Page 43 of High Frequency

The tribal police did go through the steps of sharing the report with not only the Lake County Sheriff’s Office, but neighboring Ronan and Polson Police Departments as well. It was the Sheriff’s Office that uploaded the information to the Montana Department of Justice Missing Persons Database, which is where I found the one-page report.

“I called Lake County, talked to the current sheriff, who’s only been in office since the spring after his predecessor died of a heart attack. He wasn’t aware of the case until I told him. Long story short, he was able to locate the original full report sent to them by the tribal police and faxed it to me.”

“They had some major changes in Lake County late last year,” Ewing shares as he flips through the pages. “The county withdrew from Public Law 280, and therefore the responsibility for funding and policing tribal lands fell squarely back on the shoulders of tribal police. I think this file may have fallen through the cracks during that transition.”

Although, I appreciate the background, the fact remains the report of a missing girl was basically filed away without a second look. Call me a cynic, but I suspect the fact she happened to be Native American may have played into that.

“Yup. Sheriff Lee promised to email me a link to the files with the security camera feed from the Exxon station. It’s a miracle they actually obtained that evidence, let alone saved it on their server. Although, I’m not sure how helpful it’s going to be. There’s a note in the report saying nothing notable was found, but I plan to check for myself.”

“Good. Let me see what I can do to get a hold of the girl’s dental records,” Junior offers. “I have a contact with the CSKT who might be able to help.”

The CSKT stands for Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes, which governs the Flathead Reservation. Tribal police would fall under that umbrella as well, and would be more appropriate for them to pay the mother a visit, rather than having me call her out of the blue.

I’m instantly relieved, although it does make me feel like a bit of a coward. Calling family members wouldn’t be my choice—especially with potentially devastating news—but driving to Pablo and back would’ve cost me a whole day.

“Thank you.”

As I walk out the door, he calls me back.

“Sloane? Before I forget, I’ve got a cadaver dog team coming in after the weekend. Jillian Lederman is also an experienced rock climber and specializes in searching rough terrain, but it still wouldn’t be a bad idea to loop the HMT boys in. At least let them know what’s going on in their backyard.”

“I already talked to Jonas this morning,” I inform him. “He’s offering to go over location and terrain with the cadaver team.”

I get a thumbs-up and duck down the hall.

I also addressed the issue of a written arrangement regarding the cabin, which was met with some resistance. Jonas insisted he wasn’t going to take rent from me, and I was equally firm when I told him I would find another place where I’d be allowed to pay my own way. Jonas seemed a bit taken aback, and old Mr. Harvey—who’d been listening in on our conversation—cackled heartily at the expense of his son.

We did end up coming to an agreement, which was basically a month-to-month arrangement, with thirty days’ notice, and a rent of seven-hundred dollars a month. It took a while to get to that amount since Jonas started off countering my suggestion of fifteen hundred—which is an average rent in Libby—with the ridiculous offer of fifty bucks a week.

We hammered it out in the end and shook on it. The handshake was my concession when Jonas balked at official paperwork. The move is supposed to take place this weekend before Mom gets here on Sunday, which means I’ll have my hands full this weekend.

On my way to my cubicle, I bump into Frank Schmidt and Jason Heany, two of our deputies.

“Didn’t take you long to weasel your way into the boss’s good graces, did it?” Frank challenges me. “What was it…all of a week? You may wanna wipe the dirt off your knees.”

I was prepared to ignore him. It’s nothing new and ignoring it is more effective than any reaction. I got this kind of stuff in Billings when I first joined the PD, and aside from that, I remember Frank from my time as a deputy here. He didn’t particularly like me then and made it known.

But Jason seems offended on my behalf and feels the need to intervene, throwing Frank an elbow.

“Cut it out with that bullshit. And you know that’s exactly what it is—bullshit. If Ewing hears you, he’ll have your ass.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Frank swings on him. “She’s got you pussy-whipped already too?”

“Schmidt. My office,” I hear Ewing bark behind me.

This is going from bad to worse. None of this is going to help me deal with the likes of Frank Schmidt. In fact, this will only serve to make him hate me more. From what I understand, he had his eye on the new position I was hired for, and feels passed over by someone with less years on the job and a female to boot.

I’m pretty sure he’s not the only one whose nose is out of joint. After all, this is rural Montana and it’s still mostly a good-old-boys’ club out here.

Frank shoots me a dirty look and purposely brushes my shoulder as he passes me.

“Sorry about that,” Jason apologizes when the other deputy disappears into the sheriff’s office.

“Not your problem,” I assure him. “Nor is it mine. The fact he’s a misogynistic asshole is all on him.”

With that I head to my desk, stuff my copies of the missing persons file in my backpack, and head for the door.

“Heading home?” Betty calls out when I pass the open door to her office.

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