CHAPTER SEVEN #2
Paul ignored the comment. "James spent twenty years in the Bureau's Behavioral Analysis Unit.
He knows how cover-ups are constructed, how to find the weak points, how to build cases that can't be buried.
And more than that, he knew Anna. He knew how she thought, how she organized information, how she made connections.
If anyone can look at her research and find what we're missing, it's him. "
Paul paused. "I spoke to him, Kari. After Ben went missing. I wanted to see if he had any insights into the corporate structures we've been trying to untangle."
Kari looked up sharply. "You called my father?"
Paul didn't flinch from her gaze. "He's been following what's happening. He knows about Ben, about the investigation being shut down, about all of it. And he's worried. About the case, and about you."
"If he's so worried, he could pick up the phone himself."
"He's afraid you'll say no. He's afraid he's burned too many bridges, made too many excuses, and now when he finally wants to help, you won't let him." Paul's voice softened. "He's not wrong to be afraid of that, is he?"
Kari didn't answer. Images surfaced unbidden: her father's office at the university, with its careful organization and methodical filing systems. The thumb drive he'd pressed into her hand, containing all of her mother's work.
The look on his face when he'd admitted he should have listened to Anna while she was alive.
And then there was Linda—the woman who had become part of her father's new life. Kind enough, from what Kari had seen, but a reminder that James had moved forward while Anna had died still trying to expose a conspiracy that no one else believed in.
"Even if I agreed to this," Kari said slowly, "how would it work? He's got his job, his responsibilities. He can't just drop everything to chase leads on a case that's officially closed."
"He doesn't have to drop everything. He just needs to look at what we have—Anna's research, Ben's account of what he saw, the corporate records I've been able to pull together.
Fresh eyes, a new perspective, someone who can see patterns we might be missing.
" Paul spread his hands. "If he finds something useful, we figure out the next steps.
If he doesn't, we're no worse off than we are now. "
Kari turned her coffee cup in circles, watching the dark liquid swirl. Part of her wanted to refuse on principle—wanted to prove that she didn't need her father.
But another part of her remembered what Ben had looked like on that ridge, beaten and dehydrated and barely conscious.
Remembered the fear in his voice when he'd talked about the men who had interrogated him, the certainty that someone inside law enforcement was working with the conspiracy.
Remembered her mother's face in the photograph on her desk, Anna's smile frozen in time while her killers walked free.
This wasn't about pride. It wasn't about proving anything. It was about finding the truth and making someone pay for all the lives that had been destroyed.
If her father could help with that—if his analytical mind and his knowledge of federal systems could find the crack in the conspiracy's armor—then Kari's personal feelings didn't matter. Not anymore.
"I'll think about it," she said. The words felt like a concession, like admitting a weakness she didn't want to acknowledge.
Paul nodded, relief flickering briefly across his weathered features. "That's all I'm asking."
She held up a warning finger. "That's not a yes. And I want to be clear—if I do this, it's not because I've forgiven him for checking out when my mother needed him most. I haven't."
"Understood."
"And if he lets me down again—if he decides halfway through that this is too complicated or too dangerous or too inconvenient for his comfortable life in Flagstaff—"
"Then you'll deal with that if it happens. But I don't think it will." Paul's voice was quiet but certain. "Guilt is a powerful motivator, Kari. And your father has been carrying a lot of it for a long time. This might be his chance to do something with it besides letting it eat him alive."
Kari wasn't sure she believed that. Wasn't sure she believed anything about her father anymore—the man who had been her hero when she was young, who had taught her to think logically and question assumptions and never accept easy answers.
The man who had watched her mother walk away and hadn't followed, who had built a new life while Anna had dedicated herself to exposing a conspiracy that eventually got her killed.
But she filed Paul's words away, let them sit alongside her doubts and frustrations, and told herself she'd sort through all of it later. Right now, she had more immediate concerns.
Her phone buzzed, breaking the tension. She glanced at the screen—dispatch.
"Blackhorse," she answered.
"Detective, we've got a report of a body found out near the Yazzie sheep trail, off 191. Caller is a teenage boy, Danny Begay—he's at the Conoco station waiting for someone to take his statement. Says he found a woman lying in the desert, not breathing. He's pretty shaken up."
Kari sat up straighter, her conversation with Paul instantly pushed to the back of her mind. "Any other details?"
"He said she was wearing running clothes. That's all we got before he started losing it. Patrol is twenty minutes out, but Captain Yazzie thought you'd want to handle this one personally given your caseload."
"Tell the kid to stay put. I'm fifteen minutes away." Kari slid out of the booth. "And make sure nobody else goes out to the scene until I get there."
"Copy that, Detective."
She ended the call and met Paul's eyes. He had straightened in his seat, watching her intently.
"Never stops, does it?" he asked.
"Not when you want it to." She paused at the edge of the booth. "I'll think about what you said. About my father. But right now, I've got a body to process."
He said nothing. She headed for the door, leaving Paul alone with his coffee and the ghost of Johnny Cash still drifting from the jukebox.