon as he saw me, he stomped over.

“This is your fault,” he spat.

“Devlin, I’m sorry. We’re doing everything—”

“But it’ll be too late for her, won’t it? Penny is dead. Murdered. Fucking slaughtered.
Just like was forecast in John-John’s vision. And just like in that vision, here you
are in the thick of it. Pretending you care—”

“I do care.”

Devlin screamed obscenities at me.

I let him.

But Shay wasn’t having any of it. He got in Devlin’s face. His eyes were the coldest
I’ve ever seen, and his voice cut through the bullshit spewing from Devlin like a
scythe. “Stand down. Now.”

Devlin’s mouth snapped shut.

“I understand you’re grieving. But just because you’re personally acquainted with
Agent Gunderson—”

“It’s her fault my sister is dead!” He pointed to me. “Look at her! She’s acting guilty
because she knows it’s true.”

“One more word, Mr. Pretty Horses, and I will have you forcibly
removed from the scene and locked up in the tribal jail. Don’t tempt me on this.”
Shay motioned to Officer Ferguson. “If this man speaks, cuff him. If he resists arrest,
use whatever level of force you need to ensure he cooperates. Understood?”