CLOSE CALL, page 18
The warning was clear: stick to the official version or risk undermining the entire case.
"I need to finish processing the scene," Daniels said, straightening. "We'll expect your formal statement before noon." With that, he turned and headed back toward the mine entrance. The conversation was over.
Ben waited until Daniels was out of earshot before speaking. "You going to tell me what really happened in there?"
Kari studied her partner's face, finding only concern and curiosity, not judgment. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded toward his vehicle. "Let's drive. I could use some distance from this place."
Once they were moving, the mine receding in the rearview mirror, Kari felt something loosen in her chest—a tension she hadn't fully recognized until it began to release. She rolled down the window, letting the cool morning air wash over her face as she gathered her thoughts.
"Whiteriver was conducting a ceremonial ritual when I found him," she began. "He claimed it was meant to restore a boundary that had been weakened by Meridian's drilling into restricted sections of the mine last year."
"The same boundary your grandmother warned about," Ben said.
"Yes. He said his sister's voice guided him to infiltrate Meridian, to gather evidence of their environmental violations while waiting for the right moment to expose them." Kari stared out at the passing landscape. "When he realized the drilling had reached sections containing the petroglyphs, he believed more direct action was necessary."
"So he killed Vaughn, Garcia, and Benally as some kind of... sacrifice?"
"Not sacrifice. Restitution." Kari turned back to Ben. "In his mind, they had perpetuated the violence against the land and people that his sister had died trying to expose. Arranging them in patterns matching the petroglyphs was meant to begin healing the boundary."
"And then what happened with the earthquake—or whatever it was?"
Kari hesitated, uncertain how to describe what she had experienced. It all seemed simultaneously vivid and dreamlike in retrospect.
"When the FBI was approaching, Whiteriver became desperate to complete his ceremony. He believed that without it, something would break through from the other side." She touched her bandaged palm. "I stopped him from using his blood to finish the ritual, but then..."
"You cut your own hand," Ben finished quietly. "Why?"
"I don't know. Instinct, maybe." Kari shook her head. "The whole chamber was shaking. Dust was falling. There wasn't time to think." She looked down at the medicine pouch. "I placed this in the center of his ceremonial circle. With my blood on it. Shortly after that, everything stopped—the shaking, the darkness, all of it."
"Coincidence?" Ben suggested, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Maybe." Kari traced the beadwork with her thumb. "Or maybe my grandmother's warnings about weakening boundaries weren't just superstition."
They drove in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Ben spoke again.
"So what happens now with Meridian? With the mine?"
"Whiteriver spent twenty-five years gathering evidence of their environmental violations," Kari said. "According to Daniels, the FBI is already executing search warrants on Meridian's headquarters and seizing their internal records based on his initial statements. The criminal investigation will likely take months, but the preliminary findings are damning."
"I heard Margaret Holloway and several other executives were placed on administrative leave this morning," Ben added. "And the tribal council has filed an emergency injunction to prevent any further activity at the mine pending a comprehensive environmental and cultural impact assessment."
"Good," Kari said. "That gives us time to ensure the site remains sealed, regardless of what may or may not be lurking in those deeper chambers." She thought of Victor Tsosie's theory that the company had discovered something and used radiation as an excuse to cover it up.
Had they discovered something? She doubted they would ever know. If there had ever been any records, they were long gone.
Ben glanced at her. "You're not sure what to believe, are you? About what happened in there."
"I don't know," Kari admitted. "Part of me wants to accept Daniels' explanation—that it was just an earthquake, that Whiteriver is delusional, that everything has a rational explanation. That would certainly be easier."
"But?"
"But I've seen too much since returning to the reservation." She shook her head. "My grandmother would say I'm finally opening my eyes to what's always been there. My father would call it stress-induced pattern recognition. And my mother..."
"What would she say?" Ben asked gently.
"I think she was still figuring that out when she died," Kari said softly. "Her journal shows she was caught between scientific skepticism and a growing sense that some traditional beliefs could have a basis in reality."
They reached the highway, joining the early morning traffic heading back toward the reservation. The normal flow of everyday life—commuters, delivery trucks, tourists heading toward Canyon de Chelly—created a jarring contrast with what they had just experienced.
"You know," Ben said after a while, "my uncle used to tell stories about certain places on the reservation to avoid, places where things could… could come through. As a kid, I thought they were just meant to scare us, to keep us from wandering into dangerous areas." He shrugged. "Now I wonder if those stories were another kind of warning—one our ancestors understood intuitively, even if they didn't have scientific language to explain what they were experiencing."
"Daniels would say that's mystical thinking," Kari replied.
"Maybe he's right," Ben said. "And maybe he isn't."
They were both silent for a few moments.
"What do you think will happen to Whiteriver?" Ben asked, changing the subject.
"Given his confession and the evidence, he'll likely face three first-degree murder charges," Kari said. "But based on his claims about hearing voices, his lawyer will undoubtedly pursue an insanity defense."
"Do you think he's insane?"
Kari considered this. "I think he experienced something profound after his sister's death—something that fundamentally altered his perception of reality. Whether that's 'insanity' is up to the courts to decide."
"And the evidence he gathered against Meridian?"
"Should still be admissible. Regardless of Whiteriver's mental state, the documents and data he collected over twenty-five years provide objective evidence of Meridian's environmental violations." Kari managed a thin smile. "In a way, he succeeded in his mission, even if not as he intended."
They were approaching the turnoff for her house. "I need to check on my grandmother," she said. "Make sure she's okay after everything that's happened."
Ben nodded. "Want company?"
The offer surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn't have. Their relationship had evolved considerably since her return to the reservation—from professional wariness to genuine partnership and something approaching friendship.
"Not this time," Kari said. "But I appreciate it."
As Ben pulled up to her driveway, they both noticed the figure sitting on the porch steps—Ruth, watching their approach with the patient steadiness of someone who had been waiting exactly where she needed to be.
"She always knows, doesn't she?" Ben observed with quiet respect.
"Apparently so." Kari gathered her things, including the blood-stained medicine pouch. "Thanks, Ben. For everything back there."
He nodded solemnly, saying nothing.
"I'll call you later," Kari said, "after I've given my statement."
"The official version?" he asked.
Kari thought about Daniels' warning, about the complications that would arise if she contradicted the rational explanation for what had happened in the mine. About how easily her account could be dismissed as stress trauma, or cultural superstition.
"I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," she said.
EPILOGUE
Kari sat at her kitchen table, staring out the window at the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the juniper trees, casting dappled shadows across the yard where Anna Chee had once tended her garden. The flowers Kari had planted in those same beds were beginning to bloom, adding touches of desert color to the landscape.
Across from her, Ruth sorted methodically through a box of her daughter's personal items—small treasures that had meant something to Anna but whose significance wasn't always obvious to others. Photographs without labels, stones collected from unidentified locations, handwritten notes in shorthand only Anna would have fully understood.
The past week had brought a whirlwind of activity. Thomas Whiteriver's arrest had made national headlines, the story framed as "Corporate Infiltrator's Twenty-Five Year Revenge Plot." Meridian Energy's stock had plummeted as details of their environmental violations emerged, with multiple executives now facing federal indictments based on evidence Whiteriver had methodically gathered during his decades undercover.
The tribal council had secured emergency protected status for Sleeping Dog Mine and surrounding lands, preventing any exploration or extraction activity pending comprehensive environmental and cultural review. Maya Bluehorse had been appointed to lead an independent assessment team, ensuring the community's concerns wouldn't be sidelined this time.
Through it all, Kari’s formal statements had stayed true to the official version of events—an earthquake, a desperate suspect, a confrontation resolved without further casualties. If Daniels suspected she was omitting certain details about what happened in the mine's depths, he hadn't pressed the issue. The case was closed, the perpetrator in custody, justice served in ways that fit neatly within established frameworks.
But here, in the quiet of her mother's kitchen with Ruth, the complexities that couldn't be captured in official reports hung in the air between them—unspoken but acknowledged.
"What do you think this was?" Kari asked, holding up a small wooden box containing what appeared to be soil samples arranged in numbered vials.
Ruth glanced up, her weathered hands pausing in their careful sorting. "From her testing sites. Anna collected samples from every water source within twenty miles of the mine. Said the patterns told stories official reports didn't capture."
It occurred to Kari that her mother's research had been a formidable achievement. Though more a cultural anthropologist than a scientist, she had not only transformed herself into a scientist but won the respect of others in the field, working well beyond the bounds of what a cultural anthropologist would normally do. It gave Kari a deeper respect for her mother, along with a sense of loss that she would never have the chance to tell her mother how much she respected her.
"She was close to something important," Kari said, returning the box to its place. "When she died."
Ruth's expression remained carefully neutral. "Anna always pursued truth, even when paths grew dangerous."
"But what happened to her, Shimásání? Whiteriver claimed she left their final meeting alive. Official reports list her death as exposure, but..." Kari trailed off, frustrated by the gaps that remained despite everything they had uncovered.
Ruth selected a small bundle of sage from the box, inhaling its scent before tucking it aside. "There is an old story," she said, her voice taking on the cadence of traditional telling, "about a hunter who tracked a deer for seven days across difficult terrain. Each day, he found signs—footprints, disturbed earth, broken twigs—but never the deer itself."
Kari recognized the beginning of a teaching story, and she settled into the familiar rhythm of her grandmother's instruction.
"On the seventh day, as the hunter prepared to abandon his quest, he met an elder sitting beside the path. The elder asked why the hunter seemed troubled. When the hunter explained his frustration at failing to find the deer despite tracking it for seven days, the elder smiled and said, 'The greatest virtue of a hunter is not skill with weapons or knowledge of the land, but patience. Some prey reveals itself only when the time is right, not when the hunter demands it.'"
Ruth looked up, meeting Kari's gaze directly. "The hunter returned to the beginning of the trail and started again, this time without urgency or frustration. On the third day of his renewed hunt, the deer stepped into a clearing before him, as if offering itself willingly."
The parallel was clear. Some questions—perhaps including what had truly happened to Anna Chee—would not yield answers simply because Kari demanded them. They would reveal themselves only when the time was right.
"I'm not good at waiting," Kari admitted.
A ghost of a smile touched Ruth's lips. "No Chee woman ever has been. But some mysteries require it nonetheless."
They continued sorting in companionable silence, separating items to keep, to donate, to pass along to other family members. The task had begun as a practical necessity but had transformed into something more significant—a shared remembrance, an honoring of Anna's life beyond the questions surrounding her death.
As the afternoon light began to soften toward evening, Ruth pulled a small wooden jewelry box from the larger container. "This should be yours now," she said, sliding it across the table.
Kari opened it carefully. Inside lay her mother's jewelry—nothing expensive or elaborate, but pieces that had carried meaning. A silver bracelet with traditional stampwork. Beaded earrings in patterns representing rain clouds. A pendant carved from jet, polished to a deep black gleam.
And nestled among them, wrapped in a small piece of buckskin, a turquoise stone the size of a quarter. Kari recognized it immediately—a gift her mother had given her on her tenth birthday, which she had later returned during a teenage argument whose specifics had long since faded from memory. Anna had kept it all these years, preserved in its protective wrapping.
"She always said it would find its way back to you when needed," Ruth said, watching as Kari unwrapped the stone. "Turquoise carries water's memory—all it has witnessed, all it has flowed through."
The stone's blue-green surface was veined with delicate lines of darker material, creating patterns that reminded Kari of rivers viewed from above, of boundaries between land and water. She held it to the fading light, watching how its colors shifted with the changing angle.
The medicine pouch hung around her neck, restored to its place after the events at the mine. In the days since, Kari had cleaned her blood from its beadwork, though a faint stain remained—a permanent record of choices made in moments of crisis. Ruth had said nothing about the stain or what might have caused it, but her knowing eyes had taken in everything upon Kari's return from the mine.
Without asking permission—knowing none was needed—Kari untied the small leather cord that sealed the pouch. The opening was just large enough to slip the turquoise stone inside, where it settled with a weight that felt both unfamiliar and somehow right.
"To truly make it yours," Ruth had told her months ago, "you must add something to it. Something personal. Something that represents your spirit."
The turquoise represented many things—her connection to her mother, her return to the reservation after years away, her growing acceptance of traditional knowledge alongside her professional training. But most importantly, it represented continuity—the unbroken line that connected Ruth to Anna to Kari herself, three generations of Chee women, each walking the boundary between worlds in their own way.
Ruth watched as Kari retied the medicine pouch, her expression softening into rare approval. "Now it is truly yours," she said simply.
"What happens next?" Kari asked. "About Mom, I mean. What do I do?"
"Next," Ruth said, rising to put water on for tea, "we continue walking the path before us. Some mysteries will resolve themselves when the time is right. Others may remain hidden. A hunter cannot force the deer to appear before it is ready."
As sunset painted the desert in shades of amber and rose, Kari felt the turquoise stone settle against her chest, its weight a reminder of connections that transcended the physical world. Whatever had happened in the mine's depths remained an open question she might never fully answer.
But some questions didn't require immediate answers. Some hunts took longer than others. And sometimes, as her grandmother had taught her, patience revealed what pursuit could not.
Kari touched the medicine pouch, feeling the outline of the turquoise stone within. Whatever came next—whatever unwelcome truths—she would face them as a Chee woman, carrying the strength of three generations.
Some prey revealed itself only when the time was right, not when the hunter demanded it.
For now, that understanding would have to be enough.
NOW AVAILABLE!
CLOSE BY
(A Kari Blackhorse Suspense Thriller—Book Three)
“A masterpiece of thriller and mystery.”
—Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos (re Once Gone)
Tribal Detective Kari Blackhorse is thrust onto a trail blazed by vanished souls and cryptic symbols of healing in the heart of Navajo country. With the shadow of half-century-old stories looming over her investigation, she must decode the link between revered medicine men and a pattern of disappearances that threatens to consume her very heritage.
CLOSE BEHIND is the third book in a long-anticipated new series by #1 bestseller and USA Today bestselling author Blake Pierce, whose bestseller Once Gone (a free download) has received over 7,000 five star ratings and reviews. The series begins with CLOSE BY (book #1).
The Kari Blackhorse series will keep you riveted, turning pages late into the night in this fast paced mystery series. Packed with shocking twists and featuring a brave and brilliant heroine, it offers a fresh take on the mystery genre—and a thriller that will keep you wanting more.
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