I went early to the office with my big plans. I had to show my head supervisor I was being methodical, careful, and objective. Lately, I’d seen Hemaucus around Mission with a Hidatsa cowboy from Wolf Point. He’d gone to Rodeo Days over in Ritzville, and so he would’ve been far away when the incident occurred. In fact, I told the supervisor, he’d been gone quite a while. I had to tread lightly, convince the men in charge I’d considered all the angles so I could make a solid case against Yellow Knife. I knew it was Yellow Knife. I could feel it. My head boss was a BIA bureaucrat, as white as Stoner. I couldn’t talk to him about intuition. He listened to my story, jotted down a few notes, then turned to me. “I can understand why the murder of this woman concerns you,” he said. “You knew Miss Three Dresses, didn’t you?” He eyed me with measured understanding. It was his business to deal with zealousness, misplaced vengeance, cops like me. I nodded my head. “I’m sure you have plenty of good ideas,” he said, “but this murder is not in your jurisdiction. The case has rightly been turned over to the state.”

“Of course,” I said, “just wanted to help.” I knew then I had to investigate Yellow Knife on my own. I backed out of his office and quietly shut the door. I figured Yellow Knife must have shot her first and then moved her body to the field a few hours later. Maybe his new girlfriend helped him. I was thinking I’d go out to his mother’s house again, have a good look around.

I saw the two men in their clean-whistle suits head for the office I had just left. I nodded to them but they ignored me. Men that high up don’t talk to road officers. I wasn’t in their league. I was just about to leave when the supervisor stuck his head out the door. “Officer Kicking Woman,” he said, “I’m glad I caught you. You may be interested in this.” I walked back into his office and stood by the door holding my hat. I’d been offered a privilege and I had no misconceptions that the offer had made me welcome. I did not sit down even when the two men began to speak. It was a dead end, they said. They weren’t going to be able to do much. I had heard that line before. They estimated she’d been shot in the field about ten o’clock three nights back. They’d been asking questions and all the leads were cold. They’d keep working on it, they said. The matter was in their hands now. I looked at my supervisor, knowing this was shit. When they left he grabbed my shoulder hard and said it was best to drop it.