Page 17 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

Dr. Elaine Redford’s office door stood half-open, the sound of frustration spilling into the hallway.

“No, absolutely not,” came a firm voice. “I’ve explained this three times now. These ceremonial objects cannot be transported to your exhibition. They need to remain within the cultural context of the reservation.”

As Kari and her father approached, they could see Dr. Redford pacing behind her desk, phone pressed to her ear, free hand gesturing emphatically though her audience couldn’t see it.

She was a small woman in her fifties with short silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, dressed in a flowing turquoise tunic over black pants.

“The Tribal Council’s position is quite clear,” she continued, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, I understand your deadline. No, that doesn’t supersede cultural protocols.

” She noticed them hovering in the doorway and held up one finger.

“I need to go. We’ll continue this conversation after you’ve reviewed the materials I sent explaining why this request is problematic. ”

She ended the call with a decisive tap and exhaled heavily. “James,” she said, her expression shifting to a weary smile. “Please tell me you’re here with a university matter and not another museum curator wanting to display sacred objects out of context.”

“Something a bit more complex than that,” Kari’s father replied. “This is my daughter, Detective Kari Blackhorse with Navajo Nation Police. She needs your expertise on a sensitive matter.”

Dr. Redford’s attention shifted to Kari, her eyes sharpening with interest. “Detective? Oh—you’re investigating Professor Harrington’s death.”

“I am,” Kari said.

Redford nodded. “Please come in, though I apologize for the state of things. I’m preparing for a conference next week.”

“The state of things” was a diplomatic understatement.

Redford’s office looked like the academic equivalent of a whirlwind.

Books teetered in precarious stacks on every surface.

Three different laptops sat open at various stations around the room.

One wall was covered in maps marked with colored pins and handwritten notes, while another displayed framed black-and-white photographs of ceremonial activities, carefully selected to show only what was appropriate for outsiders to see.

Redford cleared two chairs by relocating piles of papers to an already overburdened side table. “How can I help the Navajo Nation Police?”

Kari’s father checked his watch. “I have a department meeting in five minutes. Elaine, Kari needs your insights on some specific ceremonial arrangements. It’s confidential, of course.”

“Of course.” Redford nodded, seeming unsurprised by the request.

“I’ll check back after my meeting,” he told Kari, the awkward formality between them returning now that they had an audience.

After he left, Redford settled into her chair, folding her hands on the desk. “I’ve known your father for several years. He speaks of you often, though I thought he said you were with Phoenix PD.”

“I transferred back to the reservation recently,” Kari said, not wanting to delve into personal history. “Dr. Redford, I need your expertise on ceremonial practices, specifically protective rituals.”

Redford’s expression grew more serious. “This is about the positioning of the body.”

“Bodies,” Kari corrected. “There’s been a second murder.”

Redford’s eyes widened. “When?”

“Early this morning. Similar ceremonial elements to the Harrington case.”

Redford removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I was afraid of this. The moment I heard about the first murder, I worried it might not be isolated.”

“I need to show you some photographs,” Kari said carefully. “They’re crime scene images. Disturbing.”

Redford hesitated, then nodded. “I understand. I’m not particularly good with… that sort of thing, but if it helps your investigation, I’ll manage.”

Kari removed a folder from her bag, selecting the least graphic images that still showed the ceremonial arrangements. She laid them on the desk, watching as Redford steeled herself before examining them.

The anthropologist’s face paled, but her professional focus quickly overcame her discomfort. She studied the images with growing concern, occasionally murmuring to herself.

Redford studied the photos in silence, her expression carefully neutral. Her fingers traced the edges of the images without touching the disturbing content directly. Minutes passed as she examined each photo methodically, occasionally tilting her head but offering no commentary.

Kari waited, watching the anthropologist’s face for any reaction. When it became clear Redford wasn’t volunteering her assessment, Kari decided to take the lead.

“The directional alignments are wrong,” Kari said, pointing to the first photo.

“Harrington is positioned facing east, which would be appropriate for a blessing ceremony, but not with these particular herbs, which are used for containment. The sage and cedar are positioned incorrectly—they should be at the cardinal points, not at the head and feet.”

She moved to the second photo. “And here, the victim is facing north, which relates to protection, but the cornmeal circle is broken in four places, which would negate any protective effect. It’s someone attempting a Navajo ceremony without understanding its spiritual mechanics.”

Redford looked up sharply, surprised. “You’ve…” She seemed to lose her thread for a moment. “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right. I’m impressed.”

“My grandmother is a traditional healer,” Kari explained. “I spent weekends with her on the reservation growing up. Some things you absorb even when you’re not trying to learn them.”

“Remarkable,” Redford said with a mixture of awe and respect. “Even most experts in my field would have difficulty identifying these specific inconsistencies.”

“There’s a difference between studying something and living it,” Kari said simply. “My grandmother would say knowledge held only in books is like water in a photograph—you can see it, but it won’t quench thirst.”

“Your grandmother sounds wise,” Redford said. “And you’re absolutely correct in your assessment. These arrangements show someone with academic rather than practical knowledge—someone who’s read about these ceremonies but never participated in them.”

Kari felt a sudden clarity. “They’re meant to look like they were done by a Navajo person. Someone wants investigators to think these murders were committed by a traditional practitioner.”

“A frame-up?” Redford asked, looking disturbed by the possibility.

“It fits,” Kari said, thinking aloud. “The FBI’s already pursuing a profile of a traditional Navajo male with resentment toward outsiders trespassing on sacred land. They’re looking at people on the reservation while the real killer—probably not Navajo—continues operating.”

Redford considered this. “That’s… terribly clever. And deeply offensive.”

“Where would someone learn enough about these ceremonies to attempt this kind of imitation?” Kari asked. “Detailed enough to convince non-Navajo investigators, but with mistakes that a knowledgeable person would immediately recognize?”

Redford gestured to her bookshelves. “Unfortunately, there are plenty of sources. Early anthropological studies documented ceremonies in sometimes inappropriate detail. Museums have archives of ceremonial recordings. There are even popular books that claim to explain ‘the secrets’ of Navajo spirituality, most written by non-Navajo authors with limited understanding.”

She stood and crossed to a bookshelf, where she pulled down a thick volume with a cracked spine.

“This one, for instance. Published in the 1950s. It contains detailed descriptions of protective ceremonies, including diagrams that show herb placements and directional alignments. It’s academically valuable but ethically problematic. ”

“Would Canyon State University’s library have books like these?” Kari asked.

“Certainly. In our special collections department. Access is restricted, but anyone with academic credentials could request viewing.” Redford hesitated. “I should note that I’ve taught courses on Navajo ceremonial practices for over fifteen years. Many students have taken detailed notes.”

“Including diagrams of protective rituals?”

Redford nodded uncomfortably. “I’m careful about what I share, but yes, we discuss general patterns and purposes. I could provide a list of students who’ve taken my advanced seminar on Southwest Indigenous ceremonial practices, if that would help.”

“It might,” Kari said, though the potential suspect pool would be enormous—decades of students, researchers, and visiting academics.

Redford returned to her chair, her gaze falling again on the crime scene photos before carefully sliding them back toward Kari.

“Dr. Harrington worked here at Canyon State University,” Kari said, collecting the photos. “Did you know him personally?”

An unmistakable shadow crossed Redford’s face.

“Yes, quite well, actually. Mark and I collaborated on several interdisciplinary projects over the years.” She gestured to a framed photograph on her cluttered desk that Kari hadn’t noticed before—Redford with a small group of people in what appeared to be Canyon de Chelly, Harrington among them.

“Field research team from two years ago,” Redford explained. “Mark led the geological survey while I documented cultural contexts. He was brilliant when it came to understanding how geological formations influenced human settlement patterns.”

“What was he like to work with?” Kari asked, watching Redford’s expression carefully.