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The admission shocked Kari. Her grandmother always seemed so certain.
"What about this cluster?" Maria asked, pulling up the image of the symbols carved over Monroe's heart. "These seem different from the others. More elaborate."
Ruth's intake of breath was sharp enough to make both detectives tense. She stared at the symbols for a long moment, then stood abruptly, moving to the window as if needing distance from the images.
"Shimá sání?" Kari said, concerned. "What is it?"
Ruth was silent for several moments. Then, without a word, she returned to her chair, though she kept her gaze away from the tablet.
"Tell me about the one who died," she said. "Was he Diné?"
"No," Kari replied. "A white man. Pipeline surveyor for an energy company."
Something changed in Ruth's expression. "Pipeline," she repeated. "Where?"
"Near the old petroglyphs, out past Black Mesa," Maria said. "He was marking the proposed route."
Ruth closed her eyes. "Sacred land. Protected places." When she opened them again, her gaze was fierce. "The symbols make sense now. Protection turned to vengeance. Sacred knowledge used to punish those who would desecrate."
"Could you tell us who might have this kind of knowledge?" Kari asked. "Who would know these old symbols but use them this way?"
Ruth was quiet for a long moment, seeming to wrestle with something internal. "Many people study the old ways now," she said finally. "University researchers, museum workers, even some of our own young people who think books can teach what only life can reveal." Her tone carried deep disapproval. "They learn the what but not the why."
"Anyone specific come to mind?" Maria pressed gently.
"No," Ruth said, but something in her tone suggested reluctance rather than ignorance. "I don't follow who studies what anymore. Too many people treating sacred knowledge like something to be collected."
Kari recognized the defensive walls going up. Ruth would share what she chose to share, nothing more. Pushing would only make her retreat further.
"The inverted protection symbols," Kari said, trying a different approach. "What would someone be trying to accomplish by using them this way?"
Ruth considered the question. "In the old stories, reversed protection could create openings instead of barriers. Doors where there should be walls. But this…" She shook her head and rose again, this time moving to her shelf of dried herbs. She selected several bundles and began preparing a small mixture. The familiar actions seemed to calm her.
"You should be careful," she said, not looking at them. "This person, whatever they're trying to do, they're very dangerous."
"We'll be careful," Kari assured her.
Ruth finished her preparation and returned with two small cloth bundles. She handed one to each detective. "For protection. Real protection, not the twisted kind." Her gaze lingered on Maria. "You don't have to believe. Just carry it."
Maria accepted the bundle with surprising grace. "Thank you, Mrs. Chee. I'm honored."
"Hmm." Ruth studied her a moment longer. "You have steady eyes. That's good. My granddaughter needs steady people around her." She turned to Kari. "Find who did this quickly. The longer those symbols exist in the world, the more damage they might do."
"Damage how?" Kari asked.
"Words have power, even twisted ones. Someone else might see them, might think they're real, might try to use them." Ruth's expression was deadly serious. "Bad knowledge spreads like sickness if it's not stopped."
They prepared to leave, Kari carefully stowing the tablet away—along with its disturbing images. At the door, Ruth caught her arm.
"The one who did this," she said quietly, "they'll do it again. The symbols weren't complete. There were gaps, unfinished phrases. Like someone interrupted in the middle of a sentence… or still learning how to talk."
"How can you tell?"
"Because I know what the complete forms look like," Ruth said. "And these weren't finished. Your killer has more to say."
Outside, the afternoon heat hit them like a physical force. Maria waited until they reached their vehicles before speaking.
"Your grandmother is remarkable," she said. "Terrifying, but remarkable."
"She liked you," Kari said. "The protection bundle was a sign of approval. She doesn't give those to just anyone."
"I'll treasure it," Maria said, and Kari could tell she meant it. "So what now? We know the symbols are corrupted protection ceremonies, that the killer has academic knowledge but not true understanding. Where does that lead us?"
Kari considered their options. "Museums, universities, cultural centers. Anyone with access to books or documents about old ceremonies. It narrows the field, but not by much."
"And your grandmother's warning? About the killer striking again?"
"Ruth is rarely wrong about these things," Kari admitted. "If she says the symbols were incomplete, then our killer isn't finished. We need to find them before they decide to complete their message."
As they drove away from Ruth's house, Kari found herself touching the protection bundle her grandmother had given her. The weight of it in her pocket was reassuring, a tangible reminder that real protection came from love and wisdom, not from violence disguised as tradition.
Somewhere out there, their killer was planning their next move, armed with stolen knowledge and a twisted sense of justice. Kari had something they didn't—the insight of someone who truly understood what those symbols meant.
Now, she just had to figure out what the killer thought those symbols meant
CHAPTER FIVE
Sandra Martinez's running shoes found their familiar rhythm on the packed dirt trail, the afternoon sun beating down intensely on her body. Most people avoided exercising in the mid-afternoon heat, but Sandra's night shifts at the hospital meant her body clock ran differently than everyone else's. For someone who'd worked seven PM to seven AM for the past five years, three PM might as well be dawn.
Her phone buzzed against her arm band, the third call in ten minutes. She knew who it was without looking. Against her better judgment, she slowed to a jog and answered.
"I told you I'd be back by five," she said without preamble.
David's voice came through tense and irritated. "It's three in the afternoon, Sandra. You're running alone in the desert. In this heat. Again."
"On the same trail I've run for three years." She maintained her pace, though the conversation was already affecting her breathing rhythm. "Nothing has changed."
"Nothing has changed? Did you miss the news this morning? They found a body out there. Some pipeline worker, murdered."
Sandra had seen the news alert, of course. Jake Monroe, found dead near the proposed Sunburst Energy route. But that was miles from her usual trail, in a completely different area. "That was near Black Mesa. I'm nowhere near there."
"You don't know where 'there' is exactly," David countered. "The media didn't give specific locations. For all you know, you could be running right through—"
"I know exactly where I am," Sandra interrupted, her patience fraying. This was becoming a pattern with David—the constant worry, the attempts to control her routines, the subtle suggestions that she couldn't take care of herself. Six months ago, she'd found his protectiveness endearing. Now, it felt like a slowly tightening noose.
She passed a stake in the ground with an orange flag attached, then another with a yellow flag. Survey markers of some kind, though she didn't know for what. They'd appeared over the past few weeks, dotting the landscape like strange wildflowers. She'd meant to look into what they signified but hadn't gotten around to it.
"Just come back," David said, his tone shifting from anger to pleading. "We can go to the gym together when it cools down. It's safer."
"The gym doesn't have this," Sandra said, gesturing at the desert even though he couldn't see her. Despite the heat, she loved the way the afternoon light transformed the landscape—every rock and plant throwing sharp shadows, the distant mountains shimmering like mirages.
"Doesn't have what? Heat stroke? Dehydration? Murderers?"
"Space," she said simply. "The ability to think without walls around me."
There was a pause. When David spoke again, his voice had turned cold. "This is really about us, isn't it? You're using these runs to avoid dealing with our problems."
Sandra almost laughed. Their problems—his jealousy over her promotion at the hospital, his resentment that she now earned more than he did, his increasing need to know where she was every moment of the day… They were his problems. He couldn't accept that she was a strong, independent woman who didn't need him in order to live and breathe.
Yes, she supposed her afternoon runs were partly about escape. But they'd been her routine long before David.
"I'm not having this conversation now," she said. "I'll be home by five. We can talk then."
"Sandra—"
She ended the call and immediately switched her phone to airplane mode. She'd deal with his inevitable fury later. Right now, she needed this—the rhythmic pounding of her feet, the familiar burn in her lungs from the dry air, the vast openness of the desert that made her feel both insignificant and limitlessly free.
At thirty-two, Sandra had built a life she was mostly proud of. Head nurse in the ICU at Flagstaff Medical Center, a small but comfortable condo, a reliable car, and until recently, a relationship that had seemed promising. But the promotion had changed things with David, revealing an insecurity she hadn't noticed during their first year together. His software development job paid well, but apparently not well enough to handle his girlfriend earning seventy thousand to his sixty.
She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on her breathing instead. The heat was intense but manageable—she carried two water bottles and knew exactly where the shade points were along her five-mile circuit. This was her time, her space. After twelve hours of monitors beeping, doctors barking orders, and the constant dance between life and death in the ICU, she needed the desert's indifferent silence.
More stakes appeared along the trail, these with blue flags. They seemed to follow a line stretching east to west, though Sandra couldn't imagine what anyone would want to build out here. The land was too rough for housing, too remote for commercial development. Maybe some kind of utility project? She made a mental note to research it when she got home—if David gave her five minutes of peace to do so.
The petroglyph site came into view, the familiar rock formations standing stark against the bleached afternoon sky. She'd photographed them dozens of times, fascinated by the ancient symbols carved by hands that had vanished centuries ago. The harsh afternoon light wasn't ideal for photography, washing out details, but there was something honest about seeing them without the romance of golden hour lighting.
But something was different. A shape that didn't belong, dark against the lighter sand near the base of the largest rock panel.
Sandra slowed, squinting in the bright light. Probably someone taking a siesta, escaping the heat in the shadow of the rocks. She'd encountered a few people napping in shaded spots during her afternoon runs—hikers who'd underestimated the heat, locals who knew the best cool spots. She was usually against engaging with strangers in isolated areas, but her nursing instincts made it hard to simply pass by someone who might be suffering from heat exhaustion.
She approached cautiously, noting details as her medical training kicked in. The figure was lying on their side, curled up, wearing what looked like dark clothing—odd for the desert heat. No visible water bottles or hiking gear, which was concerning.
"Hello?" Sandra called from about twenty feet away. "Are you okay? Do you need water?"
No response. No movement. Not even the subtle rise and fall of breathing.
Her pace slowed to a walk, then stopped entirely as more details became clear. The clothing wasn't dark—it was soaked with something that had dried to the color of rust in the desert heat.
"Oh God," Sandra whispered. She moved closer, careful not to disturb the scene but needing to confirm what her eyes were telling her.
It was a woman, probably middle-aged, based on the graying hair visible beneath the dried blood. She lay with her arms crossed over her chest, her legs straight, her head turned toward the petroglyphs as if studying them in death. But it was the wounds that made Sandra's stomach clench despite all her years in trauma medicine.
Cuts covered every visible inch of skin. Not random slashes but careful, deliberate incisions that followed patterns Sandra couldn't comprehend. The woman's face, arms, and what was visible of her torso through torn clothing all bore the same methodical mutilation. Like someone had used her body as a canvas, carving symbols or messages that only they could read. The blood had dried dark in the heat, making the cuts stand out like terrible calligraphy.
Sandra stumbled backward, her legs suddenly unsteady. Twenty years of emergency medicine had shown her trauma in all its forms, but this was different. This was deliberate artistry in violence, a kind of cold precision that made her skin crawl despite the afternoon heat.
Her phone. She needed her phone.
With shaking hands, she switched off airplane mode, immediately seeing four new missed calls from David. She ignored them, dialing 911 with fingers that wouldn't quite cooperate.
"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"
"This is Sandra Martinez. I'm a nurse at Flagstaff Medical." She tried to keep her voice calm, though her body had begun to shake. "I've found a body. Female, multiple traumatic injuries. She's been murdered."
"Ma'am, can you give me your exact location?"
Sandra looked around, trying to orient herself. "I'm about three miles northeast of the Sunset Crater Road, near the petroglyph site. There's a trail—I don't know the official name. I can see survey stakes with colored flags."
"Survey stakes? Can you see any markings on them?"
She moved closer to the nearest stake, careful to keep her distance from the body. "There's a label. SB-Energy-47."
"Sunburst Energy markers," the dispatcher said. "I'm sending units to your location now. Are you safe? Is anyone else around?"
Sandra scanned the landscape, suddenly aware of how alone she was. The afternoon heat that had felt cleansing moments ago now felt oppressive, and the wide-open spaces that usually freed her mind now left her feeling exposed. Every shadow cast by the rocks could hide a threat, every shimmer of heat distortion could disguise movement.
"I don't see anyone," she said. "But I... should I leave? Should I go back to my car?"
"Can you see your vehicle from where you are?"
"No, it's about a mile back."
"Then stay where you are, but move away from the body. Find a safe vantage point where you can see anyone approaching. Units are en route. Stay on the line with me."
Sandra backed away from the body, positioning herself on a small rise that gave her a view of both the trail approaches. The sun beat down mercilessly, and she realized she'd stopped sweating—never a good sign. She took a careful sip from her water bottle, trying to manage her body's stress response while maintaining vigilance.
"Can you see any identification on the victim?" the dispatcher asked.
"I didn't get that close," Sandra admitted. "I could see she was deceased from several feet away. The injuries are... extensive."
"You said you're a nurse. Without compromising the scene, can you confirm the victim is deceased?"
Sandra almost laughed at the horrible absurdity of the question. "Yes. Without a doubt."
"Okay. Units should be there in approximately ten minutes. Are you still secure?"
"Yes." Sandra's voice cracked on the word.
She found herself wishing desperately that she'd listened to David, had gone to the gym instead of insisting on her afternoon solitude. He'd been right about the danger, even if he couldn't have imagined this specific horror.
But the good news was that she was safe. Help was coming.
Just so long as the killer didn't return before the police got here
CHAPTER SIX
The crime scene vehicles clustered along the dirt road like mechanical vultures, their presence transforming the serene desert landscape into something clinical and harsh.
Kari parked behind a forensics van, noting the efficiency with which the scene had been secured—yellow tape creating a wide perimeter, officers stationed at key points, the careful choreography of professionals who knew their roles.
"Looks like they learned from yesterday," Maria observed, climbing out of her rental. "Wider perimeter, better access control."
"Word travels fast about carved bodies," Kari replied, checking her equipment before ducking under the tape. "Every officer on the force knows we're dealing with something unusual."
They signed in with the scene log officer and made their way up the trail. The afternoon heat pressed down like a wool blanket, making Kari grateful for the water bottle clipped to her belt. Ahead, she could see a small cluster of people near a rock formation—medical examiner staff, forensics techs, and a woman in running gear sitting on a boulder with a patrol officer nearby.
"That must be our witness," Maria said. "Want me to interview her while you check the scene?"
Kari nodded, appreciating Maria's instinct to divide tasks efficiently. "Get her full statement. I want to know if she saw anyone else on the trail, any vehicles, anything that seemed out of place before she found the body."
As Maria approached Sandra Martinez, Kari continued toward the primary scene. Dr. Nakai looked up from her preliminary examination, her expression grim behind safety glasses.
"Detective Blackhorse. We need to stop meeting like this."
"Same killer?" Kari asked though the answer was obvious from the tension in the medical examiner's voice.
"Without question. Same type of wounds, same post-mortem mutilation, same careful positioning." Dr. Nakai stepped back, allowing Kari a clear view. "If anything, this one is more elaborate."
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