“Aren’t you gonna go poke around the crime scene?” he asked.
“Nope. My”-I bit back the word partner-“the other FBI agent en route has more experience. I’m new enough I’d probably muck it up.”
“I hear ya there.”
“Is this your first dead body?”
He gave me a strange look. “On the rez? Hell no. Not since I’ve been a cop and not before that.”
“How long have you been a cop?”
“Four years. The first two I worked security for the jail. I got moved up after I finished the six-week training course.”
I wasn’t the type to make small talk, but something about this kid kept my gums flapping. “Is being a cop what you thought it’d be?”
“Honestly? No. I hate all the domestic calls. I spend most shifts busting up fights and arresting drunks. Seems nothing ever changes.”
“You got family around here?”
“My wife does. Or else…” His gaze hooked mine. “Never mind. I’m tired and babbling like an idiot after working a twelve.”
I leaned closer to him. “If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it. But the Eagle River Sheriff’s Department is looking for deputies. It might be an option if you want to change it up and stay in the area.”
Officer Orson nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
The suggestion was purely selfish on my part. I wanted to ease the sheriff’s workload, and I suspected Dawson was in the interview process with applicants, although he never spoke of it to me. And this young kid would be a better fit in county law enforcement. Only so much room for advancement in the tribal PD if you were mostly white.
“When we got the BOLO on Arlette, I just hoped we’d find her alive.”
Took me a minute to remember that BOLO was shorthand for “be on the lookout” and not a western string tie-worn by cowboys and Indians alike around here-instead of a real necktie. “Did you know her?”
“No. Pisses me off that someone did this to her. All violent deaths suck, but it’s worse when it’s a kid.”
I shoved aside the images of the other dead teens I’d seen in the last year. “So when she went missing, and you were talking to her friends about why she might be missing, did anything strike you as odd?”
He cocked his head. “I didn’t talk to her friends or family. I’m too low on the departmental totem pole for that job.”
The sound of approaching vehicles brought us both to our feet. We watched as two SUVs and an ambulance bumped past the pickups, stopping behind Officer Orson’s patrol car.
Special Agent Shay Turnbull was first out of the black SUV. Not only did he own an authoritative presence, I’d seen his charm work with nothing more than a smile. I’d watched him wrest control of a situation with a single word. I understood how lucky I was to be unofficially training with him, even while I also realized Mr. Perfect FBI Agent had done something serious to derail his promising career and end up in rural South Dakota. Not that he’d shared his deepest darkest secrets with me. Although mine were an open book, as he seemed to’ve memorized my military history.