CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The call from Maria Santos came at six in the morning, pulling Kari from a restless sleep where she'd been dreaming about endless desert and runners who wouldn't stop running no matter how many times she shouted for them to slow down.
"Tell me you're awake," Maria said.
Kari sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I am now."
"We got a hit on surveillance footage. You need to see this."
Twenty minutes later, Kari was in her vehicle, driving toward the Phoenix PD headquarters. Maria had sounded excited on the phone, and that in turn excited Kari. Caffeine couldn't hold a candle to the energy she got from a break in the case.
Maria met her at the entrance, looking like she'd been up all night. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her posture radiated energy. "Traffic cameras and trailhead monitoring. We've been reviewing footage from every location where our victims started their final runs."
"And?"
"And we found the same vehicle at two different locations.
" Maria led Kari through the building to a conference room where a laptop sat open on the table, surveillance footage frozen on the screen.
"This is the Bulldog Trailhead, where Jordan Rodriguez parked his car before his training run. Three weeks ago, Friday morning."
She clicked play. The footage showed the parking area at dawn, a handful of vehicles scattered across the lot.
A white SUV pulled in at 5:47 AM, parking three spaces away from what Maria indicated was Rodriguez's truck.
The driver didn't get out—the vehicle just sat there for several minutes before pulling away.
"Okay," Kari said slowly, thinking. "Maybe someone else getting ready for a run?"
"Watch this." Maria pulled up a second video. "Mesquite Wash Trailhead, where Jessica Ramirez started her last run. Two weeks ago, Thursday morning."
The footage was similar—dawn light, scattered vehicles, and the same white SUV pulling into the lot at 6:02 AM. This time it parked directly next to a Honda Civic that Maria identified as Jessica's vehicle. Again, the driver didn't emerge. After five minutes, the SUV left.
"Same vehicle, same pattern. Arrives shortly after our victims, doesn't appear to be there for running or hiking, leaves after a few minutes."
"How did we get lucky enough to have footage from both locations?"
"Most trailheads have cameras now because of vandalism and theft problems. They're not monitored in real-time, but the footage gets stored.
" Maria pulled up a third video. "And this is the clincher.
Jennifer Hayes's vehicle was found at the McDowell Mountain Regional Park trailhead. Guess what shows up on surveillance?"
The white SUV, same timeline, same behavior.
Kari leaned closer to the screen, trying to make out any identifying details. "Can you enhance the plates?"
"Already did." Maria pulled up a zoomed image of the license plate, slightly grainy but readable. "Vehicle is registered to the Sonoran 100 Race Organization. Specifically, it's listed as one of their utility vehicles used for course-marking and volunteer transport."
Kari stood up straighter, instantly alert. "Cedric Dalton's organization."
Maria nodded.
"That means Dalton had access to this vehicle," Kari said slowly, working through it. "But so did anyone else working with the race organization, right?"
"That's the question." Maria pulled up a file on her computer. "I did some digging into Dalton's background while I was waiting for you. The man's got financial problems—significant ones."
Kari listened as Maria detailed the loans, the maxed credit cards, the mortgage arrears.
Each piece of information added weight to a picture she didn't want to see taking shape.
She'd liked Cedric Dalton during their interview.
He'd seemed genuine in his grief, authentic in his concern for the ultra-marathon community.
But grief didn't preclude guilt. Some of the worst killers she'd encountered had regretted what they'd done—but kept doing it anyway.
"So he's desperate for money," Kari said, though the word felt inadequate. "But how does that tie in with the murders?"
Maria leaned back in her chair, frowning. "That's what I can't figure out. How does killing elite runners help him financially? If anything, it's destroying his race. People are talking about boycotting the Sonoran 100."
Kari stood, needing to move while she thought.
She paced the small conference room, aware of Maria watching her work through the puzzle.
"Unless that's not the primary motive. What if the financial problems just made him vulnerable to something else?
Someone paying him to do something that ended up involving murder? "
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet." And that was the frustrating part. They had evidence of Dalton's vehicle at every crime scene, evidence of his financial desperation, but the connecting logic remained elusive. "We need to talk to him. See how he reacts when we show him this footage."
Kari thought about Ben, about his warning that pushing too hard on the Naalnish case had nearly gotten him killed. There was such a thing as moving too fast, spooking suspects before you had enough evidence to actually charge them.
But there was also such a thing as moving too slowly, giving killers time to destroy evidence or claim more victims.
"We tell him we're following up on the vehicle angle," Kari decided.
"Show him the footage, see if he recognizes the driver or can account for who had access to the SUV on those specific days.
Keep it professional, not accusatory. Give him the chance to explain.
If he can't, then we have probable cause to dig deeper into his finances, his communications, his movements.
" Kari checked her watch. "Where is he likely to be right now? "
"According to his schedule, he should be at the race organization office by now." Maria pulled up the address. "That might actually work in our favor. Official setting, other people around, less likely to feel cornered."
They took Maria's vehicle, driving through Phoenix as the morning traffic built toward rush hour chaos.
"What would push someone like Dalton to murder?" Kari asked, partly to Maria and partly to herself.
"Same things that push anyone. Money, fear, desperation." Maria navigated around a slow-moving truck. "Or maybe protection. What if someone threatened something he cares about and murder was the price of keeping it safe?"
The Sonoran 100 office was right where Dalton had said it would be—a strip mall off Camelback Road, wedged between a yoga studio and a nutrition store.
The kind of space that screamed nonprofit organization operating on a shoestring budget.
A banner in the window advertised the upcoming race, though someone had added a handwritten sign beneath it: "Registration temporarily suspended due to ongoing investigation. "
Inside the office were cluttered desks, walls covered with photos from past races, equipment piled in corners. Cedric Dalton sat at a computer in the back, and when he looked up and saw them, his eyes narrowed.
"Detectives," he said, standing. "This is… unexpected."
"We have some follow-up questions," Maria said. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?"
Dalton glanced toward a small office in the corner. "My office. Though 'private' is relative—the walls are pretty thin."
They followed him into a cramped space barely large enough for a desk and two chairs. Dalton remained standing, leaning against the desk in a posture that tried for casual but read as defensive to Kari's trained eye.
Maria pulled up the surveillance footage on her phone. "Do you recognize this vehicle?"
Dalton looked at the screen, and Kari watched his face carefully. The color drained from his cheeks. "That's one of our utility vehicles. We use it for course marking and transporting volunteers."
"Can you tell us who would have had access to this vehicle on these specific dates?" Maria showed him the timestamps from all three trailhead visits.
"I'd have to check our logs, but..." Dalton trailed off, his expression troubled. "We have a lot of volunteers. A lot of people who help with race preparation. The vehicles get used pretty regularly."
"The same vehicle appears at three separate trailheads on three separate mornings," Kari said, keeping her voice neutral. "The same mornings that Jordan Rodriguez, Jessica Ramirez, and Jennifer Hayes began their final training runs."
"Well… that's interesting, to say the least." Dalton fell silent, as if his mind had wandered.
"So who was using your vehicle to follow runners?" Maria pressed.
"I don't know." He looked distressed, but Kari had learned not to trust appearances. "We don't have a formal sign-out system for local use. People just grab the keys when they need the vehicle for race-related tasks."
"That seems like a pretty significant oversight," Kari observed.
"We're a nonprofit run on volunteer labor." Dalton's defensiveness was rising. "We don't have the resources for extensive tracking systems. Everyone who works with us is part of the ultra-marathon community. We trust each other."
"Someone violated that trust," Maria said. "Someone used your vehicle to stalk three runners who ended up dead."
Dalton sat heavily in his chair, head in his hands. The gesture reminded Kari painfully of Ben after he'd escaped his captors—someone overwhelmed by circumstances spiraling beyond control.
"I need a list of everyone who had access to this vehicle," Kari said. "Everyone who works with your organization, everyone who volunteers, everyone who might have had the opportunity to use it without your knowledge."
"That's... that's a lot of people."
"Then you'd better start making the list."
Dalton looked up at her, and she saw something in his eyes that might have been fear or might have been guilt—she couldn't tell which. "Am I a suspect?"
The direct question caught her slightly off guard. Most people danced around that issue, afraid to voice it explicitly. "You own the vehicle. You have financial problems. Three people connected to your race are dead." Kari let those facts hang in the air. "What would you think?"
Dalton's eyes narrowed. "Financial problems," he repeated. "You've been looking into my finances."
"We've been looking into everything, Mr. Dalton."
He stared at her for a long moment, and she watched the calculation happening behind his eyes—the realization that this had moved beyond routine questions. "I think I need a lawyer."
"That's your right," Maria said. "But understand that the more cooperative you are, the faster we can determine whether you're a victim of someone using your resources, or..." She trailed off, leaving the rest unfinished.
Dalton nodded slowly, but didn't commit to anything. Kari could see him retreating behind the walls people built when they realized they were in serious trouble—whether guilty or innocent, the effect was the same.
"We'll need that list by end of business today," Kari said. "Everyone who had access to the vehicle, everyone who volunteers with your organization. The sooner we can start eliminating people, the sooner we can find who's actually responsible."
"I'll get it to you," Dalton said quietly.
Kari and Maria were halfway to the parking lot when Maria's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, frowned, and answered. "Detective Santos."
Kari watched Maria's expression change—the subtle tightening around her eyes that meant bad news. Her own stomach dropped in anticipation. She knew that look. She'd worn it herself too many times.
"When?" Maria asked. Then, "How long?" A pause. "We're on our way."
She ended the call and met Kari's eyes. "That was dispatch. A runner's wife just reported her husband missing. He left for a training run in the McDowell Mountains early this morning and never came back. His GPS watch shows his last location in a remote area of the preserve."
Kari's throat tightened. "Who?"
"Silas Hartman. Forty-two years old, experienced ultra-marathon runner." Maria's voice was grim. "Registered for the Sonoran 100."