She walked him to the door, but Charlene remained at the table, staring at nothing. At the threshold, Dorothy touched Ben's arm.
"Why now?" she asked in a low voice. "Why are you looking at this after all these years?"
Ben considered how much to say. "Someone I trust thinks there might be more to your son's disappearance than meets the eye. I want to see if she's right."
Dorothy searched his face, then nodded. "Evan was a good boy. He deserved better than to just vanish, like he never mattered. If you can find anything, any answers at all..." Her voice caught. "That would mean everything."
Ben drove back toward the station with the afternoon sun slanting through his windshield, Dorothy's words echoing in his mind. The basic facts were simple enough: Evan Naalnish, experienced outdoorsman, goes hiking in a familiar area and never returns. No body, no evidence of foul play, no explanation.
Just a young man who loved caves and rock formations and the solitude of the wilderness, gone without a trace.
And three weeks later, someone pays $3.2 million for the land where he'd vanished.
Ben thought about Kari, about the seventeen cases her mother had flagged. Whatever pattern Anna Chee had seen, whatever connection had drawn her attention to Evan Naalnish's disappearance, it was more than just another missing person case.
It was something worth investigating, even fifteen years cold.
Ben pulled into the station parking lot and sat for a moment, organizing his thoughts. He'd found what Kari had asked him to look for—the basic facts of the case, Evan's interests, the strange land sale. But he'd also found something else: two women who'd spent fifteen years wondering what had happened to someone they loved, living with questions that had no answers.
He understood that feeling better than he'd like to admit.
Ben gathered his notes and headed inside. The fence dispute report was still waiting on his desk, along with all the other routine business of reservation law enforcement. But now he had something else to add to his workload: a fifteen-year-old mystery that might finally be ready to give up its secrets.
If he could just figure out what questions to ask.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Copper Star hadn't changed in the two years since Kari had last been inside. Same neon sign flickering over the entrance, same dark wood interior that smelled of beer and old leather, same collection of Phoenix PD shoulder patches framed on the walls like hunting trophies. Even the jukebox in the corner was playing the same classic rock playlist that had been on rotation since the bar opened in the eighties.
Kari stood in the doorway for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting, feeling strange returning to a place she'd thought she'd left behind for good. The after-work crowd was already thick—detectives and patrol officers clustered at tables and along the bar, their voices competing with Springsteen coming from the speakers. She recognized some faces, though they'd aged in the two years since she'd walked away from Phoenix PD. More gray hair, deeper lines around the eyes, too many cases and too little sleep.
Maria waved from a booth near the back, and Kari navigated through the crowd, aware of heads turning as she passed. A few nods of recognition, a couple of deliberately averted gazes. She'd left Phoenix PD on good terms, but leaving was still leaving. Some people took it personally when you chose somewhere else over them.
"You made it," Maria said, sliding over to make room. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Almost didn't." Kari settled into the booth, grateful for the relative privacy. "This place brings back memories."
"Good ones?"
"Some." Kari watched a server navigate between tables. "Mostly just... complicated ones."
Maria signaled the server and ordered two beers without asking what Kari wanted. It arrived moments later—the same IPA Kari used to drink after shifts, back when she was still trying to prove herself to the homicide division. She took a sip and found it tasted exactly as she remembered, which somehow made her feel even more displaced in time.
"So," Maria said, "how's it feel being back?"
"Strange. Like I'm visiting someone else's life." Kari set down her beer. "The reservation feels more like home now than this place ever did."
"That's good, though. That you found where you belong." Maria's voice carried no judgment, just warmth. "I'm glad you're doing well up there, Kari. Even if it means I don't get to work with you anymore."
Before Kari could respond, a voice cut through the bar noise. "Well, well. Kari Blackhorse. Heard you were back in town."
Kari looked up to see Detective Ray Gagne approaching their booth, a beer in one hand and a smirk on his face that she remembered all too well. He'd been one of the old guard when she'd joined homicide, the kind of cop who made it clear he thought women and minorities were only on the force because of quotas and political correctness.
"Gagne," Kari said neutrally.
"Heard they brought you in to help with the Hatathli case." Gagne pulled up a chair without being invited, turning it backward and straddling it. "Phoenix PD not good enough anymore? Need the reservation detective to tell us how to do our jobs?"
"Ray," Maria said in a warning tone.
