CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kari sat on the hotel bed surrounded by printouts and her laptop, trying to piece together Dr. Jennifer Caldwell's lawsuit timeline. It was nearly nine PM, and she'd been at this for two hours, cross-referencing court documents with news articles and public records.
The lawsuit itself was straightforward—Caldwell and several advocacy groups challenging the Sunset Ridge Resort's environmental impact assessment and permit approvals.
Filed in March of the previous year, it had progressed through initial hearings with what looked like solid legal footing.
Expert witnesses lined up, documentation prepared, media attention building.
Then, in July, Caldwell had filed a motion for discovery that would have required Sterling to turn over internal communications about the project. Two weeks later, she'd abruptly withdrawn from the case. The other plaintiffs had continued for another month before settling quietly.
Kari pulled up the Phoenix PD database that Maria had given her temporary access to and searched for any reports involving Caldwell's name and address during that period.
Three hits.
The first was from last June—a harassment complaint about repeated phone calls from unknown numbers. No action taken beyond documentation.
The second was from early July—vandalism report. Someone had spray-painted "DROP IT OR ELSE" on Caldwell's garage door. Photos were attached to the report.
The third was from late July, after the lawsuit had been dropped—Caldwell's car keyed in the ASU parking lot. Minor property damage, no suspects.
Kari stared at the reports, feeling her anger build. Caldwell had been intimidated into dropping her lawsuit. Phone calls, vandalism, property damage—an escalating pattern of threats designed to scare her into backing down.
And it had worked.
She checked the time. Late to call, but this couldn't wait. Kari pulled up the number Caldwell had given them earlier and dialed.
Caldwell answered on the fourth ring, her voice wary. "Dr. Caldwell speaking."
"Dr. Caldwell, this is Detective Blackhorse. I'm sorry to call so late, but I found something I need to ask you about."
A pause. "You couldn't have asked me about it earlier when we met?"
"I came across the police reports from last year. The harassment, the vandalism, the threats. That's why you dropped the lawsuit, isn't it? Not because of legal fees."
Silence stretched for several seconds. Then: "Can this wait until tomorrow? I'd prefer to discuss this in person."
"I understand, but we're running out of time to help Thomas Hatathli. If you know something relevant to these murders—"
"It's not about what's relevant," Caldwell interrupted, her voice tight. "Discussing these things over the phone, this late at night, when I'm alone in my house... you'll have to forgive me if I'm not comfortable with that."
Kari understood immediately. Caldwell was scared, even now, a year after the threats had stopped. "I can be at your office in thirty minutes if you prefer."
The line was silent. Kari had to check her phone to make sure the call was still going.
"Dr. Caldwell, were the threats serious enough that you believed your life was in danger?"
Another pause. "It wasn't my life I was worried about.
The last call I received, the day before I dropped the lawsuit, was very specific.
They mentioned my daughter by name. Mentioned her school schedule, the route she took walking home.
Said that accidents happen to people who don't know when to stop. "
Kari felt cold. "Did you report that specific threat?"
"No. Because I knew what reporting it would mean—increased scrutiny, maybe protection for a few days, and then what?
My daughter afraid to go to school, looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life?
Or me continuing a lawsuit that I'd probably lose anyway while putting her at risk?
" Caldwell's voice carried old pain and resignation.
"I dropped the case the next day. The threats stopped completely. "
"So you stopped investigating."
"No. I couldn't. What they destroyed... those petroglyphs were irreplaceable.
Five hundred years of history, gone. And the project that destroyed them was built on corruption and illegal practices from the ground up.
" Caldwell's voice strengthened. "So I've been quietly documenting everything.
Building a case that no one knows about except me. And now you."
Kari felt a flicker of hope. "Send me the files. Everything you have."
Silence on the other end. Kari could hear Dr. Caldwell's breathing, shallow and unsteady.
"Dr. Caldwell?"
"You're asking me to trust you with evidence that could get my daughter killed.
" Her voice had hardened, the fear crystallizing into something more defensive.
"I don't know you. I don't know if you're competent enough to actually stop these people, or if you'll just get yourself killed too and leave a trail that leads right back to Emma. "
"That's fair," Kari said, pausing. She chose her next words carefully.
"These people are connected to at least three murders.
They framed an innocent man who's sitting in a cell right now, waiting to be charged.
And they know your daughter exists—you said so yourself.
How long do you think before they decide she's a loose end, whether you cooperate with me or not? "
Dr. Caldwell made a sound—half laugh, half sob. "You think I haven't thought about that?"
"Then you know staying quiet isn't protecting Emma.
It's just delaying the inevitable." Kari softened her tone.
"I'm not going to pretend I can guarantee her safety.
But right now, these people are winning.
They're getting away with murder, and the only thing standing between them and a clean escape is whatever evidence you're sitting on.
Help me take them down, and Emma stops being useful as leverage.
She becomes someone they can't afford to touch. "
Another long pause. Kari waited, resisting the urge to push harder.
"If something happens to her because of this," Dr. Caldwell finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I will never forgive you."
"If something happens to her, I won't deserve forgiveness." Kari meant it. "But doing nothing isn't keeping her safe. It's just keeping you comfortable."
A sharp intake of breath—the words had landed harder than Kari intended. She braced for the call to end.
"I'll email you the files," Dr. Caldwell said quietly. "As far as what you do with them... just be careful. These people aren't messing around."
"Neither am I."
After hanging up, Kari waited tensely for the email to arrive. When it finally came through ten minutes later, the attachment was large—over two hundred megabytes of scanned documents, photos, spreadsheets, and correspondence.
She opened the first file and started reading.
What Caldwell had assembled was remarkable.
Permits approved in record time with suspiciously similar signatures.
Environmental assessments that contradicted independent studies.
Communications between Charles Sterling's office and city officials that suggested coordination beyond normal developer-government interaction.
Building inspection reports that cleared work despite documented violations.
And buried in the construction documents—evidence that matched exactly what Kari had found in Victor Sheridan's files.
Materials swapped for cheaper alternatives while billing stayed the same.
Safety shortcuts that put workers at risk.
Inspection schedules arranged at convenient times when problematic work could be concealed.
Caldwell had built a comprehensive case proving systematic fraud in the Sunset Ridge Resort project. If this ever became public, it wouldn't just destroy the project—it would destroy everyone involved. Criminal charges, loss of licenses, possibly prison time.
That was motive for murder. Strong motive.
Kari leaned back, processing. Three people dead, all of whom would have known about these illegal practices.
All of whom could testify about corruption if it ever came to light.
Someone had killed them to keep these secrets buried, and framed Thomas Hatathli to provide a convenient alternative explanation.
But who?
Caldwell had been threatened but survived by backing down. The victims hadn't backed down—or maybe hadn't been given the option. They'd simply been eliminated.
Kari pulled up information about Charles Sterling, the resort's developer.
He was the obvious suspect, the person with the most to lose if the fraud was exposed.
She found several news articles from the past week mentioning that Sterling had declined interviews and wasn't making public statements about the murders.
One article from earlier today noted that he and his family were sequestered at their Paradise Valley home under private security while police investigated.
Was he hiding because he was scared? Or because he was guilty?
If Sterling had hired someone to commit the murders, he'd be smart enough to establish an alibi by staying visible at home while the killings happened. But proving that connection would be nearly impossible without evidence linking him to a hired killer.
Kari searched for more information about Sterling's family and business operations. Charles Sterling, age 58, widower. Wife Catherine had died in a construction site accident two years ago. One daughter, Rebecca Sterling, age 26.
She found a photo from a society page article about Catherine Sterling's memorial service—Charles and Rebecca standing together, both looking devastated. Rebecca had her mother's delicate features and dark hair, her father's height and commanding presence.