CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maria spent the next twenty minutes on the phone with Reid's assistant while Kari pulled up everything she could find about his background. Reid's military record was impressive but largely classified—special operations work rarely made it into public documents.
His contracting work was easier to trace through news articles and company records.
Jasper Reid had been involved in some of the most dangerous operations in Iraq and Afghanistan, providing security for diplomats and high-value targets, training local forces, conducting surveillance on insurgent networks.
The psychological operations training was particularly interesting. PsyOps specialists were trained to influence perceptions, manipulate information, shape narratives. Exactly the kind of skills needed to frame someone for murder while keeping yourself clear of suspicion.
"Alibis are checking out so far," Maria said, ending another call. "I've got three witnesses who confirm Reid was at the petroglyph site when Garrison was killed. Two security guards who worked with him and one protester who was there daily and remembers seeing him."
"What about the other murders?"
"Working on it. But his calendar documentation is detailed—times, locations, even weather conditions. Either he's actually maintaining this level of security oversight, or he's creating an elaborate false record."
Kari thought about that. "We should visit the site ourselves. See what it looks like, verify that Reid's presence there would actually be noticed and remembered."
"It's about forty minutes from here, out in the desert past Scottsdale." Maria checked her watch—nine-forty-five. "We're already past the press conference. Chief's narrative is out there. At this point, even if we find something on Reid, we're fighting uphill against the accomplice theory."
"Then let's not waste time." Kari stood. "I want to see these petroglyphs that started all this. Understand what Hatathli and the protesters were actually fighting for."
They took Maria's car, driving east through Scottsdale and into the desert beyond. The landscape shifted from urban sprawl to open space, saguaro cacti dotting the hillsides, the mountains rising in the distance. This was the Arizona that tourists imagined: vast, harsh, beautiful in its severity.
The Sunset Ridge Resort site was impossible to miss.
A massive development carved into the desert, construction equipment sitting idle, half-finished structures surrounded by fencing and security barriers.
And in the center of it all, protected now by police tape and additional fencing, was the area where the petroglyphs had been.
A small group of protesters maintained a vigil near the entrance, maybe a dozen people with signs about cultural genocide and corporate greed, a table with water and information pamphlets, a banner reading "Remember What Was Lost." They watched with hostility as Maria's unmarked police car pulled up.
"Phoenix PD," Maria called out, showing her badge. "We're investigating the recent murders. Not here to interfere with your protest."
A woman in her fifties separated from the group, her gray hair pulled back in a long braid, her sun-weathered face showing both determination and exhaustion.
"You mean the murders they're trying to blame on Thomas Hatathli?
We all know he didn't do it. Thomas might have a temper, but he's not a killer. "
"We're investigating all possibilities," Kari said carefully. "I'm Detective Blackhorse, Navajo Nation Police. Can we ask you a few questions about security here at the site?"
The woman's expression softened. "You're Navajo? Then you understand what was destroyed here. I'm Patricia Kabotie, Hopi. I've been protesting this development since they first announced it."
Kari felt the weight of that shared cultural context. Patricia would judge her based not just on her badge but on her actions, her respect for what had been lost. "I'd like to see the petroglyphs. What remains of them."
Patricia nodded and led them toward the cordoned-off area. The other protesters watched but didn't interfere, though their expressions made it clear they didn't trust police regardless of cultural background.
The destroyed petroglyph site was worse than Kari had imagined.
Someone had attempted to preserve what remained—rock faces covered with protective sheeting, markers indicating where specific images had been—but the damage was extensive.
Heavy machinery had carved through ancient stone, obliterating art that had survived for centuries.
What remained were fragments, partial images, the ghosts of what had been whole.
Kari felt a deep anger looking at it. This wasn't just property damage or cultural insensitivity. This was erasure, the deliberate destruction of indigenous history for profit.
"They knew the petroglyphs were here," Patricia said quietly.
"The archaeologists documented them, filed reports, tried to get the site protected.
But money talks louder than history. The developer paid off the right people, got the permits approved, and by the time the lawsuits were filed it was too late. The bulldozers were already here."
"Archaeologists?" Kari asked. "Who documented the site?"
"Dr. Jennifer Caldwell, mainly. She's been fighting this development since the beginning, tried everything to save these petroglyphs. Even filed a lawsuit to stop construction. She still comes by sometimes, still documents what's happening."
Patricia pointed to several spots where the petroglyphs had been most concentrated. "There were hunting scenes here, astronomical markers there, family lineages and stories that went back hundreds of years. Now it's just broken rock and corporate greed."
"Tell me about the security presence," Maria said. "There's a man named Jasper Reid who manages it. How often is he here?"
"Reid? He's here almost every day, sometimes twice a day.
Walks the perimeter, checks on his guards, makes sure we're not crossing any lines.
" Patricia's tone carried grudging respect.
"He's professional about it, I'll give him that.
Never gets aggressive, never threatens us.
Just maintains his presence and makes sure we know we're being watched. "
"What about this past week, in the evenings?" Kari asked. "Has he been here a lot?"
Patricia nodded. "Every night, to the best of my knowledge."
Maria caught Kari's eye. Reid's alibi for all three murders was holding up—multiple witnesses, consistent presence at the site, exactly what he'd claimed.
So why had they received an anonymous text message saying he knew something?
"One more question," Kari said to Patricia. "The anonymous tip that led us here to check on Reid—you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Patricia's expression was carefully neutral.
"I don't know where that came from, no." She pause, considering her words.
"But we all want justice for Thomas Hatathli.
If that means pointing police toward other possibilities, toward people who actually had means and opportunity, then that's what we'll do.
Reid's not a bad man, but he's ex-military, he has the skills, and he was close to all the players. Worth investigating, don't you think?"
It was very close to admitting the tip had come from her or one of the other protesters.
Maybe they were trying to help Hatathli by directing attention toward Reid, even if they didn't actually believe he was guilty.
It was a reasonable strategy, but it had cost Kari and Maria valuable time chasing a lead that was evaporating.
"Thank you for your time," Kari said. "And for maintaining this vigil. What happened here matters."
"It mattered before the murders, too," Patricia said quietly. "But nobody paid attention until wealthy white people started dying. Funny how that works."
Kari had no response to that. She and Maria walked back to the car, both of them processing what they'd learned.
Reid's alibis were solid, witnessed by people who had no reason to lie for him.
That meant he probably hadn't committed the murders, which meant they were back to having no viable suspects besides Hatathli.
"Let me check one more thing," Maria said, pulling up files on her phone. "Reid's assistant sent over security camera footage from the site. If he's on camera during the murder times, that's definitive."
She played several video files, fast-forwarding through hours of footage.
In each one, at times corresponding to the murders, Jasper Reid was visible—walking the perimeter, checking in with guards, even confronting a protester who'd gotten too close to the equipment.
The timestamps were clear, the footage unedited.
"He's clean," Maria said, disappointment evident in her voice. "Or at least, he couldn't have physically committed the murders. I suppose he could have hired someone, but that's another level of speculation without evidence."
Kari looked back at the destroyed petroglyph site, at the protesters maintaining their vigil despite knowing it was too late to save what had been lost. She thought about Thomas Hatathli sitting in an interrogation room, exhausted and scared, being pressured to confess to crimes he didn't commit.
She thought about the press conference that morning, the chief announcing charges and asking for tips about phantom accomplices.
And she thought about her mother's research, about patterns of indigenous people being silenced when they threatened corporate interests, about how easily Hatathli had been positioned as the convenient scapegoat.
"The anonymous tip was a dead end," Kari said. "But Reid said something interesting during the interview. About looking at what the victims knew rather than just what they did. About irregularities in the project approval process."
"You think there's something there? Actual corruption rather than just controversial development?"
"I think three people connected to a controversial project are dead, and the easy suspect is an indigenous lawyer who publicly opposed that project.
That's convenient for someone." Kari pulled out her phone, looking at the notes she'd taken during Reid's interview.
"Reid suggested we investigate irregularities.
Maybe he was pointing us in the right direction, or maybe he was misdirecting us. Either way, we should look into it."
"Permits, environmental assessments, approval processes—that's going to take days to properly investigate. We don't have days." Maria checked her watch. "It's ten-thirty. Hatathli's been formally charged. His arraignment is this afternoon. The machine is in motion."
"Then we need to find something that stops the machine.
" Kari thought about the victims. "Victor Sheridan was the construction executive.
He'd know about any corner-cutting or illegal practices on the actual build.
Hoffman was city planning, she approved permits.
Garrison provided funding. If there were irregularities, all three would have known about them. "
"And if they were getting ready to expose those irregularities, or if someone thought they might..."
"That's a motive beyond just revenge for the petroglyphs.
" Kari felt the pieces starting to shift in her mind, not quite forming a complete picture but suggesting a pattern.
"We need to look at the victims' financial records, communications, anything that shows what they knew and who might have wanted to keep them quiet. "
Maria checked her watch—nearly eleven now. "Financial records will take warrants, which takes time we don't have. But I can pull their phone records, see who they were communicating with in the days before their deaths. Email too, if we can access it."
"Do that. And let's talk to this Dr. Caldwell—she fought the development, might know about irregularities in the approval process. Not to mention she has motive for the killings in retaliation for the destruction of the petroglyphs, though it's a stretch to think she'd frame Hatathli."
Kari looked back at the destroyed petroglyphs one more time. "Whatever the case, someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure this project happened. Enough trouble to destroy irreplaceable cultural artifacts. Maybe enough trouble to kill people who threatened to expose how it all got approved."
"That's still speculation without evidence." But Maria didn't sound dismissive anymore—she sounded thoughtful, like she was beginning to see the same patterns Kari was seeing. "Let's head back. We've got a lot of ground to cover and not much time to cover it."