Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [65]
As enlightening and disheartening as this information was, it didn’t get me any closer to finding out who’d killed him.
Might be a long shot, but I had to find out more about the woman he’d talked to that night.
I called Winona’s cell. “It’s Mercy. I’m still trying to put faces together with names on the lists. George Johnson mentioned a woman Jason talked to.”
“What’s her name?”
“Cherelle. She’s young. Indian. Got a nasty scar on her face. I guess she’s been in Clementine’s a couple times, but I don’t remember seeing her. Do you know her?”
“Yeah. Cherelle Dupris. She’s bad news.”
Damn static. “Could you repeat that?”
“I said she’s with Victor Bad Wound.”
I frowned. Another name I vaguely recognized. “Who is Victor Bad Wound?”
“Victor Bad Wound is Barry Sarohutu’s younger brother.”
“If Cherelle comes into Clementine’s, no matter what time, will you call me right away? Please?”
“I guess. But I’m being honest when I say I hope she never comes in again.” She hung up.
I tapped my fingers on the desk and stared into space. I needed more information on this Cherelle person. Who’d have access to that kind of information?
Bingo.
One person knew everyone and everything that went on around the Eagle River Reservation.
I called Rollie.
FIFTEEN
Given Rollie’s reputation for maintaining a low profile when it came to his business dealings, I agreed to meet him out in the middle of nowhere. I understood his need for privacy and discretion, because it matched mine.
Besides, I was armed.
The dust rooster behind his truck clued me to his impending arrival a half mile before he skidded to a stop in front of me.
Rollie leaned across the seat and yelled through the open passenger’s-side window. “Hey. Get in.”
“Can’t we talk here?” I’d already waited overnight for this chat, and Geneva had a million things for me to do today.
“Nope. I’ve got a meeting at elk crossing.”
After three tries, the passenger’s-side door on his truck finally shut, and we were tooling down County Road 2A, headed toward the reservation.
“I almost didn’t come,” he offered conversationally.
“Why?”
“Mebbe because you don’t call me to meet just so we can shoot the breeze. You only call when you want something.”
Was that a note of . . . hurt in Rollie’s tone? Nah. And I refused to be put on the defensive. “The phone line runs both ways, old man. You can call me, too.”
“I hate talking on the damn phone.”
“I know. But I’m rusty on using smoke signals to get your attention.”
“Smarty.”
I smiled.
“So what’s on your mind, Mercy girl?”
“First, if I want to ask you a couple of questions, will I owe you another favor?”
Rollie grabbed a smashed pack of smokes from the bench seat. He punched the lighter knob and shook out a crumpled cigarette. Cancer ritual complete, he faced me. “It depends.”
Cryptic. “On what?”
“Coupla things. But they’ll keep until the proper time.”
Was Rollie waiting to call in those “favors” if I became sheriff ? I’d blindly agreed to do whatever he asked me the first time I’d needed his help. Evidently I hadn’t learned my lesson, because I was about to do it again.
“Ask away,” he said.
“What do you know about Barry Sarohutu, his brother Victor Bad Wound, and the group they run?”
“Run is exactly the right word, hey. You oughta run as far away from them as you can.”
Rollie? Scared of someone on the rez? That was new. “Do you run from them?”
“Wish I could. I know enough about ’em to make sure I stay on their good side.” He blew a smoke ring. “Why you askin’?”
“Their group has been coming into Clementine’s. Everyone’s freaked out about it.”
“They should be. No one wants Sarohutu and his guys around, but telling them to take their business elsewhere ain’t smart.”
“Why not?”
“Fear of their unique ways of retaliation. People call them the Lakota Yakuza.”
I laughed.
“Ain’t no laughing matter. Them guys’ll carve you up if you so much as look at them wrong.”
My smile dried. “Is that what happened