They passed a sign marking the boundary of the Hopi reservation.The landscape didn't change—it was the same red earth, the same sparse vegetation—but Kari felt the weight of crossing into a different jurisdiction, a different authority.She was a guest here now, not a law enforcement officer with inherent power.
"You ever work a case in Hopi territory before?"Ben asked.
"No.I've coordinated with their police on a few things—information sharing, tracking someone who crossed boundaries.But never actually investigating on their land."She felt the unfamiliarity as a low-level tension in her shoulders."You?"
"Once, about five years ago.Missing person case where the victim's car was found on the rez, but there was evidence he'd been traveling through Hopi land.Their officers were helpful, but there was always a coolness, a sense that we were outsiders who needed permission for everything."
"Because we are," Kari said."And we do."
The Hopi Tribal Police headquarters came into view—a low, modern building that contrasted with the ancient villages visible on the mesas beyond.A few vehicles were parked outside, including one marked unit.Kari pulled into a visitor spot and turned off the engine.
They got out of the vehicle and approached the building.The April sun was warm but not oppressive, and the air carried the clean smell of sage and juniper.Kari was conscious of her appearance—her Navajo Nation Police uniform, her badge, the Glock on her hip.She was marked clearly as an outsider, as someone from the tribe that had its own complicated history with this place.
The front entrance was locked, but there was an intercom.Kari pressed the button and identified herself.After a moment, a buzz indicated the door was open.
Inside, they found a small reception area, offices visible down a hallway, and the standard institutional feel of a police station anywhere.But the walls held photographs of Hopi villages, ceremonial dances, cultural events that reminded visitors this was not just law enforcement but the protection of an entire way of life.
A woman in her forties emerged from one of the offices.She wore a Hopi Tribal Police uniform and regarded Kari and Ben with an expression that was not unfriendly, but not quite warm either.
"Detective Blackhorse?"she asked.
"Yes.And this is my partner, Detective Tsosie.We're here to see Chief Lomayesva."
The woman's eyes looked Ben over quickly, as if unsure what to make of his arrival.After all, Kari hadn't specifically told the chief that she was bringing her partner.But she had learned to rely on Ben, and she knew she could trust him with her life.She would be a lot more comfortable working this case with him.
"He's expecting you," the woman finally said."This way."She led them down the hallway without further conversation.She knocked on a door marked with the chief's name, then opened it."Chief, the Navajo detectives are here."
The description stung a bit—reducing them to their tribal affiliation rather than their professional role—but Kari understood it.They were Navajo first here, law enforcement second.
Chief Raymond Lomayesva stood as they entered.He was a man in his late fifties, his face weathered by sun and responsibility, his hair still predominantly black with threads of gray at the temples.He wore his uniform with the bearing of someone who had served in law enforcement for decades, but his eyes showed the strain of whatever had brought him to request outside help.
"Detective Blackhorse," he said, extending his hand.His grip was firm but not aggressive."Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Chief Lomayesva.This is my partner, Detective Ben Tsosie."Kari watched as the two men shook hands, noting the slight tension in both their postures."I wasn't sure if you wanted both of us or just me."
"I appreciate you bringing backup," Lomayesva said carefully."But I think, for now, it would be best if Detective Blackhorse and I spoke privately.No offense intended, Detective Tsosie."
Ben nodded, his expression neutral."None taken.I'll wait with your officer."
Kari wanted to protest, but before she could do so, the woman who had escorted them in gestured for Ben to follow her, and the two of them left the office.When the door closed, Lomayesva gestured to a chair facing his desk.Kari sat, and the chief returned to his own seat, though he looked like a man who'd rather be pacing.
"I'm grateful you agreed to come," he began."And I'm aware this is an unusual request.Under normal circumstances, we would handle our own cases.But these circumstances..."He paused, seeming to struggle with how to continue."They're not normal."
"I understand you're dealing with something sensitive," Kari said."Something that requires discretion."
"More than discretion.It requires someone who can see with fresh eyes.Someone who isn't..."He gestured vaguely."Someone who isn't so close to it that they can't be objective."
"Your own officers are too connected?"
"My own officers are my people.They have families here, relationships, obligations.The same cultural knowledge that makes them effective in most situations becomes a liability in this one.They see what they expect to see.Or they see what they're afraid to see."Lomayesva leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk."I heard about the case you worked on in January.The one involving the Native American Church ceremonies."
Kari felt a flutter of discomfort.That case was recent enough that the memory still carried weight—the terror of being poisoned, the near-death experience at the cliff's edge, the violation of sacred practices by someone who had used them as cover for murder.
"I worked that case, yes."
"You showed respect.You navigated cultural complexities in a way few could.You understood that traditional practices can be both sacred and, in the wrong hands, dangerous."The chief's voice was measured but intense."That's exactly the perspective I need now."
"Can you tell me what this is about?"
