Page 5 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

As Kari navigated the streets of downtown Flagstaff, memories surfaced unbidden—weekday afternoons with her father after school, Saturday mornings at Macy’s Coffeehouse, the years when this city had been half of her divided childhood.

Her father still lived here, and the possibility of running into him—unlikely, but still possible—made her uneasy.

Their relationship had been strained ever since his marriage to Linda, a curator at the Museum of Northern Arizona—and fifteen years his junior.

Linda had been his colleague during the last years of his marriage to Kari’s mother, and Kari had always wondered if the curator had been, at least in part, the reason for her parents’ divorce.

Taking a deep breath of the familiar mountain air, which was thinner and cooler than the reservation heat she’d left behind, Kari reminded herself that she wasn’t here for her father or for Linda. This was about a murder investigation, nothing else.

And she was going to do her best to keep it that way.

Canyon State University sprawled at the city’s southern edge, its historic north campus buildings of native stone and timber standing in contrast to the modern facilities that had expanded the campus over decades.

Kari parked in a visitor space outside the Geology Building, a boxy structure from the 1970s with a display of massive rock specimens flanking its entrance.

The department office was quiet when she entered, a student worker glancing up from a computer with mild interest.

“Can I help you?” the young woman asked.

Kari showed her badge. “Detective Kari Blackhorse, Navajo Nation Police. I need to speak with someone regarding Dr. Mark Harrington.”

The student’s expression shifted instantly, a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Oh. Dr. Hale is the department chair. Her office is down the hall, second door on the left. She just finished teaching a class, so she should be there.”

“Thank you,” Kari said, heading in the indicated direction.

The hallway was lined with glass cases displaying geological specimens and posters detailing faculty research.

Halfway down, a bulletin board featured photographs of department members in the field.

Kari paused, spotting Harrington immediately—a trim man with salt-and-pepper hair and an enthusiastic smile, crouched beside a rock formation, pointing to some feature invisible to the untrained eye.

The man in the photo bore little resemblance to the brutalized body she’d examined that morning. The disconnect was jarring, a reminder of the violence that had erased the person he’d been.

The door marked “Dr. Sylvia Hale, Chair” was ajar. Kari knocked.

“Come in,” called a voice from inside.

Dr. Hale was a petite woman in her early fifties, with short black hair streaked with gray and wire-rimmed glasses. She looked up from her computer, her professional smile fading as Kari introduced herself and showed her badge.

“This is about Mark, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice steady but tight with concern. “Do you know where he is?”

Kari closed the door behind her and took the chair Hale gestured to. “I’m afraid I have some difficult news, Dr. Hale. Dr. Harrington’s body was found this morning near Canyon de Chelly.”

Hale’s hand went to her mouth, her composure cracking momentarily before she visibly steeled herself. “You’re certain it’s him?”

“Yes. We found identification on his person. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Hale nodded, blinking rapidly. “How did he… was it an accident?”

“The investigation is ongoing, but we’re treating it as a homicide,” Kari said. “That’s why I’m here. I need to understand what Dr. Harrington was doing at Canyon de Chelly, and who might have known about his plans.”

“Homicide.” Hale repeated the word flatly, as if testing its reality. “That doesn’t make sense. Mark was well-liked. Respected in his field.”

“Did he mention why he was visiting that specific area?” Kari asked.

Hale took a deep breath, visibly collecting herself.

“Yes, he was quite excited about it, actually. He was photographing unusual oxidation patterns in the sandstone formations there. Something about manganese deposits that didn’t fit the established models.

” She gestured to a map on her wall showing geological features of the Southwest. “He believed they might provide evidence of a previously undocumented period of volcanic activity in the region.”

“Was this for a specific research project?” Kari asked.

“Partly academic interest, partly personal,” Hale said.

“Mark was preparing a photography exhibition for the university gallery next month—‘Stone Memories: Earth’s Hidden History.’ It was going to feature his geological photographs alongside scientific explanations. He was an excellent photographer.”

Kari thought of the expensive camera equipment at the scene. “So he was there as much for the photographs as the science?”

“Yes, though he wouldn’t have separated the two. For Mark, the aesthetics and the science were intertwined.” Hale’s voice softened with remembrance. “He believed that the beauty of geological formations helped people connect with science in ways raw data couldn’t.”

“Was he working alone?” Kari asked.

“As far as I know. Mark usually preferred solitary fieldwork, especially for photography. He said other people disrupted his process.” Hale paused. “Though I know he had arranged for a guide initially. It’s standard procedure when working on tribal lands.”

Kari leaned forward. “Do you know what happened with the guide?”

Hale frowned. “Only that there was some disagreement. Mark mentioned it during our department meeting last week. He was frustrated because the guide had refused to take him to the specific formation he wanted to photograph.”

“Did he say why the guide refused?”

“Something about it being a sacred site, I believe. Or dangerous after dark.” Hale shook her head. “Mark dismissed it as superstition. He could be… single-minded when it came to his research.”

“Did he mention the guide’s name?” Kari asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Hale thought for a moment. “I don’t recall if he did. But it would be in his research authorization paperwork. We keep copies of all field research documentation.” She turned to her computer. “Let me check our files.”

While Hale searched, Kari scanned the office, noting the geology journals on the bookshelves, the framed photographs of rock formations that must have held significance beyond their aesthetic appeal to the trained eye.

One photo on Hale’s desk showed a group of faculty members at what appeared to be a department picnic.

Harrington stood at the edge, smiling but somehow separate from the others.

“Here it is,” Hale said, turning the monitor so Kari could see. “Mark filed his research plan three months ago. The guide he arranged was someone named Natoni Begay, affiliated with the Canyon de Chelly Visitor Center.”

Kari made note of the name. “And Dr. Harrington went to the site without the guide after their disagreement?”

“Apparently so.” Hale looked troubled. “Mark was determined to get those photographs during the full moon. Something about the light revealing the oxidation patterns more clearly.” She hesitated. “Do you think this guide could have had something to do with what happened?”

“We’re exploring all possibilities,” Kari said. “Was there anyone else who might have known about Dr. Harrington’s plans? Colleagues? Students? Family?”

“His graduate assistant would know the details of his research. Emma Peshlakai—she’s Navajo, actually. She’s been working with Mark for the past two years on his Southwest geology projects.” Hale checked her watch. “She should be in the lab now, cataloging specimens. Down the hall, room 156.”

Kari noted the name. “Was Dr. Harrington married? Any family in the area?”

“Divorced about a year ago. He and his ex have a teenage daughter, Ellie.” Hale sighed. “He took the divorce hard, threw himself even more into his work. The photography exhibition was partly his way of reconnecting with that passion.”

“One last question,” Kari said. “Was Dr. Harrington involved in any disputes? Professional disagreements, departmental politics, anything that might have created tension?”

Hale considered this. “Not that I can think of. Mark could be abrasive when challenged, and his confidence sometimes came across as arrogance. But he was brilliant, and his students adored him.”

Kari stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Hale. The medical examiner will be in touch regarding arrangements once the examination is complete.”

Hale nodded, her eyes sad, grave. “Please find who did this, Detective. Mark deserved better.”

***

The geology lab was a large, well-lit room filled with worktables covered in rock and mineral specimens. A young woman with long black hair pulled back in a neat braid was examining a reddish rock sample under a microscope. She looked up as Kari entered, her expression expectant.

“Emma Peshlakai?” Kari asked.

“Yes?” The woman’s eyes flickered to Kari’s badge, and her face fell. “This is about Dr. Harrington, isn’t it? They found him?”

Kari nodded, introducing herself and explaining the situation as gently as possible. Unlike Hale’s controlled reaction, Emma’s response was immediate and raw—tears filling her eyes even as she tried to maintain composure.

“I told him not to go alone,” she said, her voice breaking. “Those places… they’re not just geology. They matter. They have meaning.”

Kari pulled up a stool across from Emma. “You knew he was planning to visit Canyon de Chelly at night?”