Page 4 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

The first thing Kari noticed was the blood.

It had soaked into the red sandstone, darkening it to a deep burgundy that an untrained eye might have mistaken for a natural mineral variation. But Kari had worked homicide for five years in Phoenix. She knew better.

“Close the perimeter to fifty feet,” she said, her voice automatically shifting to the measured tone she used at crime scenes. “And call for the ME.”

Tsosie nodded, already reaching for his radio.

Kari approached the body carefully, stepping where Nez’s footprints had already disturbed the ground. Detail by detail, she took in the scene, compartmentalizing her reactions like she’d been trained to do.

The victim lay between two large sandstone boulders, partially shaded from the rising sun.

Male, Caucasian, mid-forties to early fifties, wearing hiking clothes—khaki pants, sturdy boots, a lightweight long-sleeved shirt now torn and soaked with blood.

His body had been arranged in a very specific position.

“He’s facing east,” Tsosie said quietly as he joined her.

Kari nodded. The body lay on its back, arms at its sides, palms up. The head had been turned to face the rising sun. It would have looked peaceful if not for the violence evident across the rest of the corpse.

She crouched down, careful not to disturb any evidence, and leaned closer to examine the injuries.

The man’s face was barely recognizable as human, beaten to a pulp with such force that the skull beneath had fractured in multiple places.

Deep lacerations crisscrossed his chest and arms, cutting through the fabric of his shirt as if it were tissue paper.

Some looked like knife wounds, but others…

“Those almost look like claw marks,” Tsosie said, echoing her thoughts.

Kari gently turned the victim’s head, revealing the unnatural angle of the neck. “Cervical fracture. That’s likely cause of death.”

“Someone snapped his neck after beating him,” Tsosie said.

“And then arranged him like this.” Kari pointed to several small bundles of herbs placed around the body—sage, cedar, and something else she couldn’t immediately identify. “What do you make of this?”

Tsosie’s face had gone carefully blank. “It resembles elements of a Blessing Way ceremony. But wrong. Distorted.”

“Someone with partial knowledge of Navajo rituals?” Kari asked.

“Or someone deliberately perverting them.” Tsosie’s voice remained neutral, but Kari could see the tension in his shoulders.

She continued her examination, noting the victim’s watch—an expensive model designed for outdoor activities—still on his wrist. The front pockets of his pants yielded nothing, but in the back pocket, she found a leather wallet.

Kari stood, stepping away from the body to examine the contents. “Dr. Mark Harrington,” she read from the driver’s license. “Canyon State University faculty ID. Geology department.”

“Professor,” Tsosie said. “That explains the camera equipment. Probably out here taking samples or photographs.”

Kari flipped through the wallet, finding several credit cards and approximately two hundred dollars in cash. “Not a robbery.”

She handed the wallet to Tsosie, who bagged it as evidence, then turned her attention to the ground around the body. The earth told its own story—scuff marks and indentations suggesting a struggle.

“No drag marks,” she noted. “He died right here, or very close by.”

Tsosie was examining the camera equipment. “High-end gear. Professional quality. Memory card is still in the camera.”

“Bag it all,” Kari said. “We’ll need to see what he was photographing.”

She made a full circuit of the taped perimeter, scanning for anything that might help reconstruct what had happened.

The scene was oddly clean beyond the immediate area around the body—no footprints other than Officer Nez’s and those of the hikers who’d discovered the body, no cigarette butts or food wrappers, no sign that anyone else had been present.

“It’s like his attacker appeared out of nowhere and then vanished the same way,” she said, more to herself than to Tsosie.

“Or knew how to move without leaving traces,” Tsosie suggested.

The comment prompted Kari to look at him more closely. His face revealed nothing, but there was something in his tone that caught her attention.

“You’re thinking this wasn’t random,” she said.

Tsosie met her gaze. “A geology professor comes out here, off-trail, possibly at night according to Nez. Gets attacked with unusual violence. Then his body is arranged in a way that mimics sacred ceremonies.” He gestured to the canyon around them. “This place has meaning.”

“You think he was targeted specifically?”

“I think we need to find out exactly why Dr. Harrington was here,” Tsosie said.

Kari nodded, turning back to survey the scene once more. The sun had risen higher now, its heat intensifying by the minute. In the distance, she could hear the approach of additional vehicles—likely the medical examiner and crime scene technicians.

“Time of death is going to be tricky in this heat,” she said. “Bodies decompose faster out here.”

“Based on the condition, I’d guess no more than forty-eight hours, like Nez said,” Tsosie said. “But the ME will know better.”

Kari’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She stepped away from the scene to answer it, recognizing the captain’s number on the screen.

“Blackhorse,” she said.

“I just got the preliminary report from Nez,” Captain Yazzie said, his voice terse and businesslike. “Homicide at Canyon de Chelly?”

“Yes, sir. Male victim, identified as Dr. Mark Harrington from Canyon State University. Geology professor.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. “White academic on tribal land,” Yazzie said finally. “The feds will be circling soon.”

“I know,” Kari said. “But it’s our case until they arrive.”

“Process it by the book, Blackhorse. I want everything documented before any federal agents show up.” Yazzie paused. “Nez mentioned some… unusual elements to the scene.”

Kari glanced back at the body, at the ceremonial arrangement that seemed so at odds with the violence inflicted. “The victim was arranged postmortem in a position resembling Blessing Way elements. There are herbs placed around the body.”

Another silence, longer this time. “Keep that detail close for now,” Yazzie said eventually. “No need to broadcast it.”

“Understood,” Kari said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. Withholding details from the feds would only complicate jurisdictional issues later.

“I’ve got Agent Daniels from the Flagstaff field office calling me already,” Yazzie continued. “Seems the victim was reported missing yesterday when he didn’t return from a photography trip he took late the previous night.”

The name registered immediately. Paul Daniels—her father’s former partner. “When will he arrive?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

“Tomorrow morning at the earliest. That gives you twenty-four hours to establish the investigation on our terms.” Yazzie’s tone made it clear this was both an opportunity and a test. “Make it count, Detective.”

“Yes, sir,” Kari said.

The call ended just as a white medical examiner’s van pulled up on the access road in the distance. Kari rejoined Tsosie, who was photographing the crime scene from multiple angles.

“Captain?” he asked, not looking up from his camera.

“FBI’s already interested. Agent Daniels from Flagstaff will be here tomorrow.”

Tsosie lowered the camera, sensing there was more Kari wanted to say.

“My father’s partner,” Kari said. “But that won’t be an issue.”

Tsosie said nothing, but his skepticism was palpable.

“What matters now is establishing a timeline,” Kari continued, refocusing on the case. “Harrington was reported missing yesterday. He went on a late hike the previous night, which is presumably when he was killed. It’s Thursday now, so that puts his death somewhere during Tuesday night.”

“We need to know if he was alone,” Tsosie said. “He could have met someone out here.”

The medical examiner’s team had reached the yellow tape boundary, the lead examiner waving in greeting. Dr. Susan Hatathli was an efficient woman in her fifties who had worked for the tribal police for over two decades.

“Detectives,” she said as she approached. “Officer Nez said this one was unusual.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Kari said. “Victim is Dr. Mark Harrington, geology professor. Massive trauma to the face and upper body, broken neck, arranged postmortem in a ceremonial position.”

Dr. Hatathli raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she pulled on gloves and crouched beside the body. Her examination was thorough and methodical, her expression growing more troubled as she worked.

“Initial impression is death by cervical fracture,” she said after several minutes. “But these other injuries…” She traced the air above one of the deep lacerations on the chest. “These were inflicted antemortem. He was alive when he received them.”

“Weapon?” Kari asked.

Dr. Hatathli frowned. “A knife for the lacerations, I would guess.” She examined the man’s battered face. “The facial trauma was caused by blunt force. A hammer, maybe, or a rock.”

“Time of death?” Kari asked.

“Based on lividity and the desert conditions, approximately thirty-six to forty-eight hours ago. I’ll narrow it down after the autopsy.”

Kari glanced at Tsosie. Tuesday night was looking more and more promising.

Dr. Hatathli gestured to her assistants to prepare the body for transport. “I’ll have preliminary findings for you by this evening.”

As the medical examiner’s team worked, Kari pulled Tsosie aside.

“We need to split up,” she said. “One of us should go to Flagstaff, talk to his colleagues, search his office and home. The other needs to stay here, coordinate the evidence collection, and interview the hikers who found him.”

Tsosie nodded. “You should go to Flagstaff. You know the university, the urban environment. I’ll handle things here, talk to the local rangers, see if anyone noticed anything unusual in the past few days.”

It was the logical division of labor, playing to their respective strengths, but Kari sensed there was more to Tsosie’s suggestion.

“You want to talk to the elders,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Tsosie met her gaze directly. “The ceremonial elements concern me. If someone’s using our sacred practices as… theater for murder, the elders need to know.”

“Keep it discreet,” Kari said. “Captain wants the ceremonial aspects kept quiet for now.”

“That won’t be possible for long,” Tsosie said. “Word travels fast out here.”

“Just do what you can.” Kari looked back at the body, now being carefully placed in a black bag. “I’ll head to Flagstaff as soon as we wrap up here. See what I can learn about why Dr. Harrington was in this specific location.”

“Be careful there,” Tsosie said unexpectedly.

Kari gave him a questioning look.

“Daniels will be watching you,” he clarified. “Testing you. The prodigal daughter who rejected the FBI for local police work, now back on tribal land.”

The assessment was surprisingly perceptive. “I can handle Daniels,” she said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Tsosie said. “Just remember whose side you’re on.”

The comment stung more than it should have. “I know exactly whose side I’m on, Detective.”

Tsosie nodded, accepting this without argument. “We should finish processing the scene. Heat’s only going to get worse.”

They returned to their methodical documentation—photographing, bagging evidence, searching the wider area for anything that might have been missed. The work was familiar to Kari, a procedural rhythm that helped compartmentalize the brutality of what had happened here.

As the sun climbed higher, casting shorter shadows across the red stone, Kari found herself repeatedly drawn back to the peculiar arrangement of the body.

The peaceful positioning seemed a stark, deliberate contrast to the violence that had preceded it—as if the killer had wanted to make a statement.

Or perform a ritual.

The thought sent an unexpected chill through her despite the desert heat. Her grandmother’s voice seemed to whisper at the edge of her consciousness: Some things shouldn’t be discussed in the open air. The land hears. It remembers.

Kari pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the concrete evidence before her. Whatever had happened to Mark Harrington, the answers wouldn’t be found in superstition or old stories. They would be revealed by careful investigation through the methodical accumulation of facts and evidence.

That was the path she had chosen—the world of forensic science and investigative procedure, not the realm of spirits and ceremonies that her grandmother inhabited. It was the path that had served her well in Phoenix, that had earned her that eighty-nine percent clearance rate Tsosie had mentioned.

And yet, as the body of Mark Harrington was finally zipped into its bag and carried away, Kari couldn’t shake the feeling that this case might require understanding of both worlds—the one she had embraced and the one she had left behind.

“I’ll get a ride with Dr. Hatathli back to the station, get my car. I’ll call you when I reach Flagstaff,” she said to Tsosie as they packed up their equipment.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Watch for patterns,” he said. “In what his colleagues tell you, in what his research focused on.”

“Always do,” Kari replied.

“And Blackhorse?” Tsosie added as she turned to go. “Whoever—whatever did this… it might not be finished.”

The warning stayed with her as she drove away from Canyon de Chelly, the image of Mark Harrington’s broken body burned in her mind like a brand.