Jack straightened up noncommittally and beckoned to Corey Lambert, who walked over with a puzzled look.
"As far as I know, hunters are experts in trace tracking. Mr. Lambert, why don't you join us? If I say anything wrong, please point it out."
"? Is that appropriate?" Corey Lambert pointed to himself, sowhat surprised, and looked at the old sheriff on the other side.
The old sheriff seed indifferent. "Don't ask . You're not under my jurisdiction. If the FBI thinks it's okay, then it's fine."
"Alright, for God's sake." Corey Lambert shrugged and walked to the two n.
Although he tried to appear indifferent, Jack knew from his insistence on confirming the deceased's na that he wasn't as calm as he seed.
He ca to a spot about ten ters from the body, where a series of footprints of varying depths stretched into the distance.
"Because the girl was barefoot, and this is snow, we can clearly judge her walking posture with the naked eye."
"The front of her feet is very deep, while the heel is very shallow. Although the stride length isn't large, most of her footprints show this pattern from here on, indicating that the girl was running. She was exhausted, but she was still running."
Jack stood up again and walked further away. Jane and Corey Lambert hurriedly followed, and even the old sheriff, who had been chatting with his officers, caught up, panting.
Jack stopped when he was more than a hundred ters away from the body. The snow was uneven here, and he gently brushed off a thin layer of snow with his palm.
"She fell here. There's a large pool of blood here. It's not an external injury; it's the sa pool of blood as next to her body—it ca from her lungs."
"Mr. Lambert said that the temperature here at night can drop to minus 20 degrees Celsius. When a person inhales cold air for a long ti, the blood in their lungs freezes, ice crystals puncture the alveoli, and blood begins to fill the lungs little by little."
"So the girl started coughing up blood and eventually collapsed at the edge of the woods from suffocation."
After Jack finished speaking, he looked at Corey Lambert. "Mr. Lambert, is there anything to add?"
The hunter squinted at the distance. The tracks further away were completely covered by snow. He remained silent, seemingly recalling sothing. After a long while, he slowly spoke, his voice sowhat hoarse.
"She ran through the snow for a long ti. The nearest house is 3.5 miles away."
Jane also stared blankly in the direction the footprints extended, until a few snowflakes fell and crept into her collar, making her instinctively shrink her neck and shiver.
"How far do you think a girl like that could run barefoot in this environnt?"
Jack didn't answer. He couldn't fathom human potential, nor could forensic science provide an answer.
"I only know this girl. She's a tenacious fighter. So, no matter how far you think she can run, I guarantee she can run farther than you think."
Corey Lambert finished speaking and trudged towards his snowmobile. Jane, feeling inexplicably rebuffed, looked to Jack for help.
"Leave it to ." Jack silently mouthed to her, indicating that he would handle it.
"Where's the nearest house he ntioned?" As they walked back together, Jane patiently asked the old sheriff.
"Southeast, that's Sam's house." The old sheriff paused, then added, "A drug addict. I don't think he's involved. Natalie is a good girl; she wouldn't hang out with soone like that."
"So, in your opinion, why would a girl be here alone?" Jane pressed.
"Uh," the old sheriff glanced around, "Young people like to bring their ski gear out and have parties in the snow. Maybe sothing happened at the party."
"That's impossible, Ben. You know, these kids have lived together since they were little; they know each other well. Even if sothing happened, it's impossible for nothing to get out of them."
Corey Lambert, who was walking in front, retorted.
Jack quickly caught up and asked a digression, "Mr. Lambert, are you on good terms with the victim's family?"
"Why do you say that?" The hunter looked at him with surprise.
"You're a registered hunter with the Fish and Wildlife Service. One of your duties is to protect the people and farm animals here from predators."
"Obviously, the body isn't within your protection scope, and you're not a police officer with an obligation to protect the scene, but you stayed here all night and even killed a wolf."
Jack pointed to the fresh wolf pelt on the back of his snowmobile.
Corey Lambert opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to argue, but then gave up.
"Yes, I know Natalie's father well. Natalie used to be my daughter's best friend."
"Used to?" Jack's heart skipped a beat.
"Yes, used to." Corey Lambert's cheek twitched. "My daughter died three years ago."
"Sorry." Jack didn't press further. This information was enough for now. It wasn't ti to delve too deeply into such matters.
"What should we do next?" Back at the body, Jane asked Jack in a slightly worried and hesitant voice.
Jack smiled at the sowhat goofy female agent and replied in a low voice, "You shouldn't ask . I'm on leave right now. You're the one in charge."
"Okay." Jane took a deep breath, as if encouraging herself.
"Sheriff Shoyo, how's the forensic expertise here?"
The old sheriff sniffed, hands on his hips, as if considering how to phrase his question.
"Uh, let's put it this way, he's always very busy."
"After the cri scene investigation is completed, please have him transport the body back to Loughlin as soon as possible for an autopsy, prioritizing the assault examination. Please make sure she brings all her belongings with her; I need to see them later."
Jane spoke slowly and deliberately, choosing her words carefully. "My initial assessnt is that this is a murder, and I will report to my superiors as soon as possible."
The old sheriff seed relieved, nodding to indicate he understood. Clearly, he also hoped to transfer jurisdiction to the FBI rather than the Bureau of Indian Affairs.
Although Jack didn't know much about the Native Aricans, a minority group largely forgotten by mainstream North Arican society, he had heard of the departnt abbreviated as BIA.
Established in 1824, this departnt was initially under the War Departnt and nad the "Office of Indian Affairs," its role being self-evident.
To commorate the westward expansion, the descendants of the colonists built a large archway on the banks of the Mississippi River, known as the "Gateway to the West," the St. Louis Arch, taller than the Washington Monunt and the Statue of Liberty.
Of course, with the "progress" of the tis, this departnt, nominally protecting the rights of Native Aricans, finally began to employ a large number of people of Native Arican "ancestry" in the 1970s.
Therefore, it's understandable that the old sheriff, who appears to be at least half Native Arican, would exhibit such conflicting emotions.
From the anger and helplessness he felt when the FBI rely sent a rookie agent, to the hope that ignited upon learning Jack's identity, to the relief he felt upon finally hearing Jane confirm it was a murder case and jurisdiction would fall to the FBI, Jack felt both heartbroken and sympathetic.
In fact, when he hesitated to ntion how busy the forensic pathologist was, Jack could roughly guess how frequent the deaths were in the area.
Keep in mind that Wyoming's total population is less than 600,000, nearly 200,000 fewer than a portion of Alaska located within the Arctic Circle.
And Wind River Valley, a Native Arican reservation, is a truly wild and untad place.
In such a desolate place, the local sheriff claid the dical examiner was always busy, so the mortality rate in this reservation and the surrounding area was unimaginable.
Suddenly, the engine sputtered to life, and the hunter Corey Lambert pulled hard on the starter rope, getting his snowmobile going.
"Where are you going?" Jane called out.
"To see my son. I only have one day a week for visiting him; he lives with his mother," Corey replied loudly.
So the elderly Native Arican couple from the farm were his forr in-laws.
Jack had gained another interesting piece of information: judging from their previous interactions, he clearly maintained a good relationship with the two elderly people.
So what was the reason for his divorce? Jack recalled what he had said to Jane earlier; now, thinking back, he realized he hadn't so much been insulting her as he was venting his anger.
Was it this girl's death that reminded him of his own daughter?
Jack had more questions in his mind, and he planned to go back and have a serious talk with Alia.
"So, you'll have ti after tonight?" Jack stood smiling in front of Corey's snowmobile, blocking his way.
"He's busy" the cheerful old sheriff chid in. "He has another lion to hunt. That beast killed a steer on his father-in-law's farm a couple of days ago."
"It's three. A lioness with her two cubs is practicing hunting techniques. I've spotted them and will be done soon."
Corey unzipped his coat, opened a small bag hanging from his chest, and took out his phone to check the ti.
This was probably his trick for dealing with the cold in the wild, using body heat to prevent electronic devices from malfunctioning in low temperatures.
Jack didn't move aside but asked earnestly, "If it's not urgent, would you be willing to help hunt one more wild animal? Of course, it could also be a group."
Corey was slightly taken aback by this, then looked at the young man in disbelief, staring intently into his eyes, as if trying to confirm the truth of his words.
"Do you know what you're saying? You're an FBI agent."
Jack shrugged nonchalantly. "An FBI agent on vacation. You don't need to believe , just believe Alia."
Perhaps convinced by his last sentence, Corey didn't hesitate any longer, simply muttering "OK" before turning his snowmobile around and leaving.
Jack and Jane remained where they were, watching the forensic assistant and two reserve police officers use a chainsaw to separate the body from the frozen snow beneath it, finally placing it into a body bag.
Such a crude thod of separation might have been t with outrage and even profanity from professional forensic experts, but neither of them said anything, because ti was running out; dark clouds lood in the distance, another blizzard was imminent.
When Jack, driving the SUV Jane had rented, found the small hotel where he and Alia were staying, following the directions given by Braxton, the visibility outside the car had dropped to less than 3 ters.
Upon entering the hotel, the two found the environnt surprisingly pleasant. The lobby was filled with a dazzling array of tobacco and alcohol products—tax-free goods licensed by the federation as "compensation" to help develop the reservation's economy.
Of course, the well-known tribal casino is also a licensed operation. In fact, due to their extre remoteness, over 60% of reservations lack casinos altogether, as nobody cos.
Wind River Valley Reservation, for example, has no casino; nearby are several oil rigs leased by the Departnt of Energy, the only place where local young people can find work.
[A/n: This chapter has so much of OG author indirectly pointing US as bad, man, if you don't like it do it directly.
Your Ching Chong has more history of mass murders and killings than other countries. what? do you think your country's emperor was 'Naruto Uzumaki' who talks about peace, he is probably a psychotic killer than any one.
You are talking about natives killed, but just for building your Olympic stadium, nearly 800 people were killed. And you don't say a word about it.]
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