“We were supposed to be past this, Paul.We were supposed to be done.”
“I know.”
The air conditioner cycled off and the room went quiet.Outside, a truck downshifted on the frontage road, the sound fading as it passed.
Kari had known.Somewhere in the back of her mind, during all those days of refreshing the browser and checking the phone, she’d known it wasn’t coming.The story wasn’t going to appear.The calls weren’t going to be returned.Twenty billion dollars bought a lot of silence, and Devco had been buying it for twenty years.
“I need some air,” she said.
She didn’t go outside—she hadn’t abandoned basic caution.She cracked the window two inches and stood beside it, feeling the dry heat push against the air conditioning.Daniels stayed where he was and let her think.
Her phone rang.
Not Daniels’ ringtone.Not Ben’s.An Albuquerque number she didn’t recognize.
She answered.
“Detective Blackhorse?My name is Claire Marshall.I’m the coordinator for the FBI’s Art Crime Team, based out of the Albuquerque field office.”The voice was direct, no wasted words, a tone shaped by years of being the only woman in rooms full of men who expected her to be softer.“I’m calling because I need help with a case, and your name keeps coming up.”
“I’m not taking cases right now.”
“I understand.And I wouldn’t be calling if this weren’t urgent.”A brief pause.“Three Indigenous artists have disappeared over the past four months.Two of them are dead.The third is still missing.The bodies were staged to recreate the victims’ own artwork, and I’ve got a team of art crime specialists who are very good at what they do, but who don’t have the cultural knowledge or the investigative background in violent crime to handle this.I need someone who has both.”
Kari looked at Daniels.He’d gone still, listening to the half of the conversation he could hear.
“How did you get my name?”
“Your work on the Pemberton case in Los Angeles.The ultra-marathon murders.You have a specific skill set, Detective.I’d like to brief you in person if you’re willing.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll be at the field office tomorrow at eight.I hope to see you there.”Marshall hung up without pleasantries.
Kari set the phone down and told Daniels what Marshall had said.He listened without interrupting, his eyes narrowing as she described the case.
“Art Crime,” he said.“That’s a different division entirely.Different chain of command from anyone who’s been blocking us.”
“I noticed that too.”
“You should take it.”
“Paul.”
“Listen to me.Right now you’re sitting in a motel room waiting for something to happen.You’re isolated, you’re vulnerable, and if Devco decides to take another shot at you, nobody’s going to hear it.Working a case with the FBI puts you inside a federal operation with agents around you every day.That’s safer than this.”He gestured at the room.“And it puts you in a position to build relationships in the Bureau that we’re going to need when we’re ready to move on the real problem.”
“While you do what?”
“While I keep working.Your father and I have leads we haven’t run down yet.We’ll be quiet about it.”
Kari picked up her phone again and dialed Ben’s number.He answered on the second ring, the way he always did when her name came up.
“Hey.”
“How’s Ruth?”
“She’s fine.Fed me dinner twice today.I think she’s decided I’m too thin.”A pause.“How are you?”
“Daniels is here.The plan didn’t work.”
