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As the medical examiner’s team worked, Kari pulled Tsosie aside.

“We need to split up,” she said.“One of us should go to Flagstaff, talk to his colleagues, search his office and home.The other needs to stay here, coordinate the evidence collection, and interview the hikers who found him.”

Tsosie nodded.“You should go to Flagstaff.You know the university, the urban environment.I’ll handle things here, talk to the local rangers, see if anyone noticed anything unusual in the past few days.”

It was the logical division of labor, playing to their respective strengths, but Kari sensed there was more to Tsosie’s suggestion.

“You want to talk to the elders,” she said.It wasn’t a question.

Tsosie met her gaze directly.“The ceremonial elements concern me.If someone’s using our sacred practices as… theater for murder, the elders need to know.”

“Keep it discreet,” Kari said.“Captain wants the ceremonial aspects kept quiet for now.”

“That won’t be possible for long,” Tsosie said.“Word travels fast out here.”

“Just do what you can.”Kari looked back at the body, now being carefully placed in a black bag.“I’ll head to Flagstaff as soon as we wrap up here.See what I can learn about why Dr.Harrington was in this specific location.”

“Be careful there,” Tsosie said unexpectedly.

Kari gave him a questioning look.

“Daniels will be watching you,” he clarified.“Testing you.The prodigal daughter who rejected the FBI for local police work, now back on tribal land.”

The assessment was surprisingly perceptive.“I can handle Daniels,” she said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Tsosie said.“Just remember whose side you’re on.”

The comment stung more than it should have.“I know exactly whose side I’m on, Detective.”

Tsosie nodded, accepting this without argument.“We should finish processing the scene.Heat’s only going to get worse.”

They returned to their methodical documentation—photographing, bagging evidence, searching the wider area for anything that might have been missed.The work was familiar to Kari, a procedural rhythm that helped compartmentalize the brutality of what had happened here.

As the sun climbed higher, casting shorter shadows across the red stone, Kari found herself repeatedly drawn back to the peculiar arrangement of the body.The peaceful positioning seemed a stark, deliberate contrast to the violence that had preceded it—as if the killer had wanted to make a statement.

Or perform a ritual.

The thought sent an unexpected chill through her despite the desert heat.Her grandmother’s voice seemed to whisper at the edge of her consciousness:Some things shouldn’t be discussed in the open air.The land hears.It remembers.

Kari pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the concrete evidence before her.Whatever had happened to Mark Harrington, the answers wouldn’t be found in superstition or old stories.They would be revealed by careful investigation through the methodical accumulation of facts and evidence.

That was the path she had chosen—the world of forensic science and investigative procedure, not the realm of spirits and ceremonies that her grandmother inhabited.It was the path that had served her well in Phoenix, that had earned her that eighty-nine percent clearance rate Tsosie had mentioned.

And yet, as the body of Mark Harrington was finally zipped into its bag and carried away, Kari couldn’t shake the feeling that this case might require understanding of both worlds—the one she had embraced and the one she had left behind.

“I’ll get a ride with Dr.Hatathli back to the station, get my car.I’ll call you when I reach Flagstaff,” she said to Tsosie as they packed up their equipment.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful.“Watch for patterns,” he said.“In what his colleagues tell you, in what his research focused on.”

“Always do,” Kari replied.

“And Blackhorse?”Tsosie added as she turned to go.“Whoever—whatever did this… it might not be finished.”

The warning stayed with her as she drove away from Canyon de Chelly, the image of Mark Harrington’s broken body burned in her mind like a brand.

CHAPTER FOUR

As Kari navigated the streets of downtown Flagstaff, memories surfaced unbidden—weekday afternoons with her father after school, Saturday mornings at Macy’s Coffeehouse, the years when this city had been half of her divided childhood.Her father still lived here, and the possibility of running into him—unlikely, but still possible—made her uneasy.

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