“It was a little reluctant, but I got it going.” I needed to drive the 4Runner, make sure it still ran. That way I could ask top dollar for it when I put it up for sale on the Internet. My heart sank. Mani had an unnatural and obsessive love for that SUV. He called it Roxanne. I couldn’t help but love her a little, too.

Vanderleigh and I chatted about everyday things—Siqiniq weather and his son’s hockey team—until we ran out of polite topics. Vanderleigh threaded his fingers together, rested his forearms on his desktop, and leaned toward me. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows drew together. He laid a serious stare on me, the kind he probably used on stubborn witnesses and problematic perpetrators. “Are you sure you want to do this, Solina? There’s nothing in your brother’s file I haven’t explained over the phone.”

I swallowed my apprehension and returned his stare. “That’s not totally true.”

Vanderleigh’s nostrils flared. A wary look crossed his face. “What do you mean?”

After months of fruitless investigations, the police had “reorganized the distribution of assets” assigned to finding Mani’s killer and doomed his file to their basement collection of unsolved cases. When they told my parents they lacked further leads to follow, my mom and dad accepted the news as a grim and inevitable conclusion. I had too, until the nightmares and a longing for closure drove me to action. “My parents were satisfied with generalities and vague explanations,” I said. “I want details.”

Vanderleigh sighed. “Solina, you only think you want those things. Let me tell you from experience that you do not. You watch crime shows on television and think you’re going to be the one to find a lucky break because you care more about your brother than some arbitrary investigator, but that’s fantasy. The reality is harsh. Your brother’s death was messy and gruesome. Let me tell you that you’ll be much happier remembering your brother the way you saw him last.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossed my ankle over my knee, and took a deep breath. Casually, I picked a fleck of dried mud from the calf of my boot, but inside fury and fear quaked through me—fury for the lack of justice for my brother and fear that Vanderleigh was completely right.

I let my breath out in a whoosh. “I think you want to protect me and save my feelings.” I also thought Vanderleigh took offense at a lay person implying his job performance was subpar. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Mani.”

I uncrossed my legs, planted both feet, and leaned forward. “But please, Detective, let me see his file. My parents, they gave up. I wanted to give up too, but it’s like I’m haunted. This is something I have to do if I ever want peace in my life again. It’s something I owe my brother.”

“You think I won’t sleep after I see the pictures or read the reports? You think I’ll have nightmares or a mental breakdown? Detective”—I reached across the desk and placed my hands over his—“I’m already there. I’m already destroyed.”

Vanderleigh broke eye contact and shook his balding head. “God, you young people are so melodramatic. If you were my kid, I’d march you back to the lower forty-eight so fast your head would spin for weeks. But you’re too old for me to call your parents, and at this point, not much of his file is confidential, especially for immediate family.”

Vanderleigh reached under his desk and pulled out a banker’s box with a fitted lid. He had the decency to treat the container with care as he slid it toward me. Someone had used a black Sharpie to scribble a file number and Mundy, Chapman on the front. The bold, black lettering jotted so carelessly on the industrial cardboard anonymized my brother, as though his name belonged to some other “Mundy, Chapman.” A runaway, a transient, a drug abuser. I never thought my brother’s life could be reduced to fit inside a cardboard box. Never mind how the crematorium already proved otherwise.

“Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate it.”

Vanderleigh rolled his eyes and pushed his chair away from the desk. “Yeah, yeah.” He stood and walked to the door. “You thank me now, but you’ll be singing a different tune after you finish examining the contents of that box. Leave it there when you’re finished. Make sure you put everything back the way you found it.”

I waited until the detective’s footsteps faded away before I pried off the lid. In the box I found CDs containing the contents of my brother’s laptop computer, video footage from the security cameras in the parking lot of Mani’s apartment complex, and digital files of the crime scene photos. Knowing in general terms how my brother had died, I was more than a little reluctant to look at those photos. I also found printed reports, handwritten investigation notes, and a package containing the clothes Mani was wearing the night he died. The police had sent them to an out-of-state lab for testing, but the lab had returned them marked “inconclusive.”

Before I left home, I had reviewed the few e-mail and letter exchanges the police had sent my family. I had a pretty good idea of what items the detectives had collected in Mani’s case, and I figured a laptop would come in handy on the day when I could finally examine those files in person. I had come to this meeting fully prepared.

I removed my computer from its carry case and copied the CDs’ contents onto my hard drive to look at later. I unearthed a handheld document scanner from my tote bag and went to work feeding it the short stack of paper records. The documents included interviews with Nisha Hemmings and the other tenants of the apartment complex. “Mani was a sweet kid… never any trouble… so surprising…”

The police hadn’t dismissed my brother as the victim of a wild animal attack for only two reasons. A broken lock and splintered door jamb proved the front door had been forcibly opened, and one set of neighbors, an older married couple, had both sworn they saw a man exiting Mani’s apartment, leading a large “wolf-like” dog. When the couple was asked to describe the man, they had said it was dark, and he was no more than a shadow. After processing the scene, the investigators found no foreign fingerprints, no bloody footsteps other than Mani’s, no forensic evidence other than a couple of wolf hairs and some canine saliva. Total dead end.

Next I scanned in a series of interviews from the staff of Thorin Adventure Outfitters. Most of the reports added nothing to the investigation, but I paused at Aleksander Thorin’s interview statement, giving it a thorough perusal.

Interview Report:   Aleksander Magni Thorin 

Investigator:        Detective Emmet Vanderleigh

Location:           Offices of Thorin Adventure

                     Outfitters, LLC

Date:               March 6

Time:               2:00 p.m.

Aleksander Thorin, CEO of Thorin Adventure Outfitters, LLC, and employer of Chapman Mundy.

Mr. Thorin met the victim shortly after posting employment opportunities on the website for his newly formed corporation, which is in the business of offering guided outdoor excursions. Mr. Thorin’s business venture also includes a sporting goods store.

Chapman Mundy applied to Thorin Adventure’s job posting and cited his extensive experience as a backpacker on the Appalachian Trail. Mundy was also completing his last semester at Appalachian State University in a course of studies that earned him a bachelor’s degree with a concentration in the travel and tourism industry. Mr. Thorin arranged an interview with Mundy and hired him shortly thereafter as a backpacking guide. Mundy began employment at Thorin Adventures in the spring after he finished his degree requirements.

Mr. Thorin spoke of the victim as a hard worker with good interpersonal skills. As their business relationship developed, Mr. Thorin promoted Mundy to a sales position and put him in charge of recruiting clientele. When I asked him what Mundy thought of the promotion, Mr. Thorin said Mundy was uncertain at first, but showed early signs of success and brought a good deal of business through the door.

I asked Mr. Thorin if he could speculate on Mundy’s death. Mr. Thorin said he thought the victim was well liked and could think of no motive for the crime. He could make no suggestions about who might have wanted Mundy dead.

I asked Mr. Thorin if he ever experienced trouble with any of his employees such as theft, frequent absences, or customer complaints. He said since the business started, he has only terminated one employee, a young man named Harold Hati. After multiple complaints from clients about Hati’s abrasive temperament and after an altercation in the sporting goods store between Hati and a customer, Mr. Thorin told Hati to leave. He hadn’t heard from Hati since that day, which occurred approximately one month before the victim’s murder. Mr. Thorin gave me a copy of Hati’s employment file.

I left Mr. Thorin my card and asked him to call if he thought of anything he might want to add to my report.

I pawed through the stacks of papers, searching for more information on Harold Hati. I never should have doubted Detective Vanderleigh’s thoroughness. He’d run background checks and interviewed the other employees, but no one claimed to know Hati before or after he worked for Thorin, and the address Hati listed on his employment application had led the detective to a vacant rental house. Hati’s criminal record came up empty, not even a speeding ticket. He had simply ceased to exist.

I finished scanning the things I wanted and bundled the contents into the banker’s box. Opening that box was like bringing my brother out from a cold, underground cave into the warmth of daylight. It was a symbolic act proving I meant it when I said I would find justice for him. Putting that lid back on felt like returning my brother to the darkness. “It’s just for a little while,” I said. “I will figure this out. I promise.”

My phone chirped, alerting me to a text. I checked the message—Val asking me to call him. Perfect timing. I scribbled thank you on one of Vanderleigh’s post-it notes, slapped it on top of the box, and scurried down the hallway to the exit. A uniformed cop entering the building saw me coming and held open the door. “If you see Detective Vanderleigh,” I said as I passed by, “tell him he can have his office back.”

I dialed Val and unearthed the 4Runner’s keys from my bag. He answered as I unlocked the door and slid behind the steering wheel. “How was the day hike?” I asked.

Val’s phone speaker caught the exhalation of a long, heavy breath. “Tedious and boring. Although anything’s better than being stuck behind the register in Thorin’s store.”

“No horny moose this time?”

He chuckled. “Not even an overeager squirrel.” A moment of silence passed, and then he said, “What have you been up to today? More cleaning?”

“Yes, mostly.” I’d tell him about my police station visit later, when I was in the mood to answer the questions it would likely bring up.

“You want some company?”

I considered his offer. Val’s companionship was tempting, especially after a long and grueling day, but no. I was too tired and frazzled to deal with the way he complicated my emotions. “Not tonight. I’m going to box up a few more things and call it a night.”

“Can we hang out tomorrow?”

“Sure. Give me a call after lunch.”

That night I fell asleep reading the last pages of Mani’s most recent journal. I was searching for hints about his investigation into his strange… condition. If I had known telling Mani about my dream would lead him to Alaska, and eventually to his death, I never would have said a word. Regrets are like scars—emotional wounds that never heal quite right. I had too many to count.

Instead of finding information about Mani’s supernatural situation, I was sidetracked by his surprising references to his co-worker, Skyla. She had said she and Mani were friends, but the contents of Mani’s journal suggested he thought of Skyla as much more than a buddy.

Haven’t been doing such a great job keeping up with my entries as I should be. Things have gotten busier at work. Plus, I’ve been more distracted lately. It’s been hard to focus—seems like all my spare thoughts have been filled up with Skyla.

When I first met her, I only saw the surface, the tattoos and the ear gauges and her tough exterior. She was like one of the guys and way more adept at outdoor survival than me. She taught me a lot, and I respect the hell out of her. I guess I never appreciated how much attraction can grow from that kind of admiration.

It’s her smile that kills me. It softens her hard edges. It suggests there’s something warm and tender underneath that toughness. It suggests, I don’t know… vulnerability? Like, maybe she’s not a completely self-reliant, one woman army. Though she’d never admit it in mixed company.