"What about this past week, in the evenings?" Kari asked. "Has he been here a lot?"
Patricia nodded. "Every night, to the best of my knowledge."
Maria caught Kari's eye. Reid's alibi for all three murders was holding up—multiple witnesses, consistent presence at the site, exactly what he'd claimed.
So why had they received an anonymous text message saying he knew something?
"One more question," Kari said to Patricia. "The anonymous tip that led us here to check on Reid—you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Patricia's expression was carefully neutral. "I don't know where that came from, no." She pause, considering her words. "But we all want justice for Thomas Hatathli. If that means pointing police toward other possibilities, toward people who actually had means and opportunity, then that's what we'll do.Reid's not a bad man, but he's ex-military, he has the skills, and he was close to all the players. Worth investigating, don't you think?"
It was very close to admitting the tip had come from her or one of the other protesters. Maybe they were trying to help Hatathli by directing attention toward Reid, even if they didn't actually believe he was guilty. It was a reasonable strategy, but it had cost Kari and Maria valuable time chasing a lead that was evaporating.
"Thank you for your time," Kari said. "And for maintaining this vigil. What happened here matters."
"It mattered before the murders, too," Patricia said quietly. "But nobody paid attention until wealthy white people started dying. Funny how that works."
Kari had no response to that. She and Maria walked back to the car, both of them processing what they'd learned. Reid's alibis were solid, witnessed by people who had no reason to lie for him. That meant he probably hadn't committed the murders, which meant they were back to having no viable suspects besides Hatathli.
"Let me check one more thing," Maria said, pulling up files on her phone. "Reid's assistant sent over security camera footage from the site. If he's on camera during the murder times, that's definitive."
She played several video files, fast-forwarding through hours of footage. In each one, at times corresponding to the murders, Jasper Reid was visible—walking the perimeter, checking in with guards, even confronting a protester who'd gotten too close to the equipment. The timestamps were clear, the footage unedited.
"He's clean," Maria said, disappointment evident in her voice. "Or at least, he couldn't have physically committed themurders. I suppose he could have hired someone, but that's another level of speculation without evidence."
Kari looked back at the destroyed petroglyph site, at the protesters maintaining their vigil despite knowing it was too late to save what had been lost. She thought about Thomas Hatathli sitting in an interrogation room, exhausted and scared, being pressured to confess to crimes he didn't commit. She thought about the press conference that morning, the chief announcing charges and asking for tips about phantom accomplices.
And she thought about her mother's research, about patterns of indigenous people being silenced when they threatened corporate interests, about how easily Hatathli had been positioned as the convenient scapegoat.
"The anonymous tip was a dead end," Kari said. "But Reid said something interesting during the interview. About looking at what the victims knew rather than just what they did. About irregularities in the project approval process."
"You think there's something there? Actual corruption rather than just controversial development?"
"I think three people connected to a controversial project are dead, and the easy suspect is an indigenous lawyer who publicly opposed that project. That's convenient for someone." Kari pulled out her phone, looking at the notes she'd taken during Reid's interview. "Reid suggested we investigate irregularities. Maybe he was pointing us in the right direction, or maybe he was misdirecting us. Either way, we should look into it."
"Permits, environmental assessments, approval processes—that's going to take days to properly investigate. We don't have days." Maria checked her watch. "It's ten-thirty. Hatathli's been formally charged. His arraignment is this afternoon. The machine is in motion."
"Then we need to find something that stops the machine." Kari thought about the victims. "Victor Sheridan was theconstruction executive. He'd know about any corner-cutting or illegal practices on the actual build. Hoffman was city planning, she approved permits. Garrison provided funding. If there were irregularities, all three would have known about them."
"And if they were getting ready to expose those irregularities, or if someone thought they might..."
"That's a motive beyond just revenge for the petroglyphs." Kari felt the pieces starting to shift in her mind, not quite forming a complete picture but suggesting a pattern. "We need to look at the victims' financial records, communications, anything that shows what they knew and who might have wanted to keep them quiet."
Maria checked her watch—nearly eleven now. "Financial records will take warrants, which takes time we don't have. But I can pull their phone records, see who they were communicating with in the days before their deaths. Email too, if we can access it."
"Do that. And let's talk to this Dr. Caldwell—she fought the development, might know about irregularities in the approval process. Not to mention she has motive for the killings in retaliation for the destruction of the petroglyphs, though it's a stretch to think she'd frame Hatathli."
Kari looked back at the destroyed petroglyphs one more time. "Whatever the case, someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure this project happened. Enough trouble to destroy irreplaceable cultural artifacts. Maybe enough trouble to kill people who threatened to expose how it all got approved."
"That's still speculation without evidence." But Maria didn't sound dismissive anymore—she sounded thoughtful, like she was beginning to see the same patterns Kari was seeing. "Let's head back. We've got a lot of ground to cover and not much time to cover it."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ben Tsosie stood at the trailhead studying the photograph on his phone, comparing it to the landscape before him. The rock formation in Evan Naalnish's photo was distinctive—three pillars of sandstone rising from the desert floor, their surfaces weathered into shapes that suggested faces if you looked at them right. Fifteen years ago, Evan had stood in this same spot, excited about geological features he'd discovered somewhere in the canyons beyond.
Now Ben was trying to retrace those steps, following a trail that had gone as cold as ice.
He checked his gear one more time—water, first aid kit, rope, his radio and phone both fully charged, emergency beacon in case things went sideways. He'd grown up on the reservation, had spent his youth hiking and camping with his grandfather, learning to read the land and respect its dangers. The desert could kill you if you weren't careful, if you got lost or injured or simply underestimated how quickly conditions could change.
