Police in America

"Yes, I can't classify this as murder," the coroner said, anticipating their reactions.

Jane was incredulous. "She was raped multiple times, beaten during it, and you're not considering any of this?"

"Judging the scene is your field, not mine. Let me... let me explain it to you."

"No, I don't need that kind of explanation."

Seeing that Jane was about to argue with the coroner, Jack was ready to intervene and stop her from losing her cool, but the coroner stood up abruptly.

He didn't respond to Jane's aggressive attitude but simply raised his voice slightly.

"All this evidence can be used to prosecute for murder. That's obvious. She wouldn't have been running in the snow if she hadn't been attacked. But it's not my job to make those assumptions, do you understand?"

"I can't classify this case as murder!"

Jane was distraught. "If I can't classify this as murder, I can't get the FBI to investigate the reservation. Do you understand?"

"I don't have the authority to handle this case. I'm just here to determine the cause of death, write a report, and then let someone with the authority to handle it take over."

"Like this guy next to me," Jane said, glancing at Jack, who looked innocent. She seemed to understand why he kept insisting he was on vacation from the start.

"Neither rape nor assault falls under the FBI's jurisdiction. That's all handled by the BIA."

This was a chicken-or-egg problem. If the coroner wrote on the death certificate that the victim died from a gunshot, strangulation, or fatal beating, the FBI would immediately have jurisdiction.

But the problem now was that although there was plenty of evidence to suggest this was a murder case, the coroner could only list pulmonary hemorrhage as the cause of death on the certificate.

As a result, the case would be handed over to the BIA, who would decide whether to let the local tribal police handle it or seek assistance from the FBI.

If the BIA were an efficient, highly effective government agency truly serving the Native Americans on the reservation, Jane and Jack wouldn't have seen so many upside-down American flags on their way to the police station.

To make an improper comparison, the smallest federal state is Rhode Island, with a total area of 4,000 square kilometers, roughly equivalent to what Chief Ben Shoy's tribal police force has to oversee in Wind River Ridge.

And just recently, when Jack and Jane walked into this tribal police station, there were only seven officer photos on the wall.

In other words, rounding up, Chief Ben Shoy and his six subordinates were responsible for the security of an entire state.

This was an exaggeration, but they had seen how impoverished this tribal police station was. Given such a vast area to oversee, they didn't even have a helicopter.

Clearly, without FBI involvement, with the limited resources of the tribal police, this case would likely become a cold case after the initial investigation and be permanently filed away.

"We all know this is a murder case," said Randy Whitehurst, the coroner, spreading his hands, indicating his helplessness.

"I'd be happy to testify if the federal prosecutor approves it, but I can't put it on the death certificate."

"Forget it," Jane said, disheartened. She gave him a slight bow, thanked him with a hint of sarcasm, and then stormed out of the autopsy room.

The old chief quickly followed her out, while Jack, unhurried, extended his hand to the coroner.

"Dr. Whitehurst, it's clear you're a very professional coroner. I have a few unofficial questions I'd like to ask. From your experience over the years..."

When Jack finally gathered the data he wanted, he left the autopsy room with a satisfied smile. He found Jane sulking in a chair in the hallway, with the old chief keeping her company.

"Agent Banner, I appreciate your enthusiasm. Usually, FBI agents aren't like this. But Randy is on our side."

The chief implied that Jane had directed her anger at the wrong person.

Jane let out a long breath, shaking her head slightly. "If my superiors see this autopsy report, they'll send me back to Vegas immediately. I won't be able to help at all. I'm just one person, and..."

She glanced at Jack, who maintained his smile while looking at his phone. His words, however, carried a sarcastic tone.

"So, you're planning to give up? Should I congratulate you, Agent Jane Banner, on your compromise with this outdated, corrupt bureaucracy?"

After his snide comment, Jack ignored Jane's attempt to bore holes into him with her glare and turned to the old chief.

"I'm not familiar with tribal police procedures. Isn't it usually time to visit the victim's family and learn more about them?"

"Yes, should we go now?" The old chief seemed to pick up on something, looking at Jack with a more meaningful gaze.

"I remember we met a hunter yesterday who's familiar with the victim's family. Chief Shoy, would you mind asking him to join us? It might help build some trust."

Given Aaliyah's presence, these things shouldn't have been a problem. But Braxton had just informed him that the young couple had been locked outside by Aaliyah and Natalie's father, Mr. Hanson, and had been freezing in the snow for over two hours.

"Of course, there's some business I need to handle at the station. Give me 20 minutes, and I'll call Cory on the way," the old chief said before hurrying off, seemingly reinvigorated.

Though aware the chief might have misunderstood, it didn't matter. As long as they could find the real culprit and solve the case, Jack believed this diligent reservation officer would understand.

Feeling a light kick on his calf, Jack turned to see a still sullen Jane, her brows tightly knitted together.

"You said I was in charge, that I'd be the one responsible."

Jack sighed heavily, a bit helpless. "So, have you figured it out?"

Jane blinked innocently, seemingly not grasping his meaning.

Jack showed a look of frustration. "Do you know what the right thing to do is when you're stuck in an inescapable bureaucratic system?"

"Stick to... your beliefs?" Jane responded hesitantly, not fully understanding what he meant.

"In Las Vegas, even if you only did errands every day, you must have interacted with plenty of departments, right?"

Jack said irritably, "Do you know how long it takes for the FBI's crime lab in Las Vegas to issue an official autopsy report on a body?"

"Uh... a week?" Jane seemed to be catching on to what he was trying to say.

"Are you saying... I might have a week to continue investigating without worrying about being recalled?"

"No, you'll get a call tomorrow from your boss telling you to return to Las Vegas because you offended the only licensed coroner here, so he's decided to work overtime and submit the official report today."

Seeing Jane's shocked expression, Jack grinned, pleased with his little prank.

___________________

Read Ahead

[email protected]/Mutter