CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
Kari stood, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Every instinct screamed at her to fight this, to argue that murder investigations didn't pause for political considerations.
But she also recognized the reality: She was an outsider here, working at the Chief's invitation, subject to rules and authorities that transcended her badge.
Throwing a fit wouldn't do any good.
"Fine," she said, the word coming out harder than she intended. "I'll wait for your council to decide whether solving murders is more important than protecting secrets."
The Chief's expression tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. "I'll call you after the meeting. In the meantime, talk to Jake Honanie. Follow up on physical evidence. Do your job, Detective—just do it within the boundaries we've established."
He walked out with her laptop, leaving Kari alone in the conference room with her notes and her frustration. She sat for a moment, trying to calm the anger that threatened to cloud her judgment. Then she pulled out her phone and called Polacca.
"How's the interview going?" Kari asked when Polacca answered.
"Just finishing up. Jake's groggy but talking. You should come over—he's got some interesting details about the attack."
"On my way."
The drive to the hospital gave Kari time to process what had just happened.
The Chief wasn't wrong about tribal sovereignty, about the community's right to control their own information.
But the timing was infuriating. Those files could have helped her understand the full scope of what Patricia had discovered, to see the complete picture that would explain why someone was willing to kill to keep that information hidden.
Now that picture was locked in the Chief's office, waiting for a council that had already demonstrated they valued privacy over justice.
She found Polacca in Jake's hospital room. Jake Honanie looked better than Kari had expected—pale and bruised, with a bandage wrapped around his head, but alert and sitting up in bed. A nurse was checking his vitals as Kari entered.
"Mr. Honanie," Kari said. "I'm glad to see you're recovering. I'm Detective Blackhorse. I was there when we found you last night."
"Officer Polacca told me." Jake's voice was rough but steady. "Thank you. If you hadn't gotten there when you did..."
"Can you tell me what happened? Everything you remember from the moment you were attacked."
Jake took a breath, wincing. "I was closing up my workshop. It was around nine-thirty, maybe a little later. I'd been working on a set of katsina dolls—they're for a ceremony next month, so I was putting in extra hours to get them finished."
"Was anyone else around?"
"Thomas Pavatea owns the silversmith shop next door. But he may have already gone home. The whole area was quiet."
Kari knew that Pavatea had not, in fact, gone home, but she didn't want to interrupt Jake to say so.
Jake's hand went to his head, touching the bandage carefully. "I heard something behind me. Before I could turn around, something hit me. Hard. Here, on the back of my head."
"You didn't see your attacker?"
"Not his face. Everything went blurry, and I fell.
I remember being on the ground, trying to get up, and then he grabbed me.
Pulled me up, got his arms around my chest from behind.
" Jake's breathing quickened with the memory.
"I tried to fight, but I was so disoriented. And he was strong. Really strong."
"Did he say anything?"
"No. Nothing. He just dragged me toward a vehicle. An SUV, I think—I saw it briefly before everything went dark again."
"What about his breathing?" Kari asked, remembering Emma's description. "Did you notice anything about that?"
Jake's brow furrowed. "Actually, yeah. He was breathing really hard. Not just from exertion—there was something wrong with it. Wheezing, maybe? Like he was having trouble getting enough air. I remember thinking it was strange that someone struggling to breathe could be so strong."
The same detail Emma had mentioned. Labored breathing.
"Anything else?" Polacca asked. "Any smells, any sounds, anything unusual?"
Jake was quiet for a moment, his eyes closed as he tried to recall. "There was a smell. Something chemical, maybe? Paint or..." He shook his head. "I can't place it. My head was pounding, everything was confused."
"You said you were working on katsina dolls," Kari said. "For a specific ceremony. Who commissioned them?"
"It's for a healing ceremony. The family asked me not to share details—it's private." Jake looked apologetic. "But I can tell you the dolls I was making are traditional designs. Nothing unusual about them."
They asked more questions—about whether Jake had noticed anyone watching his workshop, whether he'd received any threats, whether he had any connection to Patricia's genealogical project.
Jake's answers were consistent: he had no idea why he'd been targeted, no connection to the research, no conflicts with anyone.
"Why me?" Jake asked finally, his voice strained. "Patricia and Robert were working on that genealogy project. Emma coordinated it. But I refused to participate. I thought the whole thing was dangerous. So why would the killer come after me?"
It was the question Kari had been asking herself. Jake didn't fit the pattern. Unless the pattern was different than they'd thought, or the killer was expanding his targets beyond people directly connected to the research.
Or unless Jake had seen something. Known something. Without realizing it.
"Mr. Honanie," Kari said, leaning forward. "I want you to think back over the past few days. Not just the night you were attacked, but the days leading up to it. Did you notice anyone watching you? Following you? Anyone who seemed out of place near your workshop?"
Jake's brow furrowed with concentration. "No, nothing like that. I mean, I wasn't really paying attention. I've been so focused on finishing those katsina dolls on deadline."
"What about earlier that evening, before you were attacked? Walk me through your whole evening, starting from when you opened the workshop that morning."
"It was just a normal day," Jake said slowly.
"I worked all morning, took a lunch break around noon.
Worked through the afternoon. Around nine, I realized I was out of coffee, so I drove to that convenience store over on—" He paused, thinking.
"On Pima Road. The one near the residential area on the east side. "
Kari felt something click in her mind. That would be near Emma Talayesva's neighborhood.
Jake rubbed his temples. "I got coffee, some snacks.
I was in the store maybe ten minutes. When I came out and got back in my truck, I saw this SUV—dark colored, maybe black or navy—come flying out of one of the side streets.
I mean, really fast, like they were in a hurry or upset about something. Almost ran a stop sign."
"What time was this?"
"Maybe nine-fifteen, nine-thirty?" Jake shrugged. "I remember thinking it was reckless driving, but I didn't think much of it beyond that."
Kari's pulse quickened. That was right around the time Emma had been attacked.
"Did you see the driver?" Polacca asked.
"Not clearly. The sun was setting, and the windshield had some glare. I got the impression of someone in dark clothing, but that's it." Jake's expression shifted as he realized where this was going. "Wait, what's this about?"
"What did you do after that?" Kari asked. "Did you drive straight back to your workshop?"
"Yeah." Jake frowned, thinking. "I parked in front of my workshop. My truck was visible from the road. Do you think you know why someone attacked me?"
"It's conceivable that you saw the person who attacked Emma Talayesva," Kari said. “If they thought you'd seen them—"
"They might've followed me back to my workshop, then waited to ambush me." He shook his head in wonder. "But the crazy thing is, I didn't even see anything. I barely noticed the vehicle, and I definitely didn't see the driver's face."
"But the person who attacked Emma wouldn't know that," Polacca said. "All they'd know is that you were in the area, that you might have seen them leaving Emma's neighborhood right around the time of the attack. That would be enough to make you a threat."
Jake slumped back against his pillows, looking shaken. "So I was grabbed because I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Because I needed coffee?"
"It's a theory," Kari said, not wanting to state it as definitive fact when they couldn't prove it yet. "But it would explain why you were targeted when you had no connection to the genealogical project. The killer saw you as a potential witness, even if you didn't realize what you'd witnessed."
"Can the store provide surveillance footage?" Jake asked, suddenly hopeful. "If I was there, if that vehicle was there, wouldn't the cameras have caught it?"
"We'll check," Kari said, though she wasn't optimistic. Small convenience stores often had minimal or poorly maintained security systems. But it was worth pursuing. "Can you remember anything else about the SUV? Any distinguishing marks, damage, bumper stickers?"
Jake closed his eyes, trying to reconstruct the memory. "It was clean, well-maintained. Newer model, I think. But I only saw it for a few seconds." He opened his eyes. "I'm sorry. If I'd known it was important, I would have paid more attention."
"You couldn't have known," Polacca said gently. "You thought you were just seeing someone driving recklessly."
"But it means the killer saw you," Kari said. "Saw your truck, maybe even your face. And decided you were a threat that needed to be eliminated before you could connect what you'd seen to Emma's attack."
"Which means I'm still a target," Jake said quietly. "If they know I survived..."
"We're posting an officer outside your room," Kari assured him. "And we'll be reviewing security footage from that convenience store. If that SUV was there when you were, we might get a plate number, a clear view of the vehicle, maybe even the driver."
She rose. "Get some rest. If you remember anything else about that SUV—any detail at all—call us immediately."
"I will." Jake looked between them, his expression still shaken. "And thank you. For finding me. For..." He trailed off, unable to finish.
"We're going to catch whoever did this," Polacca said. It was a promise none of them could be certain of, but it needed to be said.
They were almost at the door when Kari's phone rang. She glanced at the screen—Chief Lomayesva.
"Blackhorse," she answered.
"Detective, where are you?" The Chief's voice was tight with controlled excitement.
"At the hospital, just finishing with Jake Honanie. Why?"
"Get back to the station. Now. Forensics just called with results from the knife recovered at Emma Talayesva's house." He paused, and Kari could hear the significance in the silence. "They found DNA. A full profile. And it's in the system."