Page 21 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

Kari paused outside the interrogation room, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

Behind the door sat a man whose life had been upended by circumstantial evidence and cultural assumptions.

She balanced two water bottles in one hand, case folder in the other, and reminded herself that whatever Daniels might believe, her job was to find the truth, not convenient suspects.

She entered to find Thomas Begay sitting with remarkable composure for someone who’d had rifles pointed at his home hours earlier.

The austere room—beige walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, metal table bolted to the floor—seemed designed to break down resistance through sheer bleakness.

But Thomas’s large hands rested calmly on the table, his breathing steady, his posture perfect.

Only his eyes revealed anything—a natural wariness that deepened when he saw her.

“Mr. Begay, I’m Detective Kari Blackhorse,” she said, placing one water bottle in front of him before taking the seat across the table. She deliberately left the case folder closed. “Thank you for your cooperation earlier.”

Thomas acknowledged her with a slight nod but said nothing.

“Are you comfortable?” Kari asked. “Do you need anything before we begin?”

“I need to know why federal agents came to my home with guns,” Thomas replied, his deep voice controlled despite the circumstances. “I need to know why helicopters circled my house like I am a dangerous criminal.”

Kari met his gaze directly. “You’re being questioned in connection with two homicides—Dr. Mark Harrington and Rachel Delgado. The FBI is involved because the murders occurred on or near federal land.”

“And they decided I am guilty because I am Navajo and once stood up to a white man.” The statement contained no question, just resigned understanding.

“No one has decided anything,” Kari said, though they both knew this wasn’t entirely true. “I’m here to ask questions and listen to your answers.”

Thomas studied her face, seeming to assess her sincerity. “You are Anna Chee’s daughter.”

The personal recognition caught Kari off guard. “Yes.”

“She interviewed my grandfather about old stories. The ones most anthropologists don’t know to ask about.” A hint of respect softened his expression. “She listened well.”

Kari filed away this unexpected connection for later consideration. “Mr. Begay, I need to establish your whereabouts on Tuesday night between 10 PM and 2 AM, and again early this morning between 4 AM and 7 AM.”

“Tuesday night, I was at home, preparing materials for my language class the next morning. I live alone since my divorce, so there is no one to confirm this.” He stated this simply, without defensiveness.

“This morning, I was running before sunrise. I do this every day, five miles along the ridge trail near my house.”

“Anyone see you on this run?”

“Perhaps. I passed two other runners near Whispering Mesa. I do not know their names.”

Kari made notes, keeping her expression neutral. The sooner she could establish an alibi for Begay, the sooner she could get him safely out of Daniels’s reach.

“You had previous interactions with Dr. Harrington,” she said. “Can you tell me about those?”

Thomas straightened. “He came to the Tribal Council six months ago, seeking permission to document sacred sites for his research. I spoke against granting this permission because he showed no understanding of why these places are protected.”

“Did you confront him personally?”

“I addressed him respectfully during the public comment period. I said he was continuing a long tradition of outsiders treating our spiritual heritage as scientific curiosity.” Thomas’s gaze was steady. “I did not threaten him. I did not follow him. I simply spoke truth to the Council.”

“And Rachel Delgado? Did you know her?”

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “I have heard she was an environmental activist fighting against the mining company. I filed a formal complaint about the same company contaminating water near my family’s grazing land, but I never met this woman.”

Kari shifted direction. “Mr. Begay, are you familiar with protective ceremonies used to contain dangerous entities or forces?”

For the first time, genuine surprise flickered across Thomas’s features. “Yes. My grandfather is a healer who maintains some of the old ways.”

“Could you describe, in general terms, how such ceremonies would be properly conducted?”

Thomas’s expression closed immediately. “Those are sacred matters not to be discussed in police stations while cameras record.” He nodded toward the red light in the corner. “Especially not when you seek to use such knowledge against me.”

“I’m not trying to use it against you,” Kari said. “The opposite, in fact.”

Thomas studied her with renewed intensity. “What do you mean?”

“The bodies were arranged with ceremonial elements—herbs, directional positioning, cornmeal patterns.” Kari kept her voice low, respectful. “But the arrangements contained significant errors no traditional practitioner would make.”

Understanding dawned in Thomas’s eyes. “You believe someone is imitating our ways. Someone who has learned about but not lived them.”

“That’s my theory,” Kari said. “Which is why I’m asking what you would recognize as obvious mistakes.”

Thomas was quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing how much to share.

“The most basic understanding is that directions matter. East is the primary direction of power and blessing. North relates to protection. South to learning. West to reflection and ending. If the ceremonial elements don’t align with the proper directions, the entire purpose is corrupted. ”

This aligned with what Ruth, Natoni, and Dr. Redford had all confirmed. “And the herbs—sage, cedar, and globemallow—how would they be properly arranged?”

“This should not be casually discussed with police,” Thomas said firmly. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, “But anyone who knows would place them at the cardinal points, not randomly around a body.” His eyes narrowed. “These murders involve these elements?”

“Yes,” Kari said simply.

“Then you are looking for someone with book knowledge, not lived knowledge.” Thomas leaned forward. “Detective Blackhorse, I have taught Navajo language and traditions for twelve years. I would no more make these mistakes than an English professor would mix up their alphabet.”

The door opened before Kari could respond. Captain Yazzie looked in, his expression carefully neutral. “Detective, Agent Daniels would like a word.”

Kari nodded, gathering her notes. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Begay. I’ll be back shortly.”

In the observation room, Daniels stood with arms crossed, watching Thomas through the one-way glass. Agent Keller sat nearby, typing notes on a laptop.

“You’re going too soft,” Daniels said without preamble. “Establishing rapport is fine, but you’re not pushing for inconsistencies.”

“Because there aren’t any,” Kari replied. “His answers are straightforward and consistent with everything we know.”

“What we know is that he had confrontations with the victims—”

“He had a confrontation with Harrington,” Kari said. “He never met Delgado.”

“They were both involved in disputes with entities he opposed,” Daniels countered. “The professor studying sacred sites, the activist investigating the same mining company he filed complaints about. The connection is clear.”

“It’s circumstantial at best,” Kari said. “And it ignores the ceremonial inconsistencies I’ve confirmed with multiple sources.”

“Your grandmother, a guide with family connections to the suspect, and an anthropologist who studies these things academically—hardly an objective panel.” Daniels’s tone was dismissive.

“Meanwhile, we have a suspect with the physical capability, the opportunity, and a documented history of confrontation with outsiders he perceives as disrespecting tribal traditions.”

Kari felt her patience wearing thin. “And no physical evidence connecting him to either crime scene.”

“Yet,” Daniels said. “We’re executing a search warrant on his home and vehicle as we speak. In the meantime, I’ll take over the interview.”

“That’s not necessary,” Kari began, but Captain Yazzie interrupted.

“Agent Daniels has jurisdiction over federal homicides,” he reminded her quietly. “We’ve agreed to cooperative questioning.”

The subtext was clear: pick your battles. Kari reluctantly nodded, ceding the floor.

“I’d like to watch,” she said.

“Be my guest,” Daniels replied with cool confidence. “You might learn something about effective interrogation techniques. Believe it or not, it doesn’t involve tipping your hand like you just did with Begay.”

Kari took a seat beside Agent Keller as Daniels entered the interrogation room, carrying nothing but a single folder. Thomas straightened as the door closed.

“Mr. Begay, I’m Special Agent Paul Daniels, FBI,” Daniels said, remaining standing rather than taking a seat. “I’ll be continuing this interview.”

Thomas gave a small nod, his eyes tracking Daniels as the agent circled behind him before stopping abruptly at his shoulder.

“Where exactly were you Tuesday night between 10 PM and 2 AM?” Daniels asked, the question snapped like a whip.

“As I told Detective Blackhorse, I was at home preparing—”

“Preparing what?” Daniels cut in, moving to the opposite side of the table. “Be specific.”

Thomas inhaled slowly. “Language worksheets for my Navajo level three class. Verb conjugation patterns.”

“Anyone see you doing this?”

“No. I live alone.”

Daniels smirked. “Convenient.” He slammed both palms on the table without warning, causing the water bottle to tip over. “You were at Canyon de Chelly that night, weren’t you?”

“No,” Thomas said, righting the bottle without flinching.

“You followed Harrington there. You watched him setting up his equipment at the sacred site you’d tried to keep him away from six months earlier.”

“I did not.”