Waaboo screamed again and Jenny’s eyes went toward where her beloved son was being an ordinary seven-year-old boy.

“The gift the Creator has given him is both a blessing and a burden,” Meloux said. “I believe he is strong enough to accept this. But are you?”

She didn’t answer. And Cork wasn’t sure if he could give a truthful answer to this question either.

Meloux reached out and gently took her hand.

“When you first found him, he was a newborn baby hidden under a rock to keep him safe from those who wished him harm. There is a reason you found the little rabbit. He is your blessing. And,” he added in a kind voice, “your burden.”

CHAPTER 20

It was an almost two-hour drive west to the Three Rivers Reservation. On the way, Agent Danette Shirley shared her story with Daniel and Monte Bonhomme.

“I grew up on Pine Ridge. Lowest life expectancy in the country. Little town called Rockyford. There weren’t many ways to leave the rez life, at least on Pine Ridge. One of them was in a pine coffin. That’s how my father went when I was seven. He was killed in Rapid City, shot by a white man drunk out of his mind. My mother raised me. I was lucky because she was a teacher, believed if her daughter was going to rise above all the challenges of being Native and living on a reservation, education was the way. So I graduated from Oglala Lakota College in social work.” She shook her head and gave a sardonic little laugh. “As if that might make some kind of difference in the long run. But I gave it a shot.”

“How’d you get into law enforcement?” Monte asked.

“I had a friend I’d met in college. She came from Rosebud. She became a cop because she firmly believed we needed an Indian presence inside law enforcement. Did her training at the Indian Police Academy in New Mexico and went to work for the BIA. It was hard, sure, but she felt she was making a difference, giving a voice to our people in that way. I got so frustrated with the system I’d become a part of—hands always tied, resources always abysmally short—that I thought maybe my friend was right. So I became a cop, too. BIA like her. I’ve worked lots of cases involving missing and murdered Indigenous people over the years. When they created the Missing and Murdered Unit, I applied right away. There are so many issues that need addressing in Indian Country. I can’t help with all of them. So this is where I’ve settled. This is what I do.”

“I believe we make a difference,” Monte said.

“If I didn’t,” Daniel said, “I’d have become a professional accordion player.”

“Oh? You play the accordion, too?” Agent Shirley said, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah. And you?”

“My grandchildren beg me to play.”

“That’ll change when they become teenagers,” Monte said. “Mark my words.”

With a sweep of his hand, Chief of Police Chris Hayner indicated the three straight-back chairs where Daniel, Monte, and Agent Shirley should sit.

“So, Fawn Blacksmith,” he said, resuming his place behind his desk. “You believe the body you found there in Tamarack County is her?”

Hayner was not quite six feet tall, but he seemed larger in stature. Daniel thought this might have been the result of his general robustness. Although his shock of hair and bushy mustache were both going gray, he still had the look of an avid outdoorsman. Monte had done a good deal of hunting and fishing with the man. He’d also told Daniel that Hayner once built a boat and sailed it across the Atlantic. Like so many law enforcement officers in Indian Country, Hayner had no Native heritage in his blood. But Monte had assured Daniel that Hayner had a good heart and ran a good department.

“Like I explained over the phone,” Monte said, “we have a boy who has a spiritual connection. He says it’s what the girl’s spirit told him.”

“Spiritual connection.” Hayner used his index finger to scratch his mustache. “That’s your evidence?”

“When it appears you’ve hit a dead end, Chris, you’ve got to look for other ways to proceed. And what harm can it do?”

“It can break Daisy Blacksmith’s heart again.”

“The girl’s grandmother?” Agent Shirley asked.

“Yep. That old girl hasn’t got a lot of life left in her. If it is Fawn you found, I expect it’ll just about kill her. Right now, she’s got some hope, holding on to the idea that her granddaughter just ran off again and will turn up someday somewhere.”

“She was the one who reported the girl missing?” Daniel asked.

“Like I told Monte on the phone yesterday, she called me six months ago saying Fawn had disappeared. The girl had turned eighteen and been released from the North Regional Juvenile Detention Center and was supposed to come back up here and live with Daisy, but she bolted again. Daisy finally called me. I advised her to talk to Buck Sondergaard—he’s our county sheriff—report Fawn as missing. It was the only thing I could do. Daisy lives off the rez, and neither her or Fawn are enrolled tribal members here. So, out of my jurisdiction. Near as I can tell, Sondergaard didn’t do much, if anything. The guy’s about as Indian friendly as General Custer. When nothing happened, I went ahead and entered Fawn into NCIC as missing and advised Daisy to talk to Alicia Fineday, an advocate here on the rez. As I understand it, Alicia called MMIR. You know, the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Relatives office down in the Cities.”

“I know it,” Monte said.

“They’re good people, but they’ve got no teeth when it comes to compelling law enforcement to do anything. So they probably did their best to light a fire under Sondergaard, cited Brandon’s Law, et cetera. But as near as I can tell, nothing much has been done. You got a case file on her?” Hayner asked Agent Shirley.

“I checked. We were never informed.”

“See, that’s a big part of the problem. Communication between all the agencies involved.”

“Can you give us the address of the girl’s grandmother?” Monte asked.

Hayner spent a minute on his computer, then wrote something on a Post-it and handed it over. “I’ve included her phone number, but I’ll call her now, make sure she’s expecting you.”

“She’ll be home?” Daniel asked.

“Doesn’t go out much these days. When you talk to her, you’ll understand.”

The address was in a gathering of run-down trailer homes a few miles from where summer houses the size of the Taj Mahal fronted a series of beautiful lakes, along with resorts where well-off folks spent a carefree week or two away from the sweltering heat of the Twin Cities. Daniel suspected that the people who serviced the resorts and the restaurants and the gas stations and the grocery stores and the fun little amusement parks lived in that collection of flimsy trailers lining the grid of dirt lanes.

Monte parked his Tahoe in front of the address Hayner had given him, and he, Daniel, and Agent Shirley got out. A dog tied to the mailbox of the trailer next door went crazy barking, but someone inside hollered “Shut up, Lester!” and the dog fell silent. As they approached Daisy Blacksmith’s trailer, the door was opened by a young woman, who gave them a hard look.

“You the police?” she said.

She was thin, wore a black T-shirt with an image of Prince on it and Purple Rain printed in purple letters above. Her hair was done in a single long braid that hung over her shoulder. The braid was a shade of purple that didn’t quite match the T-shirt’s letters. Daniel put her in her midteens.

“ ‘Raspberry Beret’ is my favorite,” he said.

“What?” She looked at him as if he were an idiot.

“Prince. It’s my favorite song of his.”

She looked down at the image. “Got this at Goodwill.”

“We’re looking for Daisy Blacksmith,” Monte said.

“Took you long enough,” the girl said.

“We came straight here from Three Rivers,” Monte said.

“I mean to get around to looking for Fawn.”

“Who are you exactly?” Daniel said.

“Nyla. I help out Granny.”

“Daisy is your grandmother?”