CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kari sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair early the following morning, her third cup of terrible vending machine coffee growing cold in her hands, watching the hallway for any sign of the doctor who'd promised an update on Jake Honanie's condition.
Polacca paced near the window, restless after the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of losing their suspect. It was nearly two in the morning, and exhaustion pressed down on both of them, but neither suggested leaving.
Finally, a doctor emerged from the restricted area—a Hopi woman in her forties with tired eyes. "Detective Blackhorse? Officer Polacca?"
They both stood. "How is he?" Kari asked, rising.
"Mr. Honanie is stable. He suffered a concussion from blunt force trauma to the back of the head—struck from behind, likely with a heavy object. He has bruising and some lacerations, but nothing life-threatening. We're keeping him overnight for observation, but I expect he'll make a full recovery."
"Can we speak with him?" Polacca asked.
The doctor shook her head. "Not yet. He's sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed."
"This is very important," Kari said. "We're investigating a series of murders."
"And Mr. Honanie's health is very important, too. He's stable, but the less stress he experiences now, the better. I really can't let anyone disturb him until tomorrow."
Kari wanted to argue, but the expression on the doctor's face made it clear that she’d lose. She thanked the doctor and sat back down.
As the doctor walked away, Kari pulled out her phone and called Lucas Saufkie, the tech who'd been working on Patricia's encrypted files. He answered on the third ring, sounding like he'd been asleep.
"Lucas, it's Detective Blackhorse. Sorry to wake you, but I need to know—have you made any progress on those encrypted files?"
There was rustling on the other end, the sound of someone sitting up. "Actually, yeah. I cracked it about an hour ago. Was going to call you in the morning. The password was a phrase in Hopi combined with her late husband's birth date. Took forever to figure out the pattern, but I'm in."
Kari felt a surge of hope. "Can you search the files for a specific name? Jake Honanie."
"Hold on." The sound of typing, then a pause. "Nothing. No Jake Honanie mentioned anywhere in the genealogical research files."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. I've done a full text search. The name doesn't appear in any of Patricia's research documents, her notes, or her correspondence about the project. Jake Honanie had no connection to the genealogical work."
Kari felt her earlier theory crumble. If Jake wasn't connected to the project, why had the killer taken him? What was the pattern?
"Alright," she said. "Can you email me the files? Everything you've got access to now."
"Will do. Give me twenty minutes to organize them into something readable."
Kari ended the call and looked at Polacca. "Jake's not in the files. He had no connection to Patricia's research."
"Then why grab him?" Polacca asked, puzzled. "It doesn't fit the pattern."
"Maybe we don't understand the pattern as well as we thought.
" Kari rubbed her eyes, feeling the effects of the long night.
"We need to go back to basics. Look at everyone who was close to the project—not just participants, but people in Patricia and Robert's orbit.
Someone who would have known what they were working on, even if they weren't directly involved in the research. "
Polacca was looking at her phone, frowning.
"What is it?" Kari asked.
"I reached out to David Lomatuway'ma a little bit ago to set up an appointment for today—to go over what he knows about ceremonial masks, help us track where the one used in Emma's attack might have come from—but he says he can't. Says there's a 'family matter' that needs his 'immediate attention. '"
Kari tapped her fingers on her leg. "The night after Emma's attack, he suddenly has a family emergency?"
"Suspicious, isn't it?"
Kari stood, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Where does David live?"
"About twenty minutes from here. Why?"
"Because I want to talk to him. Now. Not when it's convenient for him. Right now."
They signed out with the hospital staff and drove toward David Lomatuway'ma's address. The sky was still lightening in the east, that deep blue that comes before true sunrise.
David lived in a modest house on the outskirts of the village, with a neat yard and a newer-model truck parked in the driveway. Lights were on inside, visible through the front windows.
They approached the front door, and Kari knocked firmly. After a moment, she heard movement inside, then David's voice through the door. "Who is it?"
"Detective Blackhorse and Officer Polacca. We need to speak with you, Mr. Lomatuway'ma."
A pause. "Can this wait until—"
"No, it can't," Kari said. "Please open the door."
Another pause, longer this time. Then the sound of locks disengaging, and the door opened a crack. David stood in the gap, his body blocking most of the view into his house. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, as if he'd been up for a while but hadn't bothered to dress for the day.
But it was his face that caught Kari's attention. Even in the dim porch light, she could see the redness across his left temple and cheek—angry, irritated skin.
The kind of irritation that might come from scalding liquid.
"Mr. Lomatuway'ma," Kari said, keeping her voice calm and professional even as her pulse quickened. "Can we come in?"
"I... I'm not really prepared for visitors. The house is a mess." David's hand remained on the door, keeping it mostly closed. He kept turning his face away.
"This won't take long," Polacca said in a friendly voice. "Just a few questions."
David hesitated. Finally, he stepped back and opened the door wider. "Alright. Come in."
The interior of the house was neat—a living room with comfortable furniture, walls decorated with traditional Hopi artwork, and family photographs. On a side table near the couch, Kari noticed several pottery tools and what looked like materials for ceremonial item restoration.
Sharp implements. Heavy objects.
David gestured to the couch but remained standing himself, his posture tense. "What's this about? I thought I made it clear I have a family emergency. My aunt is ill, and I need to drive to Flagstaff this morning to see her."
Kari settled onto the couch in a way that looked casual but positioned her with a clear view of both David and the exit. Polacca remained standing near the door, her body language relaxed but alert.
"We just had a few follow-up questions about the ceremonial masks," Kari said. "Since you're the expert on cultural preservation, we thought you might help us narrow down where the mask used in last night's attack might have come from."
"Last night's attack?" David's expression shifted—surprise, concern, fear. It was hard to read which emotion was genuine. "What happened?"
"Emma Talayesva was attacked in her home. The assailant was wearing a Hopi ceremonial mask." Kari watched his face carefully. "You hadn't heard?"
"No. I... Is she alright?"
"She fought back. She's safe." Kari paused. "Mr. Lomatuway'ma, I can't help noticing…" She gestured at her own face to indicate what she meant.
David's hand went to his cheek instinctively, touching the reddened skin. "This? Oh, it's nothing. An allergic reaction." He chuckled softly.
"To what?"
"Some chemical preservatives I was working with yesterday.
I'm restoring some old pottery for the museum—pieces that need stabilization.
The compounds we use can cause contact dermatitis if you're not careful.
" He lowered his hand. "I've always had a weak constitution.
Sensitive skin, the whole package. It's why I ended up in cultural preservation rather than fieldwork—I can't spend long hours out in the elements without having some kind of reaction. "
The explanation sounded convincing, but the timing was too striking to be ignored. Kari's instincts screamed that she was looking at the man who'd attacked Emma, who'd killed Patricia and Robert, who'd tried to stage Jake's body at a sacred site just hours ago.
But instincts weren't evidence.
"That must be difficult," Kari said, keeping her tone sympathetic. "Working with cultural artifacts but having health limitations."
"You learn to manage it." David seemed to relax, perhaps interpreting her sympathy as a sign that she believed his explanation. "I have medications, protocols. You just have to be more careful than other people."
"Where were you last night between nine and eleven PM?" Kari asked, the question coming casually, as if it were just another detail to check off.
David's face grew wary. "Why are you asking that?"
"Because Emma Talayesva was attacked during that timeframe.
And we're asking everyone connected to the Cultural Center, everyone who knew Patricia and Robert, to account for their whereabouts.
" Kari's voice remained calm, as if this were a mere matter of course.
"It's standard procedure. Nothing personal. "
"I was at a tribal council meeting," David said. "It ran late—we didn't finish until almost eleven-thirty."
"Can anyone vouch for you?"
"Chairman Namingha. How's that?"
Kari nodded. They would have to reach out to the chairman once this conversation was over.
"And the night before?" she pressed.
"Here. At home. Alone." David's jaw tightened. "I was working on documentation for a grant proposal, but I guess I can't prove I was here. Am I a suspect, Detective?"
"Everyone's a suspect until we eliminate them," Kari said. "It's nothing personal, Mr. Lomatuway'ma. We're just being thorough."
"Then be thorough with someone else," David said, his earlier cooperation curdling into anger.
"I've been helpful to your investigation.
I've answered your questions, provided expertise, assisted in every way I could.
And now you're in my home at five in the morning, questioning me like a criminal because I have a skin reaction? "
"We're just—"
"I think you should leave," David interrupted. "Unless you have a warrant or some actual reason to be here beyond wild speculation, I'd like you to go. I have family matters to attend to."
There was nothing more to push on without an actual basis for arrest. Kari stood slowly, Polacca moving aside to let her reach the door. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Lomatuway'ma. We'll verify your whereabouts last night with the council chairman."
"You do that," David said, opening the door with barely controlled anger. "And when you confirm I was exactly where I said I was, maybe you'll realize you're wasting time harassing innocent people instead of finding the actual killer."
Outside, the sun was beginning to crest the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Kari and Polacca walked to their vehicles in silence, both processing what they'd just witnessed.
"The timing of that reaction is suspicious," Polacca said quietly.
"Extremely suspicious," Kari agreed. "But if his alibi checks out..."
Kari pulled out her phone and looked at the time.
Five-forty in the morning. Too early to call the chairman—she'd already woken him once in the middle of the night recently, and calling again before six AM to ask about a council meeting would strain whatever goodwill remained. Better to wait until a reasonable hour.
"We wait until seven to call the chairman," Kari said. "Verify David's alibi. If it's solid, we move on to other suspects. If there are any holes in it..."
"Then we come back with a warrant and tear that house apart looking for evidence."
They stood in the cold morning air, both exhausted from the long night but too wired to consider sleep. The case felt like it was reaching a critical point—pieces were moving, connections were forming, but the full picture remained frustratingly out of reach.
"Let's go back to the station," Kari said finally. "Review what Lucas sent us from Patricia's files. See if there's anything in the genealogical data that explains the bigger picture. Then at seven, we make that call."
"And either we discover David has been lying to us," Polacca said grimly, "or we go back to looking for suspects. And hope the killer gets even more sloppy than he already is."