As they completed their circuit of the scene and returned to where they'd started, Kari said, "Officer Polacca, I need you to be honest with me about something."
"What?"
"Do you think someone from your community did this?"
Polacca's eyes flickered with something—anger, maybe, or fear."I think someone who understands our ways did this.Whether they're from here or whether they learned it elsewhere..."She shook her head."I don't know.And that's what scares people.The idea that this kind of knowledge, this kind of violation, could come from within."
"Scares you too?"
"Yeah."The admission seemed to cost Polacca something."It does."
Kari nodded, recognizing the honesty for what it was—a small opening, a crack in her defenses.It wasn't trust, not yet.But it was a start.
"Then let's figure out who did this," Kari said."Together."
Polacca studied her for a long moment, then gave another short nod."Alright.Let's start with the victim's background.Patricia's office is at the Cultural Center.I can take you there, let you see her workspace, talk to people who knew her."
"That would be helpful."
As they walked back toward Polacca's patrol vehicle, Kari took one last look at the crime scene.The ancient burial site, violated and exposed.The careful arrangement that spoke of ritual and knowledge.The death of a woman who had been helping families understand their heritage.
She thought about the seventeen unsolved cases in the archives, about deaths at sacred sites explained away as accidents, about patterns that spanned decades and crossed tribal boundaries.
Her mother's voice echoed in her memory:The present and the past aren't separate.They're threads in the same weaving.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Hopi Cultural Center sat on the mesa like a testament to both preservation and adaptation—a modern building designed with traditional aesthetics, its walls the color of the red earth, its windows positioned to catch the changing light.Kari had driven past it before on her way through Hopi territory, but she'd never been inside.
As Polacca pulled into the parking lot, Kari felt the weight of crossing another threshold, entering another space where she would be marked immediately as an outsider.
"Patricia had an office on the second floor," Polacca said as they got out of the vehicle.She hadn’t spoken once during the twenty-minute drive from the crime scene."She worked here three days a week, helping families with genealogical research.The other days she worked from home."
Kari followed her up the wide steps to the entrance.Inside, the building opened into a spacious lobby with high ceilings and walls lined with photographs of Hopi villages, ceremonial dances, cultural artifacts.A few people moved through the space—staff members, tourists, students perhaps.Several of them looked at Kari with open curiosity, their gazes lingering on her Navajo Nation Police uniform before sliding away.
Polacca led her past the main lobby toward a stairwell."The administrative offices are upstairs.Museum and archives are on the main level.Gift shop, too, though I doubt that's relevant to our investigation."
The dry comment was the closest thing to personality Polacca had shown since they'd left the crime scene.Kari took it as a small opening."Did you know Patricia?Personally, I mean?"
"Everyone knew Patricia.Small community."Polacca's boots echoed on the stairs."She helped my aunt trace our family back six generations.Found connections we didn't know existed."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Polacca didn't respond to that, just pushed open the door to the second floor and held it for Kari to pass through.
The upper level was quieter, more administrative.Offices lined a central hallway, most with their doors open, revealing desks piled with paperwork, computers, filing cabinets.Polacca walked to the third door on the left and stopped.The nameplate read: 'Patricia Lomahongva, Genealogical Research.'
The door was closed and had police tape across it.
"We sealed it earlier after we notified her family," Polacca said."Nobody's been in since we did the initial sweep this morning."
"What did you find in the initial sweep?"
"Her computer, research files, personal effects.Nothing obviously out of place.No signs of struggle."Polacca pulled out a key and began removing the tape."We documented everything, but didn't remove anything yet.Chief wanted you to see it first."
The office was small but orderly—a desk with a computer monitor, filing cabinets, and bookshelves filled with reference materials about genealogy and Southwest tribal histories.On the walls were family trees, some hand-drawn, others printed from computer programs.A coffee mug sat on the desk next to a neat stack of file folders.It could have been any academic's workspace, frozen in the middle of a normal workday.
Except the person who worked here was dead, her body arranged in a mockery of ancient burial practices.
