Police in America

Jack straightened up without expressing any opinion and waved over Cory Lambert, who walked over with a puzzled look on his face.

"As far as I know, hunters are experts in tracking. Mr. Lambert, why don't you join us? If I make any mistakes, please point them out."

"Me? Is that appropriate?" Cory Lambert asked in surprise, pointing at himself and glancing at the old sheriff on the other side.

The old sheriff seemed indifferent. "Don't ask me; you're not under my jurisdiction. If the FBI thinks it's okay, then it's fine."

"Alright, for God's sake." Cory Lambert shrugged and walked over to stand beside them.

Although he tried to put on a nonchalant appearance, Jack could tell from his earlier insistence on confirming the victim's name that he wasn't as calm as he seemed on the surface.

He walked over to a spot about ten meters from the body, where a series of footprints, varying in depth, stretched into the distance.

"Because the girl was barefoot and the ground is snowy, we can easily judge her movement pattern by eye."

"The front part of the footprints is deep, and the heel part is very shallow. Although the stride is not wide, from here on, most of the footprints show this pattern, indicating that the girl was running continuously. She was exhausted but still running."

Jack stood up again and walked further. Jane and Cory Lambert quickly followed, and even the old sheriff, who had been chatting with his subordinates earlier, came up, panting.

Jack stopped only when he reached a spot more than a hundred meters from the body. The snow here was uneven, and he gently brushed away a thin layer of snow with his hand.

"She fell here, and there's a large bloodstain. It's not from an external injury; it's the same as the bloodstain next to her body, coming from her lungs."

"Mr. Lambert said that the temperature here at night can drop to minus 4 degrees Fahrenheit (about minus 20 degrees Celsius). When someone inhales cold air for a long time, the blood in the lungs freezes, ice shards pierce the alveoli, and blood begins to fill the lungs."

"So the girl started coughing up blood and eventually suffocated, collapsing at the edge of the woods."

After Jack finished speaking, he looked at Cory Lambert. "Mr. Lambert, do you have anything to add?"

The hunter squinted into the distance. The further footprints were completely covered by snow. He was silent, as if recalling something, and after a long while, he slowly spoke, his voice somewhat rough.

"She ran a long way in the snow. The nearest house is 3.5 miles from here."

Jane also stared blankly in the direction the footprints extended, only snapping out of it when a few snowflakes fell down her collar, making her shrink her neck and shiver.

"Do you think a girl like her, barefoot in these conditions, could run far?"

Jack didn't answer. He couldn't guess human potential, and forensic science couldn't provide him with that answer.

Historically, only during World War II did the inhumane Japanese perform experiments on ordinary civilians and captured Russian soldiers to test human endurance in extreme cold conditions.

"I only know that this girl was a tenacious fighter. So, no matter how far you think she could run, I guarantee she could run farther than you think."

After Cory Lambert said this, he trudged through the snow back to his snowmobile.

Jane, once again inexplicably rebuffed, looked to Jack for help.

"I'll handle it." Jack mouthed silently to her, indicating that he would take care of it.

"Where's the nearest house he mentioned?" As they walked back, Jane asked the old sheriff with as much patience as she could muster.

"Southeast, that's Sam's house." The old sheriff paused, then added, "A drug addict obsessed with narcotics. I don't think he has anything to do with this. Natalie was a good girl and wouldn't mix with someone like him."

"So, in your opinion, why would a girl be out here alone?" Jane pressed.

"Uh..." The old sheriff looked around. "Young people like to bring their ski gear out and party in the snow. Maybe something went wrong at one of those parties."

"That's impossible, Ben. You know these kids have grown up together. Even if something did happen, there's no way no word would get out," Cory Lambert, who was walking in front, retorted.

Jack hurried to catch up with him and asked an unrelated question, "Mr. Lambert, were you close to the victim's family?"

"Why do you ask?" The hunter looked at him in surprise.

"You're a registered hunter with the USFWS (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service). One of your duties is to protect people here and the animals on farms from predators."

"Clearly, the body isn't within your protection range, and you're not a cop, so you have no obligation to secure the scene. Yet you stayed here all night and even shot a wolf."

Jack pointed to the fresh wolf pelt on the back of Lambert's snowmobile.

Cory Lambert opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to argue, but then gave up.

"Yes, I was close with Natalie's father. Natalie used to be my daughter's best friend."

"Used to be?" Jack's interest was piqued.

"Yes, used to be." Cory Lambert's face twitched. "My daughter died three years ago."

"I'm sorry." Jack didn't continue to press; he had enough information for now. Though he was curious about "Hawkeye," now wasn't the time to delve into it.

"So, what's our next move?" Back at the body, Jane asked Jack in a low voice, worried about making a mistake.

Jack smiled at the somewhat naive agent and whispered back, "You shouldn't ask me. I'm on vacation; you're the one in charge."

"Alright." Jane took a deep breath, seemingly to muster courage.

"Sheriff Shaw, how competent is your coroner?"

The old sheriff sniffed, hands on his hips, seemingly pondering how to phrase his response.

"Well... let's just say he's always busy."

"After the scene is secured, have him transport the body to Loveland for an autopsy as soon as possible, prioritizing a sexual assault examination. Please also bring along her personal belongings; I'll need to review everything."

Jane spoke slowly and carefully. "I'm preliminarily ruling this as a homicide and will report to my superiors immediately."

The old sheriff seemed relieved and nodded, indicating his understanding. Clearly, he was also eager to transfer jurisdiction to the FBI rather than the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA).

Although Jack wasn't very familiar with Native Americans, a minority group largely forgotten by mainstream American society, he had heard a bit about the BIA.

This department, established in 1824 and initially part of the Department of War as the "Office of Indian Affairs," had a clear purpose.

Six years after its establishment, in 1830, Congress passed the Indian Removal Act, the first time the U.S. officially recognized Native Americans as people.

When the famous westward expansion began in 1838, the "Five Civilized Tribes"—the Choctaw, Seminole, Creek, Chickasaw, and Cherokee—were forcibly relocated westward.

Many women and children died along the way, with death rates ranging from 30% to 50% among the tribes. This forced migration became known as the "Trail of Tears."

The Seminole tribe, which resisted relocation, was nearly wiped out after three wars. Today, a small reservation remains in the Florida swamps.

To commemorate the westward expansion, descendants of the colonists built a large arch on the banks of the Mississippi River, the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, which is taller than the Washington Monument and the Statue of Liberty. It's both beautiful and grand.

Of course, with the "progress" of the times, the BIA began hiring employees with Native American "blood" in large numbers in the 1970s.

However, even today, the BIA, as the "boss of all Indian reservations," continues to favor non-Native American interests in disputes over the development of reservation resources.

Not to mention that the BIA once, under the guise of "Indian Health Services," forcibly sterilized Native American women, forced Native American children into boarding schools under the pretense of education, and even "fostered" them into white families.

From 1819 to 1969, according to federal government statistics, at least 40,000 children died in these boarding schools and were buried without proper rites.

So it's understandable why the old sheriff, who appeared to be of at least half Native American descent, would have such conflicted emotions.

From the frustration and helplessness he felt when he realized the FBI had only sent a rookie agent, to the hope he felt when he learned of Jack's identity.

Now, finally hearing Jane confirm that this was a homicide and that the FBI would take over jurisdiction, the sheriff's look of relief stirred both sympathy and sadness in Jack.

In fact, when the sheriff hesitated and mentioned that the coroner was always busy, Jack could guess how frequent death cases were locally.

Wyoming has a total population of less than 600,000, which is nearly 200,000 fewer than Alaska, part of which lies within the Arctic Circle.

And Wind River Valley, this Indian reservation, is wilderness within wilderness.

In such a remote place, the fact that the local sheriff says the coroner is always busy speaks volumes about the death rate in this reservation and the surrounding areas.

The sound of an engine suddenly roared to life as Cory Lambert forcefully pulled the starter cord on his snowmobile.

"Where are you going?" Jane shouted.

"To see my son. I only get one day a week for visitation. He lives with his mother." Cory Lambert shouted back

.

So, the elderly Native American couple from the farm earlier were his former in-laws.

Jack had just gained an interesting piece of information. From their previous interactions, it was clear that his relationship with the elderly couple remained good.

So, what was the reason for his divorce? Jack recalled what he had said to Jane earlier. In hindsight, it seemed less like he was lashing out and more like he was venting his inner frustration.

Did this girl's death remind him of his own daughter?

Jack had more questions. He planned to have a good talk with Alya when he got back.

"So, after tonight, you'll be free?" Jack asked with a smile, standing in front of Cory's snowmobile and blocking his path.

"He's a busy man," the now cheerful sheriff chimed in. "He's got a lion to hunt. That beast killed a steer on his father-in-law's farm the other day."

"Three, actually. A mother lion with her two cubs practicing hunting skills. I've already tracked them and will deal with them soon."

Cory unzipped his jacket, opened a small pouch on his chest, and pulled out his phone to check the time.

This was likely his trick for coping with the cold, using body heat to prevent electronic devices from failing in low temperatures.

Jack didn't move out of the way. Instead, he sincerely asked, "If it's not urgent, would you be willing to help me track another beast? It might be a single one or a pack."

Cory was slightly stunned upon hearing this and looked at the young man before him in disbelief. He stared into Jack's eyes as if trying to determine whether he was serious.

"Do you know what you're saying? You're an FBI agent."

Jack shrugged nonchalantly. "An FBI agent on vacation. You don't have to trust me; just trust Alya."

Perhaps it was Jack's final words that convinced him. Cory didn't hesitate any longer and simply replied with a low "OK" before turning his snowmobile around and leaving.

Jack and Jane stayed behind, watching as the coroner's assistant and two reservation police officers used a chainsaw to separate the body from the ice and snow beneath it, finally placing it in a body bag.

If professional forensic experts had witnessed this crude separation method, they might have been heartbroken or even furious. But neither Jack nor Jane said anything because time was running out; dark clouds loomed in the distance, and another snowstorm was imminent.

By the time Jack drove the SUV Jane had rented to the small motel where Braxton and Alya were staying, following the directions Braxton had given, visibility outside had dropped to less than three meters.

Upon entering the motel, they found the environment unexpectedly decent. The lobby was filled with a variety of tobacco and alcohol products, tax-free goods authorized by the government as "compensation" to help the reservation's economy.

Of course, Indian casinos were also among the authorized enterprises. In fact, due to their remoteness, more than 60% of reservations lacked casinos because no one would come.

The Wind River Valley reservation was no exception, with no casinos nearby. The only places offering jobs to young people were a few oil rigs leased for development by the Department of Energy.

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