Evan Naalnish had known that too. He'd been an experienced hiker, someone who understood wilderness safety. Yet he'd disappeared without a trace, his truck found locked at a trailhead with his wallet and phone inside, his camping gear and camera gone.
That detail had bothered Ben from the start. If Evan had gotten lost or injured, search teams should have found his remains or equipment. The area had been searched thoroughly—grid patterns, aerial surveys, search dogs. They'd found nothing. Which meant either Evan had wandered much farther than anyone expected, or something else had happened to him.
Something like what Anna Blackhorse had suspected: that Evan had discovered something on this land, something that had gotten him killed.
Ben started walking, following the canyon that matched the topography in Evan's photographs. The morning was already hot, the sun turning the desert into a furnace, but Ben had started early enough that he had a few hours before the real heat set in. He moved carefully, watching his footing on the rocky terrain, scanning the landscape for landmarks that matched Evan's documentation.
His radio crackled with routine traffic from the station—officers checking in, dispatchers coordinating responses to minor incidents. The normal rhythm of reservation law enforcement, the daily work of keeping communities safe and responding to problems both mundane and serious. Ben had left a message with Captain Yazzie about following up on a cold case, but he hadn't gone into detail about the connection to Anna Blackhorse's research or Kari's request for help.
He'd been cagey partly because it sounded like a conspiracy theory when you laid it out plainly: that indigenous people were being murdered to protect corporate interests, that deaths ruled as accidents were actually calculated killings, that there was a pattern spanning decades and multiple cases. Ben believed Kari, trusted her judgment, but he also understood why others might be skeptical.
The canyon narrowed as Ben progressed, the walls rising on either side, the vegetation changing from scattered creosote bushes to hardier plants that could survive in the shade. He'd always liked this kind of terrain—the way desert canyons created their own microenvironments, the geology visible in layers of stone that told stories spanning millions of years.
Evan Naalnish had liked it too, from what his sister had said. He'd been fascinated by the way water and wind shapedrock over time, by the minerals and formations that revealed the earth's history. He'd taken hundreds of photographs, documented dozens of sites, built a personal catalog of geological features that might have become the foundation for a career in earth sciences.
Instead, he'd disappeared, and all that knowledge had vanished with him.
Ben stopped to drink water and check his progress. He'd been walking for about forty-five minutes, covering maybe two miles of increasingly difficult terrain. The GPS coordinates Evan's sister had provided were still another mile ahead, in an area where the canyon system branched into smaller tributaries. According to the coordinates, Evan had been particularly interested in one specific area—a place he'd visited multiple times in the weeks before his disappearance.
A place that was now owned by Devco Holdings, the mysterious company that had purchased the land for four times its market value just weeks after Evan vanished.
Ben continued walking, his mind turning over the details of the case. The timing was suspicious—Evan disappears, the land sells immediately for an inflated price, access is restricted, and fifteen years later no one knows what Devco Holdings actually does with the property. Anna Blackhorse had tried to investigate and hit walls everywhere. Corporate shell companies, layers of ownership, no public statements about development plans or land use.
It was the kind of opacity that suggested something worth hiding. Which might explain not only Evan's death, but Anna's as well.
Ben had to remind himself, however, not to jump to any conclusions. The last thing he wanted to do was stoke Kari's suspicions without hard evidence. He didn't want to see her get worked up thinking she was about to discover what hadhappened to her mother, only to be devastated when she realized they'd gotten ahead of themselves.
The canyon branched ahead, just as the topographical maps had indicated. Ben consulted Evan's photographs again, trying to determine which tributary matched the rock formations in the images. The left branch seemed right—he could see the distinctive layering in the canyon walls, the way water had carved smooth channels through the stone.
He followed the left branch, moving more slowly now, paying attention to details. If Evan had been documenting geological features here, there might still be evidence—marks where he'd taken samples, areas where he'd set up equipment for photographs, maybe even carved initials or notes in the soft sandstone the way hikers sometimes did.
Twenty minutes later, Ben found something interesting: a small alcove in the canyon wall, protected from direct sun and rain, where someone had clearly spent time. There were marks in the sandy floor where equipment had been set up, depressions that suggested a tripod or similar support.
And carved neatly into the stone, protected from weather: E.N. 2010.
Evan Naalnish, marking his presence fifteen years ago.
Ben felt a strange mix of triumph and sadness. He'd found evidence of Evan's explorations, confirmation that this was indeed where the young man had been working. But it also made his disappearance more real, more tragic. Evan had been here, alive and excited about his research, and then he'd been erased from the world.
Ben photographed the carved initials and the alcove, documenting everything carefully. Then he continued up the canyon, following what he hoped was Evan's path.
The terrain became more challenging—loose rock, steep sections that required careful climbing, places where flash floodshad reshaped the landscape since Evan's time. Ben moved cautiously, aware that a twisted ankle or fall out here could turn a research trip into a rescue situation. His grandfather had taught him to always assume the desert was trying to kill you, not out of malice but simply because it was indifferent to human survival. Respect that indifference, prepare for it, and you'd probably be fine.
Underestimate it, and you'd become another cautionary tale.
After another thirty minutes of careful navigation, Ben rounded a bend in the canyon and stopped abruptly.
A chain-link fence stretched across the canyon, eight feet high and topped with barbed wire. It was new—certainly not fifteen years old—with metal posts sunk deep into concrete footings. Signs every twenty feet read: "PRIVATE PROPERTY - NO TRESPASSING - VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED."
Ben had expected to encounter a property boundary eventually—he'd known from the land sale records that this area had been purchased by Devco Holdings. But the fence was more substantial than he'd anticipated. This wasn't a simple property marker or token barrier. This was serious security infrastructure, the kind you might expect at a military base or research station.
It seemed excessive for land that, according to public records, sat unused and undeveloped.
Ben walked along the fence, looking for a gate or access point. He found one about fifty yards from where the fence first blocked the canyon—a heavy metal gate secured with a padlock and another prominent warning sign. Beyond the gate, the canyon continued deeper into the property, the terrain looking much the same as what Ben had already traversed.
He pulled out his phone, checking for signal. Surprisingly, he had a couple of bars—enough to make a call. He'd brought thenumber for Devco Holdings with him, figuring he might need to contact them about accessing the property.
Now seemed like a good time.
