Merciless (34 page)

I woke a little after three, not refreshed but grateful for dreamless sleep. I’d left
the door unlocked and saw food piled on the table. As I contemplated snatching a cookie,
a knock sounded. Shay let himself into
the kitchen. Looking around, he took off his coat and draped it over the chair.

The words
Make yourself comfy
dried on my tongue.

I leaned against the doorjamb separating the kitchen and the living room, still in
my pajamas.

His eyes met mine. He seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands. Finally, he
said, “Jesus, Mercy. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t move. He came to me. Standoffish Shay hugged me. Surrounded by warmth from
his body, I hadn’t realized I’d been so cold until I started to shake.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Still, I didn’t cry. Mason would’ve swept me into
his arms and held me until the shakes stopped.

But Shay wasn’t Dawson. He held on to me as long as he could stand it. Then he settled
me on a chair, poured me a glass of Wild Turkey, and tersely said, “Drink.”

I drank. As soon as the glass was empty he poured another.

At some point I realized Shay had taken my hands while I stared at the second glass
of whiskey. One night last year I’d done shots, determined to keep track of how many
I could handle before I passed out. Fifteen. It wouldn’t take that many belts right
now. Tempting, to test that theory.

“Mercy?” Shay’s voice snapped me out of my imagined alcoholic stupor. “What have you
been doing?”

“Pacing. Sleeping. Wondering how I’ll get through the next week.”

“That’s how long . . .”

“They’re keeping him sedated? Yeah. It sucks.”

“I bet.”

I told him about the limited visiting hours. Five minutes an hour. “It sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

I told him about the “wait and see” diagnosis. “It sucks.”

“Hanging out with an eleven-year-old boy hasn’t done your vocabulary any favors.”

“
You
suck.”

He smiled softly, and then it faded. “Talk to me.”

“I will go crazy one minute at a time if I don’t have something to take my mind off
this.” I’d already felt myself slipping into that deep pit of despair. Questioning
why I ever thought I could be happy for any amount of time because something bad always
happened and ruined it.

“What can I do?”

“Put me to work. I can’t stand around for a week and wring my hands.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” I inhaled. Exhaled slowly. “Did you work on the cases this weekend?”

“Some.”

“Did you get anywhere?”

“Not really.”

“I got to thinking that I hadn’t told you about Penny’s son Devlin and his gambling
problem. He owes money all over the place, including to Saro, Rollie, and Latimer—”

“Mercy, stop.”

Confused, I looked at him.

“Your focus needs to be elsewhere this week. Not on the cases.”

“But—”

Shay shook his head and squeezed my hands. “Don’t try to bury yourself in work. It
won’t help. Trust me, I know. You’ve got more important things to deal with.”

The stairs creaked, and Lex raced into the kitchen, stopping upon seeing Shay sitting
so close to me, holding my hands, while I was in my pajamas.

I eased back. “Hey, Lex, you remember my coworker Shay Turnbull?”

He shook his head. “Have you heard any news about my dad?”

“No, I promised I’d wake you up if I did.”

“So when can we go to the hospital?” His gaze landed on my empty lowball glass. “You
haven’t been drinking all day, have you?” He stepped closer, sniffled the air like
a human Breathalyzer.

“I’m fine. We should both eat something before we go.”

Lex’s mouth turned mutinous. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I
am.
So park it. As soon as we eat, we’ll go.”

“Is he coming with us?” Lex asked suspiciously.

“Nope. No visitors, remember?”

Shay took that as his cue to leave.

I walked him outside. “I appreciate your driving out. I . . .” I wanted to ask him
to stay longer and felt stupid for it.

“Hey.” He grabbed my hand, forcing my attention. “Anything you need. Anytime, day
or night. Call me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He retreated. “I’ll see if I can arrange for you to help Carsten at the VS office
in Eagle River this week.”

“Thanks.” I watched his Blazer disappear down the driveway before I returned inside.

I microwaved two helpings of Geneva’s chicken pot pie. Lex finished his in approximately
three mouthfuls and was out the door, waiting in the truck, before I swallowed my
last bite.

Usually, I didn’t mind the silence between us, but at this moment, it was choking
me. About halfway into town, I asked, “Do you miss your mom?”

Lex squirmed. “Sometimes. But I like it here better.”

Another silent void filled the cab. Then the boy started bouncing his feet. He leaned
forward, burying his face in his knees and wrapping his arms around his calves.

“Lex. Are you gonna be sick?”

A muffled, “No.”

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

He raised his head. “Why did you ask about my mom? Is it because if my dad’s not all
right, you’ll make me go back to Colorado to live with her?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Because if he’s in a wheelchair, I can take care of him and stuff. I promise I would
be a really big help.”

Don’t cry.
“I know.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

•   •   •

Monday morning Lex looked up from his bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal when I entered the
kitchen. I paused in front of the empty coffeepot. Mason made coffee in the morning.
It was just another pointed reminder that he wasn’t here.

I snagged a Coke from the fridge. I turned around to see Lex frowning at me. “What?”

“Will they let you wear a gun at the hospital?”

“No, why?”

“So why do you have it on?”

“Because I have to go to work today, and you have to go to school.” His spoon clattered
into his bowl. “What? No way. I’m going to the hospital to stay with my dad.”

“There’s nothing you can do at the hospital.”

“I can talk to him. You heard that nurse saying he can probably hear us. I want him
to know I’m there.”

“Which is why we’ll visit him after you’re out of school this afternoon.”

His green eyes, identical to Mason’s, narrowed, and I recognized the look—ass chewing
ahead.

“So you’re just gonna go to work today and forget about him like nothing happened?”
Lex demanded. “What if he dies?”

“Don’t say that,” I snapped. “Don’t you
ever
say it, let alone think it, do you hear me?”

Lex dropped his tear-filled gaze.

Goddammit. I didn’t know how to do this. I probably should’ve hugged him—done anything
besides yell at him. I counted to twenty. “Look, Lex, we’re both on edge because we’re
worried about your dad. But there’s nothing we can do at the hospital today except
get in the nurses’ way. We can only see him for five minutes at a time. He isn’t just
gonna wake up, and honestly, that wouldn’t be a good thing anyway.
He’d want you in class. He’d want me to go to work and do my job. And we’ll stay at
the hospital as long as you want tonight.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” I knocked back a big swig of soda, hoping the fizz would dissolve the
lump in my throat. “Now get cracking so you’re not late.”

He bailed, leaving his bowl on the table. Mason would’ve made him come back and pick
it up, but today, I let it slide.

•   •   •

Dawson’s condition hadn’t changed. Each day passed in a blur. One day. Two days. Three
days. Four days. Lex and I visited him every night. And every night I felt myself
slipping deeper into depression.

I made Jake remove the booze from the house. It was too great a temptation.

Other things got moved around. Pictures. Clothing. Kitchen items. I snapped at Lex
about putting things back where he found them. Hope intervened. I snapped at her,
too, ignoring how irrational it was to lose my cool because I couldn’t find a fucking
spatula.

Carsten tried to get me to talk. If I could’ve talked to anyone, it would’ve been
her. She was a genuinely thoughtful and kind person, not a pushover—Turnbull had pegged
her completely wrong.

But talking to her meant I had to consider that my life might change drastically in
the next week. I refused to give voice to “what ifs” about Dawson.

•   •   •

A few people stopped into the Victim Services office to ask me about Dawson’s condition.
Sheldon War Bonnet. Tribal Police Chief Looks Twice. Officer Orson. Fergie. It bothered
me a little that I hadn’t heard from Sophie because I knew she was fond of the sheriff.
I blamed John-John. If nothing else, blaming him made me feel better.

So I was surprised when Latimer Elk Thunder ambled into the offices on Thursday afternoon.

“Agent Gunderson, I just heard about what happened to Sheriff Dawson. What a shock.
I came over right away to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Thank you.”

“If there’s anything you need, anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Here was my opening. Hopefully, if the FBI got wind of this, they’d chalk up my nosiness
and crap attitude to stress. “Does that offer include lending me money for hospital
bills? I heard you’re the go-to guy around here for a short-term loan.”

He stiffened briefly, then smiled. “You heard right. Sadly, banks aren’t an option
for many of our tribal members in need . . . So I fill the need. It’s not like I’m
getting rich for providing this service.”

Bullshit.

“Are you in a financial bind, Agent Gunderson?”

“No, I’m more concerned for a family friend. Devlin Pretty Horses owes you money.
I’m betting not a small amount, either.”

“I don’t normally discuss my business, but I can assure you that I’m not worried.
Devlin is good for it.”

“How can that be? He doesn’t have a job. He lives with his mother. Devlin has nothing
of value.”

Latimer parked his behind on the corner of my desk. “Now that’s a harsh judgment.
You can’t possibly know
everything
about the Pretty Horses family or their financial situation, current or future.”

I fought the urge to stab his casually swinging leg with a letter opener. “And you
do?”

An indulgent smile. “Of course. I’m in a position where I have full budget oversight
for the tribe. We have several well-pensioned employees, and it’s my job to make sure
our financial experts stay on top of the employees’ investment portfolios. Penny worked
for the tribe for over twenty years. She had a better-than-average wage, so she had
a better-than-average pension, too.

“And she had decent health insurance coverage, thank goodness. Although aggressive
cancer treatment will eat up that lifetime maximum pretty fast. But it doesn’t appear
to me that Penny’s family will have
outstanding medical bills, which is a plus in this horrible situation.” He shook his
head sadly. “Imagine getting such a dire cancer diagnosis one month before retirement.”

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.”