CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
"My brother didn't drink," Polacca continued.
"Not ever. He was training to be a traditional healer, took his spiritual obligations seriously.
But the investigators didn't want to hear that.
They had their story—drunk Native kid has an accident—and they weren't interested in alternatives.
" Her hands clenched into fists. "I tried to push for more investigation, but I was just a patrol officer then. Nobody listened."
"I'm sorry," Kari said quietly. "That's—"
"When I heard about your mother's investigation," Polacca interrupted, "about how she'd been looking into deaths at sacred sites, trying to find patterns that others dismissed.
.. I wondered if my brother's case was one of the ones she was investigating.
If she'd seen what I saw—that it wasn't an accident. "
Kari was silent, unsure what to say to this.
"So when the chief said he needed someone to work with you," Polacca said, "I volunteered immediately.
I figured that if we can prove these murders are part of a pattern—that someone is systematically staging deaths at sacred sites—then maybe the department will take another look at my brother's case.
Maybe they'll see it wasn't just a drunk Native kid having an accident. Maybe they'll see the pattern."
They were both silent for several moments.
"I appreciate you sharing that," Kari said.
"And I'm sorry for how I treated you before," Polacca continued.
"I was just… angry. Angry that it took an outside detective for anyone to take these patterns seriously.
Angry that my own people wouldn't listen when I said my brother's death wasn't an accident.
Angry that I had to work with someone from another tribe to maybe—maybe—get answers about what happened to him. "
"You needed me here," Kari said quietly, "but you hated that you needed me."
Polacca let out a breath. "Yeah. That's exactly it. It shouldn't have taken an outsider. But it did, and I'm grateful you came, and I'm angry that I have to be grateful." She shook her head. "It's complicated."
"It is," Kari agreed.
Polacca turned, finally meeting Kari's eyes.
"I had my doubts about you initially, but the way you've handled this investigation, the way you've listened to our community while still pushing for answers…
you've made it clear you're not just here to check a box.
You actually give a damn. And that matters. "
Before Kari could respond, her phone buzzed with an alert. She glanced down—a message from one of the search teams. Movement spotted at Site 4. Sending coordinates.
She showed it to Polacca.
"That's the old burial ground near—" Polacca started, but Kari was already moving toward her Jeep, pulling up coordinates on her phone's map.
They drove fast, their headlights cutting through the darkness on narrow dirt roads. Site 4 was about fifteen minutes away, and Kari felt her heart hammering as they closed the distance. This could be it. This could be where they'd find Jake.
Alive or dead.
The coordinates led them to a turnoff barely wide enough for a vehicle. They parked and continued on foot, flashlights in hand, moving as quietly as they could manage. The sacred site was ahead, marked by a cluster of large boulders and the remains of ancient stone structures.
And then Kari saw him.
A figure in dark clothing, illuminated by moonlight, dragging something—the body of Jake Honanie, more than likely—across the open ground between the boulders.
"Police! Stop!" Kari shouted, breaking into a run.
The figure's head snapped up. For a split second, Kari saw a face turned toward her—features obscured by distance and shadow, but the body language screamed panic.
Then the figure dropped what they were carrying and sprinted toward the far side of the clearing where, Kari now saw, a dark SUV was parked.
Kari ran harder, her boots pounding against the uneven ground. Behind her, she heard Polacca yelling, "I've got Jake! Go!"
Kari didn't answer, but instead, realizing she wouldn't reach the suspect before he reached that vehicle, she turned and sprinted back toward her vehicle.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the suspect reach the SUV and yank the driver's door open.
The engine roared to life just as Kari reached her own Jeep, parked fifty yards back down the access road.
She jumped in, started the engine, and tore after the fleeing vehicle.
The SUV's taillights were visible ahead, bouncing and weaving as it navigated the rough dirt track. Kari followed, her hands tight on the wheel, her Jeep rattling over ruts and rocks. The road—if it could be called that—was barely maintained, more a suggestion of a path than an actual route.
The suspect seemed to know the terrain, to anticipate each twist and turn. Kari, on the other hand, didn't know the area, so she had to watch him like a hawk so that she didn't lose him. Her headlights swept across juniper trees and rock formations, everything rushing past in a blur.
Still, somehow, she managed to start gaining on the suspect. The SUV was ahead by maybe thirty yards, but Kari's Jeep was built for this kind of terrain, and she was closing the gap. Another minute and she'd be close enough to get a plate number, maybe even force him to stop.
Then the SUV took a sharp right turn onto what looked like nothing—just empty desert.
Kari followed, her Jeep bouncing violently as she left even the minimal track behind.
But within seconds, she realized her mistake.
What had looked like solid ground was actually a maze of shallow washes and hidden erosion channels, the kind of terrain that could swallow a vehicle's wheel and break an axle.
The SUV navigated it with confidence, clearly knowing exactly where the firm ground was. Kari had to slow down, unable to see the hazards in the dark, unwilling to risk destroying her vehicle and stranding herself miles from help.
She watched helplessly as the SUV pulled away, its taillights growing smaller. Then they disappeared entirely, either around a rock formation or over a rise. Gone.
Kari stopped, slamming her hand against the steering wheel in frustration. She'd been so close. So damn close.
She carefully turned her Jeep around, navigating back to the actual road, and drove back to where she'd left Polacca and Jake. Her radio crackled with Polacca's voice.
"Kari, Jake's alive. Unconscious but breathing. I've called for medical. What's your status?"
"Lost him," Kari said, the words bitter in her mouth. "He knew the terrain, took me through a wash system I couldn't follow in the dark. By the time I figured out what he was doing, he was gone."
She pulled up to the site and found Polacca kneeling beside Jake Honanie, who was lying on a blanket Polacca had pulled from her vehicle. His face was bruised, his clothing torn, but his chest rose and fell with steady breaths.
"He's stable," Polacca said. "Whatever the killer did to him, he's alive. But why not kill him earlier?"
Kari knelt beside Jake, checking his pulse—strong and steady—and looking for obvious injuries. Bruising on his face and arms, consistent with a struggle. His hands showed defensive wounds. But no knife wounds, no bruising around his neck.
"The unsub probably wanted Jake alive so he'd be easier to move," Kari said. "He knew he didn't have much time, and he figured everything would take longer if Jake was already dead."
Kari looked at Jake's unconscious face, thinking about how he'd been taken in a panic, in broad view of witnesses. "The bigger question is, why target Jake at all? He wasn't involved in the genealogical project."
"Maybe," Polacca said, "we don't have as clear an idea of the killer's goals as we thought we did. Which means—"
"He could target anyone, for all we know," Kari said grimly. "Anyone at all."