“And she’s still missing.”
The disappearance of Crystal Two Knives had been the first official investigation Daniel had undertaken as an officer on the tribal police force. He’d followed every lead, spoken with every person who knew her, had leaned hard on Red LaGrange, her abusive ex-boyfriend. When he sought the help of the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department, he got what felt to him like a runaround. He’d searched NamUs, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, and the Minnesota Missing and Unidentified Persons Clearinghouse, and had contacted the BIA Missing and Murdered Unit. Nothing. Crystal Two Knives, like so many Native women, had simply vanished.
Waaboo backed away from the cabin slowly, as if afraid it might be about to bite him. He came back and stood by Daniel’s opened window, his face pale.
“What is it, Waaboo?”
“Maji-manidoog,” the boy said.
“Devils?” Daniel translated.
“That place is evil, Daddy.”
Daniel heard the approach of another vehicle. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Monte Bonhomme’s Tahoe coming up the rutted dirt lane.
“Blueberry picking time,” he said to his son. But Waaboo’s face didn’t brighten.
Monte was accompanied by LuJean Desjardins and another woman. Daniel knew her, Theresa Lee, a forensic archaeologist and anthropologist who taught at Tamarack Community College. She was small, her hair pulled back in a graying ponytail, her eyes dark brown, the features of her face and her skin color clearly showing her Native heritage, Fond du Lac Ojibwe. Monte had told Daniel earlier that, because of her expertise, he was going to ask Lee to join them in the search for another grave. A black duffel bag hung from a strap over one of her shoulders.
“Boozhoo, Theresa,” Daniel greeted her.
“Boozhoo,” she replied. She smiled at Jenny and then at Waaboo. “This must be your little rabbit. Hello, Waaboo. My name is Theresa.”
LuJean eyed Waaboo’s ashen face and said to Daniel, “You sure about this?”
Jenny knelt and put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Are you okay going back to the blueberry patch?”
He nodded.
Jenny stood up. “We do this very carefully.”
“Understood.” Daniel grabbed a bucket from the backseat and took his son’s hand. “Let’s go, little guy.”
Waaboo’s mood seemed to brighten as they left the cabin behind and walked through the wild grass toward the trail that led to the clearing and the blueberry patch.
“Mom, here are the gnomes.” He broke from his father’s grip and tapped one of the carved figures. “They’re like Finnish leprechauns. Come on. The blueberries are this way.”
He started ahead of them down the path.
“Waaboo!” Jenny called. But the boy danced on.
“So, we may have a name for the deceased,” Monte said. “Tacicala or Fawn.”
“And we know this how?” Theresa Lee asked.
Monte scratched his jaw and glanced at Daniel.
“Part of Waaboo’s vision,” Daniel said.
“Ah, the vision.” From the way she said it, Daniel understood that Theresa Lee, like any good professional, was not wholly embracing of this kind of lead. “That’s not much to go on.”
“It’s more than we had before,” Monte said.
“Are you going to let Dross know about the name?” Daniel asked.
“We have no real proof of anything yet,” Monte said.
“So, any further word on the search for Olivia Hamilton?”
“As I understand it, the Feds and BCA are hauling in the Howling Wolf customers again.”
“Didn’t get them anywhere before,” LuJean said.
Monte shrugged. “I guess it’s the only avenue they’ve got at the moment.”
Waaboo reached the clearing before the others. When they caught up with him, he was standing still, his little shoulders slumped in devastation.
“What happened?” he asked.
Much of the clearing—the blueberry bushes and the other vegetation—had been trampled, crushed, torn up.
“Why?” Waaboo said.
Daniel put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I suppose they were looking for evidence, Waaboo.”
“They didn’t have to kill everything.”
“No,” Monte said. “They didn’t.”
