CLOSE CALL, page 3
"We saw his face," Jason finished, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "Just... staring up. And there were things around him—like in a pattern. Corn pollen, I think, and some kind of feather."
Kari exchanged a quick glance with Ben, noting the tightening around his eyes at the mention of ritual elements. The skinwalker case had been less than three months ago, its details still fresh in both their memories.
"Did you touch anything?" Kari asked. "Move anything around the body?"
Both teenagers shook their heads emphatically.
"No way," Jason said. "My grandfather taught me better than that. You don't disturb the dead, especially not when they're..." He trailed off, searching for words.
"Not when they're arranged," Leah said, hugging herself despite the heat. "It was deliberate, you know? Someone put him there like that. On purpose."
Kari nodded, making notes in her small field notebook. "What did you do after you found him?"
"We ran," Jason admitted, no shame in the confession. "Got outside and called 911 right away. The officer who came said we should wait for detectives."
"That was the right thing to do," Kari said. "Did you see anyone else in the area? Any vehicles, footprints, anything unusual at all?"
Both teenagers shook their heads again.
"Just some old beer cans and trash near the entrance," Leah said. "Probably from other people who came out here to mess around."
"Or treasure hunters," Jason added. "People say there's still valuable stuff in some of these old mines."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you two were really out here? Looking for something to sell?"
"No!" Leah protested. Then, more quietly, "Well, we would have kept anything cool we found. But that wasn't why we came."
Kari smiled understandingly. At least they were honest. "Did either of you recognize the man?"
"No," Jason said. "Never seen him before."
"He was wearing fancy clothes," Leah volunteered. "Like, office clothes. Not what you'd wear to go hiking or exploring."
That detail matched Yazzie's initial report—the victim was thought to be an outsider, possibly a businessman or professional. It didn't fit the usual profile of mine casualties, who tended to be thrill-seekers, homeless individuals seeking shelter, or people desperate enough to risk trespassing for potential salvage.
The sound of an approaching vehicle drew Kari's attention. A social services car pulled up, likely summoned by the responding officer to transport the teenagers home and provide any necessary support after their traumatic discovery.
"Officer Nez called your parents," Ben told the teenagers. "They'll meet you at home. Ms. Chee from social services will drive you back and make sure you're both okay." He handed each of them his card. "If you remember anything else, even if it seems small or unimportant, call me directly."
The teenagers nodded, visibly relieved to be leaving the mine site. As they walked toward the social services vehicle, Kari could see their composure beginning to crack—Leah leaning against Jason, his arm awkwardly coming up to support her. Despite their bravado, they were still just kids who had encountered something far outside their normal experience.
"They seem credible," Kari said quietly to Ben once the teenagers were out of earshot.
"Agreed. Their story has been consistent since the initial report." Ben handed her a copy of the responding officer's notes. "Officer Nez secured the scene immediately. No one has entered the mine since the initial confirmation of a deceased individual."
Kari scanned the notes quickly. The responding officer had followed protocol perfectly—confirming the presence of a body without disturbing any evidence, establishing a perimeter, and documenting the teenagers' statements while waiting for detectives to arrive.
"Corn pollen and feathers," she said, looking up from the report. "Ceremonial elements again."
Ben's expression grew more somber. "But different from the skinwalker case. No herbs mentioned, different positioning according to the teenagers' description." He paused. "And a different location entirely. The abandoned mine sits on disputed land—technically outside reservation boundaries according to current court rulings, but within the traditional territories the Navajo Nation continues to claim."
"Meaning jurisdiction is going to be a nightmare," Kari concluded, already anticipating the conflicts that would arise once the FBI became aware of the case, as they inevitably would for a suspicious death in a federally regulated mine.
"Captain Yazzie is already making calls," Ben said. "But he wants us to process the scene before outside agencies get involved. Document everything thoroughly while it's still under our control."
Kari understood the unstated concern. Outside agencies, particularly federal ones, often missed or misinterpreted culturally significant elements at crime scenes. Evidence that might be obvious to Navajo investigators could be overlooked or dismissed by those without the relevant background knowledge.
"Let's get started then," she said, opening her field kit and pulling out nitrile gloves. "What do we know about the victim so far?"
"Nothing confirmed," Ben replied, donning his own gloves. "The teenagers' description suggests male, middle-aged, wearing business attire. No ID yet. Officer Nez maintained distance after visual confirmation, respecting both evidence preservation and traditional protocols regarding the deceased."
Kari appreciated that dual consideration—both the scientific requirements of criminal investigation and the cultural practices that had governed Navajo interactions with death for generations. It represented the balance she herself strived for in her work.
Together they approached the mine entrance, a dark rectangular opening in the hillside reinforced with timber supports that had weathered to silver-gray over decades of exposure. Faded warning signs in English, Navajo, and Spanish declared "DANGER - KEEP OUT" and "RADIATION HAZARD," their red lettering barely legible beneath layers of dust and sun damage.
"Should we be concerned about radiation?" Kari asked, pausing at the entrance.
Ben shook his head. "I checked with environmental monitoring. The entrance area has been tested regularly. Minimal risk for short-term exposure, though they recommend we limit our time inside."
He handed her a battery-operated radiation dosimeter from his kit. "Standard procedure for mine investigations on the reservation. It'll alert us if we enter areas with dangerous levels."
Kari clipped the small device to her belt, noting that Ben had already done the same. Another reminder of the unique hazards they faced working in this territory—not just the usual dangers of crime scenes, but environmental legacies that continued to threaten decades after the profit-taking had ended.
Officer Nez met them at the mine entrance, his expression grim beneath his department-issue hat. "Detectives. Body's about fifty feet in, just past where the main tunnel branches." He pointed with his flashlight beam. "I've been maintaining the perimeter, made sure no one else entered."
"Good work," Ben said. "Any wildlife activity or environmental concerns we should know about inside?"
"Nothing observed," Nez replied. "Air seems stable, no obvious structural issues near the entrance. Can't speak for deeper areas—I maintained visual confirmation distance only."
Kari appreciated the officer's thoroughness. Nez was one of the department's more experienced patrol officers, having served the Navajo Nation Police for nearly fifteen years. He understood the balance between proper evidence preservation and respectful treatment of the deceased.
"We'll take it from here," she told him. "Maintain the perimeter and log anyone who approaches. If federal agencies arrive, direct them to Captain Yazzie, but don't allow them access until we've completed our initial documentation."
Nez nodded, returning to his position near the vehicles.
Kari and Ben checked their equipment one final time—flashlights, cameras, evidence collection kits, and the small ceremonial bundle Ben always carried for situations involving death. Traditional protocol required certain precautions when encountering the deceased, particularly in circumstances where proper funerary practices had been disrupted.
The entrance yawned before them, a black mouth in the red sandstone hillside. Kari switched on her flashlight, the beam cutting through decades of accumulated dust motes that danced in the suddenly illuminated air. The wooden support beams that framed the opening creaked softly in the morning breeze, as if the mine itself were sighing at their intrusion.
"Ready?" Ben asked, his own flashlight beam joining hers, creating overlapping pools of light that barely dented the darkness ahead.
Kari felt the weight of the medicine pouch against her chest, a sensation that had become familiar over the past months. Since the skinwalker case, she'd developed a heightened awareness of certain places—locations where the boundary between ordinary reality and something else seemed thinner, more permeable. This abandoned mine, with its legacy of extraction and contamination, definitely qualified.
"Ready," she said, taking the first step into the mine's entrance.
The temperature dropped immediately, the cool darkness a stark contrast to the brutal summer heat outside. Dust swirled in their flashlight beams, creating ghostly patterns that dissolved as quickly as they formed.
The main tunnel extended straight ahead for about fifty feet before splitting into two branches, just as the teenagers had described. The floor was surprisingly even, though scattered with debris—abandoned equipment parts, beer cans, evidence of trespassing over the years despite security measures.
"Left or right at the split?" Kari asked, her voice sounding oddly muffled in the close confines of the tunnel.
Ben swept his flashlight beam along both options. "Left branch shows more recent activity. Footprints in the dust."
Kari nodded, focusing her own light on the floor. Multiple sets of tracks were visible—the distinct patterns of the teenagers' hiking boots, moving quickly based on the stride length and depth, consistent with their story of rushing out after discovering the body.
But there were older prints as well, partially obscured by dust fall but still discernible to trained eyes. Someone wearing dress shoes, based on the smooth sole pattern. Two sets of prints entering, only one leaving.
"Our victim arrived with someone," Kari observed quietly, pointing out the tracks to Ben. "And their companion walked out alone."
Ben crouched to examine the prints more carefully. "Good leather soles. Expensive. Not what you'd wear to explore an abandoned mine."
"Unless you weren't planning to explore," Kari said, the implications hanging in the air between them. "Unless you were brought here for another purpose entirely."
They continued forward, moving carefully to avoid disturbing any evidence, their flashlight beams probing the darkness ahead. The tunnel's left branch curved slightly, preventing them from seeing its full extent from the junction point.
As they rounded the curve, both detectives slowed. Their flashlights had caught something on the ground ahead—something that didn't belong in the abandoned mine's industrial landscape.
CHAPTER THREE
Kari swallowed hard at the sight before her. A man lay on the dusty floor, arms positioned at his sides, palms facing upward. He was dressed in business attire, just as the teenagers had described. Around him, forming a perfect circle, was a line of yellow corn pollen. At his head lay a single eagle feather, and at his feet, something that glinted metallically in the flashlight beams—a knife with an ornately carved handle, ceremonially placed rather than dropped.
Kari crouched carefully beside the body, keeping outside the corn pollen circle, her flashlight beam steady on the victim's face. Male, Caucasian, late fifties to early sixties based on the silver hair and the lines etched into his features. His expression was frozen in what appeared to be surprise rather than pain—eyes wide, mouth slightly open. The expensive suit, now coated with a fine layer of mine dust, suggested corporate rather than academic. A gold watch still adorned his wrist, ruling out robbery as a motive.
"No obvious signs of a struggle," she said, scanning the ground around the body. The dust lay undisturbed except for the footprints they'd followed in and the prints of the teenagers who had discovered the scene.
Ben circled as he documented the scene with his camera. The rhythmic click of the shutter created an eerie percussion that seemed to pulse in time with the flutter of Kari's pulse in her throat.
"The knife is ceremonial," Ben said, crouching to photograph it without disturbing its position. "Traditional design, but not antique. Modern materials with traditional styling."
"Recently placed," Kari added, noting the lack of dust on the blade compared to the mine floor. "And deliberately positioned."
Ben nodded, his expression troubled as he examined the corn pollen circle. "This arrangement... it's not typical of Navajo burial practices. The combination of elements feels reconstructed—like someone researched various ceremonies and combined them into something new."
"Cultural appropriation as murder tableau," Kari said, the words tasting bitter. She'd seen similar scenarios before—outsiders incorporating indigenous spiritual elements into crimes, either from misguided fascination or deliberate misdirection. The skinwalker case had involved an academic outsider imitating Navajo ceremonial practices but getting the finer details wrong.
"The eagle feather is real, though," she added.
"Yes," Ben said. "And that's a federal offense in itself, unless the person has appropriate permits or tribal authorization to possess it."
"I think there are bigger fish to fry here, though."
Kari stood, sweeping her flashlight beam across the chamber. Something about the scene felt off, beyond the obvious horror of murder. The ceremonial elements didn't align with any traditional practice she recognized from her time with Ruth.
"Corn pollen represents fertility and life in Navajo tradition," she said, thinking aloud. "Eagle feathers connect to spiritual power and the divine. Combined with a death scene..."
"Contradiction," Ben said, rising to stand beside her. "Or transformation. Death becoming something else."
The implications hung in the chill air between them. Kari forced herself to focus on procedure rather than speculation. "No wallet visible in his pockets. We'll need to check for identification once the scene is fully documented."
"I'll call it in," Ben said, reaching for his radio. "Captain Yazzie needs to know what we're dealing with, and with the jurisdictional issues, we should notify the FBI."
"Wait," Kari said, placing a hand on his arm. Something at the edge of her flashlight beam had caught her attention—a small stone placed on top of a larger one, the arrangement too deliberate to be natural. Beyond it, farther into the darkness of the tunnel, she could just make out another similar stack.
"What is it?" Ben asked, following her gaze.
"Trail markers," Kari said, moving toward the first stone stack. "Someone created a path deeper into the mine."
Ben frowned, checking the radiation dosimeter at his belt. "We're already at the threshold of advisable exposure levels. Protocol says we document this scene, then wait for the hazmat team before proceeding deeper."
The dosimeter on Kari's belt showed similar readings—elevated but not immediately dangerous. Still, Ben was right about protocol. The rational, by-the-book detective she had been in Phoenix would have agreed with him without hesitation.
But something was pulling her forward, a certainty that bordered on compulsion. The same instinct that had saved her life during the skinwalker case, the deep knowing her grandmother would attribute to something beyond rational thought.
"Look at the dust pattern," she said, indicating the floor. Unlike the clearly defined footprints that had led them to the body, the path beyond showed a different pattern—something had been dragged, disturbing the dust in a continuous line rather than distinct steps.
"The killer came this way," she continued, "carrying or dragging something. Recently enough that the dust hasn't fully resettled."
Ben's flashlight joined hers, confirming her observation. "All the more reason to wait for backup. If someone wanted us to find more than just this victim, it could be a trap."
Kari understood his caution. After what they'd experienced with the skinwalker case—a killer who had proven more dangerous than either of them could have anticipated—Ben's wariness was entirely justified. But the pull she felt wasn't just curiosity or a detective's instincts. It was something deeper, more primal.
"Five minutes," she said, a compromise. "We follow the markers for five minutes. If we find nothing, we come back and call it in."
Ben studied her face, seeming to recognize the determination there. In their months working together, he had learned to trust her instincts just as she had come to value his caution. Their different approaches balanced each other, creating a partnership more effective than either would be alone.
"Five minutes," he agreed finally. "And we maintain radio contact with Officer Nez the entire time."
Kari nodded, keying her radio to update Nez on their position and intentions. With that done, she moved forward, following the first stone marker toward the second, careful to avoid disrupting any potential evidence.
The tunnel narrowed as they advanced, the ceiling dropping lower until they had to stoop. Their flashlight beams revealed support timbers that had weathered and weakened over decades of neglect, many showing ominous cracks where ground pressure had begun to overcome structural integrity.
"The mine closed in '83," Ben said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the oppressive silence. "After a series of safety violations and growing evidence of radioactive contamination in nearby water sources. The company that owned it was later absorbed by Meridian Energy Corporation during the consolidation wave of the '90s."
"Making this technically Meridian property now," Kari said, recalling the complex ownership histories that plagued many abandoned extraction sites on or near tribal lands. "Though the Navajo Nation has ongoing claims that supersede corporate ownership."
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