CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kari's eyes burned with fatigue as she scanned the moonlit expanse of Whipple Creek through her binoculars. The sandstone formations cast complex shadows across the landscape, making every shifting pattern of darkness a potential suspect approaching the site.
From their vantage point on the low ridge overlooking the stone arch—the exact location where Harold Miller's body had been discovered fifty years ago—she and Ben had a clear view of the most likely approach routes while remaining concealed behind a stand of juniper trees.
The medicine pouch Ruth had given her felt warm against her skin, a tangible connection to her grandfather who had once stood vigil in this same place, hunting the same predator.
"Four two-person teams deployed around the perimeter," Ben said, adjusting his night-vision binoculars.
"Begay and Wilson are stationed at the south entrance, Nez and Jackson covering the informal trail from the west, Howard and Martinez watching the ridge approach, and Captain Yazzie positioned himself with Officer Lee at the eastern overlook. "
"And Daniels?" Kari asked, still scanning the darkness.
"He's coordinating from the mobile command post we set up half a mile back, monitoring radio traffic and satellite imagery. Two of his FBI techs are running infrared surveillance from the higher ground north of us."
Kari nodded, satisfied with the coverage.
The operation had come together quickly but efficiently, with tribal police and FBI working in rare harmony thanks to the gravity of the situation.
They had closed the area to visitors, posting signage about "ongoing archaeological assessment" rather than announcing the true reason for the restriction.
The park rangers had been enlisted to redirect any hikers or tourists who might attempt to enter despite the warnings.
Not that night hiking was common here, anyway.
"Do you think our presence will deter the killer?" Ben asked, his voice low despite their isolation. "Or just push him to a different location?"
"I don't know," Kari admitted. "If he's following a specific ritual pattern, the location matters as much as the timing. Changing sites could disrupt whatever ceremonial significance these murders hold."
Ben nodded, his expression troubled in the dim light of their vehicle's muted display screens. "That's assuming our suspect is motivated by genuine ritual purpose rather than using traditional elements as cover for more conventional motives."
"Either way," Kari said, "he's demonstrated meticulous planning and environmental awareness. We need to assume he knows we're here and is watching for weaknesses in our coverage."
They fell into a companionable silence, the kind that develops between partners who trust each other's skills and judgment.
Occasionally, one of the patrol teams would radio a status update, their voices barely above whispers in the communications system.
So far, nothing had been detected beyond the natural movements of desert wildlife.
As midnight approached, Kari found her thoughts drifting back to Ruth's unexpected display of emotion.
Her grandmother had always been stoic, maintaining an emotional distance that sometimes felt impenetrable.
To see her so openly concerned had unsettled Kari more than any warning about unnamed dangers.
"What's on your mind?" Ben asked, noticing her distraction. "You've been checking that medicine pouch every few minutes."
Kari hadn't realized she'd been unconsciously touching the leather pouch Ruth had given her—Joseph's pouch, carried during the original investigation.
"It's Ruth," she admitted. "When I saw her earlier, she seemed not just worried but truly afraid. Sentimental, too. She actually told me I was precious to her—in those exact words."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like the Ruth Chee I know. She usually communicates affection through extra food and stern advice."
"Exactly," Kari said. "Something about this case is getting to her. She performed a full purification ceremony before I arrived, and she was burning protection herbs when I left. It was like..." She searched for the right words. "Like she was preparing for something terrible to happen."
"Did she give you any concrete information about what's troubling her?"
"She admitted she knew one of the original victims—a woman named Laura Yellowhair, who had been her friend. Apparently, Laura was documenting medicinal plants before she was killed. But when I pressed for details about the killer, Ruth shut down. Said some evil shouldn't be named or remembered."
Ben was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the moonlit landscape below.
"My uncle Hastiin once told me something similar," he said finally.
"During my first year on the force, we responded to a situation at an elderly man's house.
The man had been behaving strangely, talking to people no one else could see, drawing symbols on his walls with charcoal. When we arrived, he was catatonic."
Kari watched Ben, noting the unusual hesitation in his normally confident demeanor.
"The medical evaluation showed no physical cause," he continued.
"But one of the paramedics pulled me aside, showed me something.
The old man had covered his arms with the same symbols that were on the walls—concentric circles with lines radiating outward, like a doorway or portal.
They were drawn so carefully, so uniformly, that it didn't seem possible for human hands, especially an elderly man with arthritis. "
Ben shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes still fixed on the landscape below them.
"Three days later, I mentioned the case to my uncle, described the symbols.
He recognized the man's name immediately and turned pale.
Told me to burn the shirt I'd worn that day and wash with cedar.
Said the old man had been a respected medicine person until he began exploring ceremonial sites alone at night, claiming he could hear voices calling from inside the rock.
My uncle warned me not to speak of him again.
Said some knowledge comes with a price, and the old man had paid it by looking too deeply into things meant to remain hidden. "
"What happened to him?" Kari asked. "The old man, I mean."
"He recovered enough to function, but he was never the same.
Lived another three years, barely speaking, always keeping his back to walls so nothing could approach from behind.
" Ben shrugged, though the casual gesture couldn't disguise his discomfort.
"I always dismissed it as dementia or mental illness, but my uncle and the other elders treated him with a kind of cautious respect, like someone who had survived something they understood but couldn't explain to outsiders. "
"You think Ruth's fears are similar?" Kari asked. "That whatever Joseph discovered was something that changes people permanently?"
"I think—" Ben began, but his response was cut short by the crackle of the radio.
"Command, this is Cottonwood Wash checkpoint," came an urgent male voice Kari recognized as Officer Wilson's. "We have a suspicious subject who just evaded our patrol. Individual fled when approached for questioning."
Kari and Ben immediately straightened, all personal reflections forgotten as they focused on the developing situation.
Daniels's voice cut in. "All units be advised, we have potential suspect activity at secondary location. Cottonwood Wash team in pursuit. Requesting immediate backup while maintaining primary site security."
Kari and Ben exchanged concerned glances. Cottonwood Wash was the fourth location in the original murder sequence—not where they expected activity tonight if the killer was following the historical pattern precisely.
"It could be a diversion," Ben said, voicing what they were both thinking. "Draw resources away from Whipple Creek while the real attack happens here."
"Or they realized we're watching Whipple Creek and adapted their plan," Kari countered. "Either way, we can't ignore a potential sighting."
"Cottonwood Wash suspect is confirmed heading into the restricted canyon area," Wilson added in a separate transmission. "We're in pursuit but requesting additional personnel familiar with the terrain."
Captain Yazzie's voice came through, authoritative despite the late hour. "Blackhorse, Tsosie—proceed to Cottonwood Wash. I'll maintain command here with Teams One through Three. Daniels, can you redirect any FBI personnel to support?"
"Affirmative," Daniels replied. "Sending two agents from the command post now, but they're at least fifteen minutes out."
Kari started the engine, and her decision was made. "We're en route to Cottonwood Wash," she said, turning their vehicle toward the access road. "ETA twelve minutes."
As they sped through the darkness, Ben pulled up a topographical map on the vehicle's computer.
"Wilson and his partner were stationed at the main entrance," he said.
"If the suspect fled into the canyon, there are three potential exit routes—the south rim trail, the dry creek bed that leads to the old mining road, or the narrow passage through Thunder Rock. "
"The mining road is the easiest escape route," Kari said, navigating the winding reservation roads with practiced skill. "But Thunder Rock offers better concealment, especially at night."
"I'm thinking the same," Ben agreed. "The passage is difficult to navigate unless you know it well, but it connects to a network of smaller canyons where someone could effectively disappear."
They reached Cottonwood Wash in eleven minutes, parking at the checkpoint where a single tribal police cruiser remained. Officer Clark, who had stayed behind to maintain the secure perimeter, quickly briefed them as they checked their equipment—flashlights, service weapons, and radios.