CHAPTER NINE
The tribal police headquarters had a small evidence processing room in the back—little more than a converted storage closet with a workbench, decent lighting, and a few specialized tools.
It was there that Kari found herself at eight-thirty that evening, watching a Hopi police technician named Lucas Saufkie examine Patricia Lomahongva's desktop computer.
Lucas was perhaps twenty-eight, with long hair tied back in a neat ponytail and reading glasses that kept sliding down his nose.
He wore a faded NASA t-shirt under his work coveralls and had the kind of focused intensity that suggested he'd rather be dealing with computers than people any day of the week.
"The sister approved this?" Polacca asked.
"Chief Lomayesva got the authorization about an hour ago," Lucas said without looking up from the computer's login screen. His fingers moved quickly across a keyboard, trying various password recovery tools. "She understands we need access for the investigation."
"How long do you think it'll take?" Kari asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Depends. Could be ten minutes if she used something simple. Could be ten hours if she was smart about security." Lucas pushed his glasses up, squinting at the screen. "Patricia Lomahongva was a researcher, right? Academic type? They usually have decent password hygiene."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"I'll get in eventually. I always do." There was no arrogance in the statement, just unchecked confidence. "But it's going to take time. You might want to go get dinner or something. I'll call when I have something."
Polacca, who'd been standing silently in the hallway, spoke up. "There's a diner about ten minutes from here. It's late, but they're open until eleven."
Kari realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast—a piece of toast she'd grabbed on her way out the door that morning, which felt like a lifetime ago. The adrenaline of the investigation had been sustaining her, but now that there was a pause, she felt the hollow ache of hunger.
"Alright," she said to Lucas. "Call me the second you're in."
"Will do."
They left Lucas to his work and walked through the quiet police station.
Most of the day shift had gone home, leaving just a skeleton crew—a dispatcher, one patrol officer doing paperwork, and the night watch preparing to start their rounds.
Chief Lomayesva's office was dark, his vehicle gone from the parking lot.
The diner Polacca led her to was called the Mesa Café, a small establishment with vinyl booths and a counter that had probably looked exactly the same for forty years.
Only two other tables were occupied. At one of them, an elderly couple were eating in comfortable silence, while at the other a young man hunched over a laptop with a cold cup of coffee beside him.
Kari and Polacca slid into a booth near the window. A waitress in her fifties appeared almost immediately with menus and water, her expression pleasant but tired.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Please," Kari and Polacca said in unison, then glanced at each other with something that might have been the beginning of shared understanding.
The waitress poured coffee and left them to look at the menus. Kari studied hers without really reading it, her mind still on the computer password, on the two crime scenes, on the genealogical research that seemed to be at the heart of everything.
"The green chili burger is good," Polacca said. "If you like spice."
"I do."
When the waitress returned, they both ordered the green chili burger with fries. As she walked away, silence settled over the table—not quite as hostile as earlier in the day, but not exactly comfortable either.
Kari decided to push, just a little. "So, how long have you been with the tribal police?"
"Eight years. Started right after I got back from serving overseas." Polacca's tone was matter-of-fact. "Army, three tours. Figured law enforcement was a good way to keep serving the community."
"Where were you stationed?"
"Afghanistan, mostly. Kandahar province." Polacca took a sip of her coffee. "You do three tours in that kind of environment, you learn pretty quick how to read situations, how to know who to trust."
The implication was clear—Polacca was still deciding whether to trust Kari. Fair enough. Kari had been doing the same calculus all day.
"I was Phoenix PD before this," Kari offered. "Homicide division. Made detective faster than most, which should have felt like an accomplishment but mostly just made me a target for resentment."
"Why'd you leave?"
"My mother died. A little over a year ago.
" Kari wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, feeling its warmth.
"She was a cultural anthropologist, did work on the reservation.
Her death was ruled accidental—exposure—but I never believed it.
Coming back here was partly about being closer to my grandmother, partly about trying to understand what really happened to my mom. "
Polacca studied her with those sharp, assessing eyes. "And have you? Understood what happened?"
"I'm working on it. Slowly."
The food arrived, interrupting whatever Polacca might have said in response. They ate in silence for a few minutes, both hungry enough that the burgers disappeared quickly despite—or perhaps because of—the generous amount of green chili that made Kari's eyes water.
"So what's next?" Polacca asked, wiping her hands on a napkin. "If the computer doesn't give us anything, if Emma won't share the genealogical data. Where does that leave us?"
"I could ask Chief Lomayesva to use his influence with the tribal council. Get them to authorize releasing the information." Kari pushed her empty plate aside. "But I get the sense he's not going to push too hard on that. He seems... cautious about the political implications."
"The chief's a good man," Polacca said, a note of defensiveness in her voice. "But he's also got to work within the system. The council controls a lot of what he can and can't do."
"I understand that. But two people are dead, and the information that might explain why is locked behind political concerns and privacy protocols." Kari's frustration leaked into her voice. "At some point, solving the murders has to take priority."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to live with the consequences after you leave.
" Polacca's tone wasn't hostile, just matter-of-fact.
"Whatever this genealogical data reveals, whatever disruption it causes in the community, you'll be gone when the dust settles. The chief won't be. Neither will I."
It was a fair point, and it stung because Kari knew it was true. She was an outsider, brought in to solve a problem and then return to her own territory. The long-term fallout wasn't her responsibility.
But the victims were. Patricia and Robert deserved justice, regardless of the political complications.
Before Kari could respond, Polacca's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, then stood. "I need to take this. Be right back."
She walked toward the entrance, phone pressed to her ear, leaving Kari alone in the booth with the remnants of dinner and her own thoughts.
Kari pulled out her own phone and scrolled to her father's number. It was late, but not too late, and she wanted to know if he'd found anything in those seventeen case files. She hit dial.
James answered on the third ring. "Kari. How's the investigation going?"
"Slowly. Two victims now, both connected to a genealogical research project. I'm trying to get access to the data, but it's locked behind privacy concerns and password protection." She rubbed her eyes, feeling the weight of the long day. "Did you find anything in those files?"
"I'm still going through them. It's slow work—a lot of the documentation is incomplete, and I'm trying to cross-reference with other cases that might not have made it into the federal system.
" He paused. "But I am seeing patterns. Deaths at ceremonial sites, explanations that lean heavily on cultural factors.
Some of these seem to deliberately steer away from criminal explanations. "
"Possibly making murders look like accidents."
"Possibly." He sighed. "Kari, this is going to take time. These are old cases, scattered records, and I'm essentially doing this on my own time without official authorization."
"I know. And I appreciate it, Dad. More than you know."
They talked for a few more minutes, Kari filling him in on the Hopi investigation, James sharing a few more details from the files. When they hung up, Kari felt simultaneously encouraged and frustrated that the answers remained just out of reach.
Polacca returned to the table, sliding back into the booth. Her expression showed something that might have been satisfaction.
"That was David Lomatuway'ma from the Cultural Center," Polacca said. "He called because he's been thinking about the crime scenes, about who might have the knowledge to create those arrangements. He suggested we talk to Dr. Michael Sekaquaptewa."
"Who's that?"
"Archaeologist and museum curator. Works at the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office.
He's one of the top experts on burial practices and ceremonial traditions—has probably visited more ancient sites than anyone else in the tribe.
" Polacca pulled out her phone and showed Kari a contact entry.
"David says if anyone can tell us whether the crime scene arrangements are authentic or if there are errors that might point us toward a suspect, it's Michael. "
"Would he be willing to talk to us? It's past nine."
"I called him while I was outside. He says he's willing to meet tonight if it helps the investigation. He's at his office now, working late on a grant proposal." Polacca pocketed her phone. "We should go."