"I saw Mom," she continued."She was pointing at something—filing cabinets.Like the ones at the FBI archives you used to take me to when I was a kid."
"Kari, visions during those ceremonies are—"
"I know what you're going to say.Hallucinations.Brain chemistry.Pattern recognition firing randomly."She met his eyes—his blue ones looking into her dark brown, the visible markers of her mixed heritage."But what if it wasn't random?What if some part of my subconscious was trying to tell me something I hadn't consciously recognized yet?"
"Like what?"
"That Mom's death wasn't an accident.That she was investigating something, and the answer is in some archived files."She paused, choosing her words carefully."I've been going through her research notes.She was looking into missing persons cases, suspicious deaths going back decades.I thought maybe she was just...connecting dots that weren't there.Building conspiracies.But what if she wasn't?"
James was quiet for a long moment.When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but firm."Your mother's death was ruled accidental.Exposure.She was alone in a remote area during a cold night—"
"In a place she knew intimately.She was a cultural anthropologist who spent thirty years studying the land.She wouldn't just wander off and get lost."
"People make mistakes, Kari.Even experienced people.The mind can play tricks, especially if someone is under stress or—"
"Or what?You think she was mentally unstable?"Kari's voice sharpened."Is that what you're suggesting?"
"No."James rubbed his face, suddenly looking older."That's not what I'm saying.Your mother was brilliant.But brilliant people can become...obsessed.They can see patterns because they want to see them.Because the alternative—that sometimes terrible things just happen—is too random to accept."
The words stung because Kari had thought them herself, late at night when she pored over Anna's scattered notes.But hearing them from her father, the man who had taught her that every crime had a logical explanation, made them feel like a betrayal.
"I had the vision, Dad.Mom pointed to filing cabinets.FBI archives."
"Let's say you did," her father said slowly, in a tone that suggested he was giving her a lot more slack than she'd earned."Where are you going with this?"
"You have access through the university.Through your old connections.I'm asking you to help me look."
"Look for what, exactly?"
"Missing persons cases.Suspicious deaths on tribal lands going back decades."Kari leaned forward."Mom's notes reference FBI files about unsolved cases with federal jurisdiction—deaths near ceremonial sites, people who disappeared near boundary areas between reservations.She was looking for patterns."
James frowned, troubled."Federal jurisdiction over tribal crimes is complicated.Most of those cases would have been closed or transferred back to tribal authorities."
"Exactly.Which means the files might show why certain cases were dropped, or what federal investigators found that tribal police didn't have access to."Kari pressed on."Ruth said Mom believed there was institutional knowledge being hidden—things documented in federal files but never shared with the tribes.She told me Mom was trying to access records about deaths that were ruled accidental but shouldn't have been."
"If Anna was investigating cover-ups involving federal agencies—"
"Then she found something someone wanted to keep buried.Something that got her killed."Kari reached across the table, not quite touching her father's hand."Please.You taught me to follow evidence.You taught me that every victim deserves justice, even if it takes years.Mom deserves that too."
James looked down at the medicine pouch between them.His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for it but couldn't quite bring himself to touch it."That was Anna's?"
"Yeah.Ruth gave it to me after...after."
"You're wearing it now.You didn't used to."
"A lot has changed."Kari thought about the ceremony, about nearly dying at the edge of a cliff, about Ben's steady presence and Ruth's teaching about seeing with more than just eyes."I'm trying to understand both sides of who I am.The cop side that you taught me.And the other side.The side Mom tried to show me, but I was too stubborn to see."
Her father was quiet for a long moment, his coffee cooling in front of him.Outside, traffic moved along Route 89—tourists heading to the Grand Canyon, locals running Saturday errands, the ordinary flow of life that continued regardless of grief or questions or the desperate need for answers.
"Even if I help you look," James said finally, "we might not find anything.The files could be incomplete.They could be irrelevant to Anna's death.This could be a dead end."
"Or it could be exactly what I need.Will you help me?"
James picked up his coffee, took a sip, and grimaced.He set it down and studied his daughter's face—Anna's cheekbones, Anna's coloring, but his own relentless drive for answers reflected back at him."I might be able to make time next week."
Kari shook his head."I can't wait that long."
James grunted."Kari, come on.You ambush me with this on a Saturday, and you expect me to, what, clear my calendar Monday?"
