Page 8 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)
“No,” Natoni said, meeting his eyes. “To protect everything else from what killed him.”
The statement sent an unexpected chill through Kari despite the room’s comfortable temperature. She reminded herself that she was dealing with cultural beliefs, not evidence.
“Where would someone learn about these protective rituals?” she asked.
“Not from books or the internet,” Natoni said. “That kind of knowledge is passed down orally, usually within families training healers.” He hesitated. “There aren’t many who would know the old protective rituals. They’re rarely needed now.”
“Could you provide a list of those who would?” Kari asked.
Natoni shook his head. “I don’t know them all. My grandfather might, but…” He trailed off, clearly reluctant.
“Your grandfather’s name?” Kari pressed.
“John Begay. He lives with us.” Natoni’s expression hardened again. “But I won’t let you harass an elder with accusations.”
“We just want information,” Kari assured him. “Nothing more.”
Natoni seemed unconvinced. “Are we done here? I have another tour in twenty minutes.”
Kari glanced at Tsosie, who gave a slight nod. “For now,” she said. “But we’ll need to verify your alibi, and we may have more questions.”
“I’m not hard to find,” Natoni said, standing. He hesitated at the door. “Detective Blackhorse. Whatever you think of our traditions, whatever you believe or don’t believe—be careful at Monster’s Hand. Especially at night. The old ones don’t care about your badge.”
With that, he left, the door closing quietly behind him.
“Well, that was interesting,” Kari said once they were alone. “What’s your assessment?”
Tsosie considered for a moment. “He’s hiding something, but I don’t think it’s murder.”
“I agree,” Kari said. “His alibi sounds solid—multiple witnesses, family members. And his reaction to the body arrangement seemed genuine.”
“I think it was,” Tsosie said. “That’s not how a blessing ceremony would be performed.”
Kari studied her partner. “You believe the stuff about ‘old ones’ and ‘walking earth’?”
Tsosie met her gaze directly. “I believe we have reasons for our traditions, even if modern education doesn’t always recognize those reasons.” His tone was even, not defensive. “Does that matter to this investigation?”
“It might,” Kari said. “If belief in those traditions motivated someone to kill Harrington for trespassing.”
Tsosie nodded, acknowledging the point. “We should talk to Natoni’s grandfather. Elders often know the community’s undercurrents.”
“Agreed,” Kari said, gathering her notes. “But first, I need to clarify something.”
“What’s that?”
“When Natoni called me an outsider with a badge, you didn’t correct him.” Kari kept her tone professional, not accusatory. “Is that how you see me, too?”
Tsosie was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I see you as my partner, a good detective with solid instincts.” He paused. “But yes, you have been away a long time. It shows in how you approach certain topics.”
The honesty was both refreshing and frustrating. “I’m Diné, Tsosie. The same as you.”
“Half,” he corrected gently. “And raised mostly in Flagstaff. It’s not a judgment, Blackhorse. It’s just a reality.”
Kari could have argued further and pointed out that identity wasn’t so easily fractioned.
But this wasn’t the time or place. “We should check his alibi,” she said instead.
“And I need to meet with my father tomorrow morning—he consulted on Harrington’s research, so he might have relevant information.
” She still wasn’t looking forward to speaking with her father, but if he had information relevant to their case, she couldn’t let her personal feelings get in the way.
Tsosie nodded. “I’ll verify Natoni’s whereabouts on the night of the murder.”
As they left the break room, Kari noticed Natoni by the topographical map again, speaking with an older white couple. His demeanor had completely transformed—friendly, engaging, the perfect guide. No hint remained of the angry, defensive man they’d just interviewed.
“He’s good at compartmentalizing,” Kari observed quietly.
“Necessity, when you bridge two worlds,” Tsosie replied.
The comment could have applied equally to Natoni or to Kari herself. She let it pass without response as they walked back into the blazing late afternoon sun.
“Check in later?” she asked as they reached their vehicles.
Tsosie nodded. “After I talk to his family. And Blackhorse?”
“Yeah?”
“When you meet with your father, remember whose case this is.” His expression remained neutral, but his meaning was clear. The FBI, even retired FBI, had a way of taking over.
“Trust me, I know exactly whose case this is,” Kari said. “Mine.”
As she drove away from the visitor center, she replayed the interview in her mind.
Natoni’s alibi seemed solid, his reactions authentic.
His knowledge of ceremonial practices made sense, given his training as a healer.
Most importantly, his anger had been directed at Harrington’s disrespect, not at the man himself.
No, Natoni Begay didn’t fit the profile of their killer. But he knew something—something about Monster’s Hand, about the Walking Earth, about what might have happened to Mark Harrington on that moonlit night.
The question was whether that knowledge was rooted in ancient superstition or modern reality. And whether the distinction even mattered when it came to murder.