CHAPTER FIVE
The Hopi Cultural Center sat on the mesa like a testament to both preservation and adaptation—a modern building designed with traditional aesthetics, its walls the color of the red earth, its windows positioned to catch the changing light.
Kari had driven past it before on her way through Hopi territory, but she'd never been inside.
As Polacca pulled into the parking lot, Kari felt the weight of crossing another threshold, entering another space where she would be marked immediately as an outsider.
"Patricia had an office on the second floor," Polacca said as they got out of the vehicle. She hadn’t spoken once during the twenty-minute drive from the crime scene. "She worked here three days a week, helping families with genealogical research. The other days she worked from home."
Kari followed her up the wide steps to the entrance.
Inside, the building opened into a spacious lobby with high ceilings and walls lined with photographs of Hopi villages, ceremonial dances, cultural artifacts.
A few people moved through the space—staff members, tourists, students perhaps.
Several of them looked at Kari with open curiosity, their gazes lingering on her Navajo Nation Police uniform before sliding away.
Polacca led her past the main lobby toward a stairwell. "The administrative offices are upstairs. Museum and archives are on the main level. Gift shop, too, though I doubt that's relevant to our investigation."
The dry comment was the closest thing to personality Polacca had shown since they'd left the crime scene. Kari took it as a small opening. "Did you know Patricia? Personally, I mean?"
"Everyone knew Patricia. Small community." Polacca's boots echoed on the stairs. "She helped my aunt trace our family back six generations. Found connections we didn't know existed."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Polacca didn't respond to that, just pushed open the door to the second floor and held it for Kari to pass through.
The upper level was quieter, more administrative.
Offices lined a central hallway, most with their doors open, revealing desks piled with paperwork, computers, filing cabinets.
Polacca walked to the third door on the left and stopped.
The nameplate read: 'Patricia Lomahongva, Genealogical Research. '
The door was closed and had police tape across it.
"We sealed it earlier after we notified her family," Polacca said. "Nobody's been in since we did the initial sweep this morning."
"What did you find in the initial sweep?"
"Her computer, research files, personal effects. Nothing obviously out of place. No signs of struggle." Polacca pulled out a key and began removing the tape. "We documented everything, but didn't remove anything yet. Chief wanted you to see it first."
The office was small but orderly—a desk with a computer monitor, filing cabinets, and bookshelves filled with reference materials about genealogy and Southwest tribal histories.
On the walls were family trees, some hand-drawn, others printed from computer programs. A coffee mug sat on the desk next to a neat stack of file folders.
It could have been any academic's workspace, frozen in the middle of a normal workday.
Except the person who worked here was dead, her body arranged in a mockery of ancient burial practices.
Kari moved to the desk and looked at the files without touching them. The top folder was labeled with a family name she didn't recognize. She glanced at Polacca. "Can I look through these?"
"That's why we're here." But Polacca made no move to help, just leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching.
Kari opened the folder carefully. Inside were genealogical charts, DNA test results, handwritten notes in what must have been Patricia's precise script.
The research seemed meticulous, tracing family lines back generations, documenting marriages, births, deaths.
Nothing immediately jumped out as relevant to her murder.
She moved to the next folder, then the next. More of the same—families seeking to understand their heritage, Patricia helping them piece together their histories.
"Was Patricia working on anything controversial?" Kari asked, not looking up from the files. "Anything that might have made someone angry?"
Polacca was quiet for a moment. "You'd have to ask the people who worked with her."
Kari set down the folder and turned to face Polacca directly. "Officer Polacca, I can't do this investigation if I'm working blind. I need you to help me understand the context. Was Patricia's work controversial?"
"Some people have strong feelings about genealogical research. About DNA testing. About digging into family histories that might be better left alone." Polacca's expression remained neutral. "As far as whether that's relevant to this investigation…" She shrugged one shoulder.
"Alright," Kari said, keeping her frustration in check. "Who else works on this floor? Who would have seen Patricia yesterday before she left?"
"The director's office is at the end of the hall. There's also the cultural preservation office, the archives department, and a few researchers who have offices up here." Polacca pushed off from the doorframe. "You want to start interviewing people?"
"Yes."
They left Patricia's office and walked down the hall. The first office they came to had an open door and a man inside, maybe forty, working at a computer. He looked up as they approached, his expression friendly until his gaze landed on Kari's uniform. Then his face closed like a door.
"Excuse me," Kari said, stopping at the threshold. "I'm Detective Blackhorse, investigating Patricia Lomahongva's death. Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?"
The man's eyes flicked to Polacca, who stood slightly behind Kari, her face impassive. He seemed to be waiting for Polacca to say something, to vouch for Kari's presence. When she didn't, his jaw tightened.
"I already talked to the police earlier," he said.
"I understand, but I'm following up. When did you last see Patricia?"
"I don't know. Maybe yesterday afternoon? I didn't really pay attention." He turned back to his computer, a clear dismissal. "I'm busy right now."
Kari felt the sting of the rebuff but kept her voice level. "This will only take a few minutes. Patricia left the building around seven PM yesterday. Did you see her leave?"
"No."
"Do you know if she was meeting with anyone? If she seemed worried about anything?"
"No." The man didn't look up from his screen. "Like I said, I already talked to the police."
Kari glanced at Polacca, who was studying her fingernails with apparent disinterest. No help there. She tried once more. "Sir, I'm just trying to understand Patricia's final hours. Anything you can remember—"
"I said I'm busy." Now the man did look up, and there was open hostility in his eyes. "I don't know why the chief brought in someone from outside to ask questions we already answered. We take care of our own."
Kari felt heat rise in her face but forced herself to remain calm. "Thank you for your time."
She stepped back into the hallway, and Polacca followed. Neither of them spoke until they were several paces away.
"That's how it's going to be?" Kari asked quietly.
Polacca shrugged. "Some people have strong feelings about outside involvement in our affairs. You knew that coming in."
"And you couldn't have introduced me? Explained why I'm here?"
"The chief already explained why you're here. Whether people accept that explanation isn't my problem." But there was something in Polacca's eyes—not quite satisfaction, but maybe a kind of grim confirmation. See? This is what you're up against.
Kari bit back a sharp response. Getting into a confrontation with Polacca wouldn't help anything. She just needed to push through, do her job regardless of the resistance.
The next two offices were similar exercises in frustration. One woman claimed she'd left before Patricia, hadn't seen her at all yesterday. Another man refused to even let Kari finish her introduction before saying he had nothing to say to Navajo police.
By the time they reached the fifth office, Kari was running on pure determination and thinly veiled anger.
This office was larger than the others, with a nameplate that read: 'David Lomatuway'ma, Cultural Preservation Officer.
' The door was open, and a man in his late thirties sat at a desk covered with maps and photographs of archaeological sites.
He looked up as they approached, and his expression, unlike the others, showed concern rather than hostility.
"Officer Polacca," he said, standing. His gaze moved to Kari, taking in her uniform, and something like understanding crossed his face. "You must be the detective from Navajo Nation. The one Chief Lomayesva brought in to help."
"Detective Kari Blackhorse." Kari was surprised enough by the civil greeting that she almost fumbled her words. "I'm investigating Patricia Lomahongva's death."
"It's terrible. Just terrible." David moved around his desk, his body language open and welcoming in a way that made Kari want to hug him with gratitude after the past half hour of stonewalling. "Patricia was a wonderful person. She did so much good for people in this community."
"Did you know her well?"
"We worked together sometimes. She'd consult with me about proper protocols for handling ancestral information, making sure her research respected cultural sensitivities.
And I helped her understand the cultural context of family lineages when it was relevant to her work.
" He gestured to the chairs facing his desk. "Please, sit. I'll help however I can."
Kari sat, and Polacca took the other chair, though she remained silent, watching the interaction with that same neutral expression.
"When did you last see Patricia?" Kari asked, pulling out her notebook.