Page 14 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

After that, only the ambient sounds of the desert—wind through junipers, occasional bird calls, the subtle symphony of a landscape indifferent to human tragedy.

“What the hell was that?” Daniels asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over their group.

“Could be distorted by the microphone,” Tsosie suggested, though his expression betrayed doubt.

Kari played it again, focusing specifically on the strange vocalization.

The second listening confirmed her initial impression—whatever had made that sound didn’t conform to typical human vocalization patterns. It reminded her of Ruth’s words: Not all killers leave footprints.

“We need to get this to audio specialists,” Daniels said, all pretense of being an observer now abandoned. “The Bureau has voice analysis technology that might help identify the speaker.”

“The phone goes with our evidence,” Kari said firmly. “We’ll share findings once our techs have processed it.”

“Kari.” Daniels removed his sunglasses, his expression shifting to the avuncular concern she remembered from childhood. “This is bigger than jurisdictional pride. Two people are dead, both with these ceremonial elements you say are inauthentic. We need Bureau resources on this.”

“We’re not refusing cooperation,” Kari said. “But this is still a Navajo Nation Police investigation until formally transferred.”

Dr. Hatathli interrupted their standoff. “I need to move the body soon. Temperature’s rising, and decomposition accelerates in these conditions.”

Kari nodded. “Go ahead and prepare for transport. We’ve documented the scene.”

As the medical examiner’s team worked, Kari pulled Tsosie aside. “What do you make of that sound on the recording?”

Tsosie’s expression was uncharacteristically troubled. “Strange, to say the least,” he said quietly. “It reminded me of stories my grandfather used to tell. About Skinwalkers.”

The term sent an unexpected shiver through Kari.

Skinwalkers—evil witches who could transform into animals by wearing their skins—featured prominently in the stories Ruth had told her as a child.

They were the monsters of Navajo legend, spoken of in whispers, never directly named for fear of attracting their attention.

“That’s not what we’re dealing with,” she said, not entirely certain who she was trying to convince.

Tsosie didn’t argue, but his silence spoke volumes.

Daniels joined them, his phone pressed to his ear.

After a brief conversation, he hung up with a grim expression.

“I’ve updated the Flagstaff office. They’re sending a forensic team and putting together a task force.

In the meantime, we need to brief your department.

If we’re dealing with a serial killer targeting people in this area, public safety becomes the priority. ”

“Agreed,” Kari said, seeing no reason to dispute this approach. “We should get the victim’s background as well. Environmental activism can create enemies.”

“I’ve already requested her file from the Southwest Justice Coalition,” Daniels said. “They’re sending her case history and current projects.”

Of course he had. The Bureau’s resources and reach still impressed Kari, despite her determination to maintain independence.

“We’ll meet at the station in two hours,” she said. “That gives us time to process the initial evidence and prepare a briefing.”

Daniels nodded, seemingly satisfied with her cooperation. “I’ll coordinate with my office. But Kari,” he added, lowering his voice, “the media will be all over this once it breaks. Two ritualistic killings near sacred sites? The narrative writes itself.”

“All the more reason to work methodically and avoid speculation,” she replied.

As they prepared to leave the scene, Kari took one last look at the place where Rachel Delgado had died. The environmental activist had come seeking evidence of corporate wrongdoing but had instead become evidence herself—of something Kari wasn’t yet ready to name.

The sound from the recording lingered in her mind, inhuman and angry. She recalled her dream from the previous night—her mother pointing to something at the base of Monster’s Hand, trying to communicate something urgent.

Two deaths, both near sacred sites. Both victims arranged with misunderstood ceremonial elements. Both present during times when boundaries were said to thin—the full moon for Harrington, the pre-dawn hours for Delgado.

Kari shook herself from these thoughts as they returned to their vehicles. Mystical speculation wouldn’t solve these murders. Evidence would. Methodology would. The careful application of investigative technique would.

At least, that’s what she’d been trained to believe.

“Ready for the department briefing?” Tsosie asked as they reached the SUV.

“No,” Kari admitted. “But we don’t have a choice. If there’s a killer targeting people in this area, everyone needs to know what we’re dealing with.”

“And what exactly are we dealing with?” Tsosie asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Kari met his gaze over the roof of the vehicle. “A human killer with knowledge of Navajo ceremonies but not enough understanding to perform them correctly. Someone who’s studied our traditions but doesn’t practice them, maybe an academic.”

Tsosie held her gaze for a long moment. “If you say so, Detective.”