Scratchgravel Road A Mystery

NINE



At six forty-five Wednesday morning Josie and Otto arrived at the Rio Camp and Kayak. Josie wore a pair of Adidas running shorts, an old Indiana University T-shirt, and hiking boots, with her hair in a high ponytail to keep her neck cool. Otto was dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans that stopped just above his knees, and a pair of rubber boots and white socks that reached almost up to his shorts. When Josie picked him up that morning, Delores had stood in her housecoat at the living room door waving to them both as they pulled away. Aside from Dell, they were as close to family as Josie had, and she loved them both dearly.

Rio Camp and Kayak rented boats and camping gear for river excursions. The canoes and kayaks had already been driven by truck to higher ground. The area along the river was one of the lowest spots in Artemis. A flat bank had been excavated to resemble a beach where volleyball nets, picnic tables, and horseshoes were usually erected. The family-owned business was surprisingly lucrative thanks to Marsha Smith, the market-savvy wife who drew in tourists. Josie parked her jeep beside a half-dozen other cars and walked toward the beach area, which was now mostly flooded. All traces of recreation had been removed.

The six additional inches of rain that had been forecast for the previous night had materialized and the river was flowing faster and higher than Josie had ever seen it. The brown frothing water rushed south carrying logs and debris at an alarming rate.

By seven o’clock an efficient system had been organized to fill sandbags and stack them along a fifty-foot stretch of the Rio Grande. The goal was to stack a four-foot-high wall to keep the water confined and the highly erodible banks from giving way. They all knew the sandbags would work for only a short time. If the rain kept coming, even Artemis would feel the effects of the flooding that was now hitting Presidio to the south.

* * *

After two hours of bagging and stacking, Josie dropped Otto off at his house so he could get ready for the shift and pick up his department car. Josie showered and changed into her uniform, then met him back at the station where he filled her in on their upcoming meeting at the Feed Plant.

“Plant supervisor’s name is—” Otto dug through the pile of papers on his desk and found a sticky note, which he read. “Diego Paiva. Talked with a lady, last name of Moore. She’s not too happy to see us, but she set up the meeting. Said she’d meet us in the parking lot at ten.”

Josie looked at her watch. “Better hit it then. I’ll drive.”

The plant was located eleven miles out of town on a gravel road that was well maintained by Beacon Pathways, the company hired to clean and dismantle the buildings and ultimately charged with taking the land back to so-called pristine conditions. Josie wondered how a former nuclear weapons plant could ever really return to pristine conditions.

The plant took up over 750 acres of desert ground and was surrounded by several thousand acres of state-owned property and a large private ranch. There was only one reason to drive down Plant Road and that was to access the Feed Plant. After the media attention died down, and Beacon moved in with their toxic waste trucks and massive equipment and men in white suits, the area acquired a taboo aura. No one talked about it anymore. The community preferred to trust that the government was quietly supervising the cleanup and looking out for their safety. Josie had her doubts.

All 750 acres of the plant were encircled by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence. It signified a border, but anyone wanting inside could scale the fence and cut through the barbed-wire top. Josie just couldn’t imagine anyone wanting in.

She stopped the jeep in front of the entrance, rolled her window down, and pressed a button on a red box mounted on a post next to the gate. As she waited for a response she scanned the area. To the north of the plant, the small Norton Mountain range extended its chocolate-colored ridges on either side of the plant, causing the grounds to feel fortified from the outside. Rocky hills stretched for miles alongside the mountains and the land was dotted with clumps of green grass, mesquite bushes, and jagged boulders, scattered as if someone tossed them from above. The ocotillo cactus grew above the rest of the vegetation, its spiky fingers reaching awkwardly toward the sky. Josie was glad to see that the plants appeared to be thriving, a hopeful sign that the groundwater wasn’t contaminated.

The speaker on the post finally crackled. “Name please.”

Josie pressed the button and said, “Chief of police, Josie Gray, and Officer Otto Podowski. Artemis Police Department.”

After several seconds the woman said, “You’re free to enter.”

Josie grinned at Otto. “Kind of pointless, isn’t it?”

He got out of the car, unlatched the gate, pushed it open, and then closed the gate behind them before getting back in beside her. They drove through, onto a paved drive.

Yesterday Otto had been told that the main office was located directly through the front gate. A parking lot at least an acre wide separated it from another fence that surrounded the actual buildings.

Josie could see six or seven buildings from her vantage point, and they were all built from steel with corrugated rooftops that appeared rusty even from a distance. She could see the neck of a crane sticking above the middle of the buildings but she saw no movement of machinery. The parking lot had approximately thirty cars, all parked near the front entrance gate.

* * *

Otto pointed at the yellow lines and arrows painted on the asphalt that directed cars straight ahead. “We’re supposed to park in the visitor area. An escort will meet us at the car.” He gave Josie a cynical glance. “You’d think they were still making bombs.”

As Josie pulled into the space marked VISITOR, a middle-aged woman carrying a black umbrella, wearing a beige pant suit and sensible brown shoes, approached. She wore a large pocket watch as a necklace and looked as if she kept a close eye on its movement. Her hair, brown like her shoes, was in a tight bun behind her head. She smiled grimly as Josie and Otto got out of the jeep, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. Repressed was the word that came to Josie’s mind.

“Welcome. My name is Sylvia Moore. Please follow me, and I’ll take you to Mr. Paiva.”

Josie raised her eyebrows at Otto and popped her own umbrella open against the light rain. They followed the woman at a quick pace down a concrete walkway that led to the one-story office building. Newer than the rest of the site, it was covered in light blue corrugated metal with a brown metal roof. Josie assumed the bosses worked out of this building. The woman slowed slightly to walk in line with them and seemed to sense Josie’s thoughts.

“I’ll be taking you into the staging facility. This is where all of our office staff are located. I’m sure Mr. Paiva can help you with the information you require.”

“What’s a staging facility?” Otto asked.

She pursed her lips and glanced quickly at Otto, as if trying to decipher his intentions. Apparently convinced he wasn’t harassing her, she said, “This building is the planning area where the various job superintendents and foremen meet. Our site office is located here.”

She offered a thin-lipped smile again and opened the door to the building, allowing Otto and Josie to enter before her.

A man who looked to be in his forties stood just inside the door, smiling widely, holding his hand out to greet them both. “Chief Gray? Diego Paiva. Very good to meet you.”

Diego wore a charcoal gray suit jacket with a casual navy blue shirt open at the neck. He had fine gray hair with a receding hairline, and a closely trimmed goatee. He was an attractive man with dark deep-set eyes and a strong jawline who emanated confidence and ability.

Josie extended her hand and shook his. “Thank you. This is Officer Otto Podowski.”

They shook hands and Diego gestured for them to walk down a short carpeted hallway and into a mid-size office decorated in conservative wood furniture with comfortable chairs. A small round table and four stackable conference chairs were located to the left of the door. One long, narrow window allowed light into the office but gave little view into the operations of the plant. To the right of the window about a dozen framed certificates, a collection of degrees and awards, covered the wall behind his desk. Josie noticed a picture of him shaking President Bush’s hand, but she saw no pictures of family in the office.

After coffee and soft drinks were declined they sat down at the table. When he addressed Josie, his demeanor was warm and friendly.

“I’m always curious when meeting new people. What brings you to such a remote location? In Puerto Rico, where I grew up, we imagine everyone wants to live in the big cities enjoying the exciting nightlife.”

Josie smiled. “I have no desire to spend my days in the city or my nights in a club. Artemis actually suits me well.”

He tipped his head. “Excellent point. Nor do I.” He turned to Otto. “And you? May I ask what brought you here?”

Otto leaned back in his seat and Josie noticed the gaping spaces around the buttons on his uniform shirt. She would work on him to cut back on the pastries and Cokes.

He said, “I worked twenty-five years with the highway patrol. It was a good career, but I was ready to slow the pace. When I left the patrol, Artemis was looking for a chief. It was a good change for my family.”

“How does someone get from Puerto Rico to the Chihuahuan Desert?” Josie asked.

“Ahh. I was born in San Juan. Joined the military right out of high school and ended up stationed in California. I became involved in engineering while in the service. I’ve been in the States for almost twenty years now as a nuclear engineer. Beacon hired me to manage their cleanup projects.”

“You travel quite a bit then?” Josie asked.

“My last post was in rural New York. When this post came along?” He put a hand in the air and wavered it back and forth. “I don’t like the big city, but I do like people.” He looked at Josie. “It’s difficult to connect with people here. Would you agree?”

Josie felt the heat in her face and hoped it didn’t show. “I would agree.”

Otto redirected the conversation. “We actually came by here today to discuss one of your workers at the plant.”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

Josie glanced at Otto. He tended to judge people quickly and sometimes harshly, and she wondered if the abrupt turn in conversation meant that Otto had already made up his mind about Diego Paiva.

“We have some disturbing news and would like to ask you some questions concerning a possible employee of yours. Would you know if any of your employees have been absent for the past several days? Most likely an unexplained absence,” Josie said.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know that for most of our employees. All of our supervisors have been here. I’ll have to consult them to ask about their crews. May I ask why?”

“A man was found dead, about twenty minutes from here. His body was found by a hiker in the desert,” she said.

He gave a quizzical look. “How does that connect to us?”

“He was wearing the same black boots that the workers here used to wear. We’re not aware of any other local factories or businesses that use this brand of boot. We’re assuming he worked for you at some point.”

He frowned, his expression concerned. “I certainly hope it isn’t one of our employees. Do you have a name?”

She shook her head. “We’re hoping you might be able to help us figure out his identity.”

He placed a forefinger on his lips, nodding his head. “I do have a way we can narrow this down. Our attendance records are online. I don’t use the program, but Sylvia monitors the information.” He stood from his chair. “Excuse me a moment.” He walked over to his desk and picked up his phone to ask her to join them.

Sylvia entered the room, unsmiling, notepad clutched to her chest with one hand, a pen ready to take notes in the other. Diego said, “Can you please pull up the attendance program on my computer? I need you to check unexcused absences for the past—” He paused and looked up at Josie. “How many days?”

“Can you check for the past two weeks?”

Sylvia sat down in his desk chair and began clicking and typing.

“How’s the cleanup progressing?” Otto asked. “We don’t read very much about it in the newspaper anymore.”

Diego turned from looking over Sylvia’s shoulder and gave Otto a half smile. “It has been my experience that communities prefer the cleanup progresses quietly. Negative media attention causes exponential increases in time and resources for any project. I’m sure in your position you’ve experienced the fickle nature of the media. One never knows when the ally may become the opponent. It is in our best interest to do the work quietly and efficiently.”

Sylvia turned slightly and looked up at Diego to get his attention. She pointed to the computer screen.

“This doesn’t look good,” he said. He asked Sylvia to print the attendance record. He retrieved the piece of paper from his printer and read the name. “Juan Santiago. His job classification is listed as Unit Seven Shutdown Crew.” He ran a finger down the printout, squinting slightly at the page. “It says he’s been absent from work since last Wednesday.” He looked up from the paper, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know this person, but his supervisor is Skip Bradford. He’s supervisor in Unit Seven.” He looked at Josie and Otto. “Would you like to meet Skip in the unit? I’ll give you a brief tour of the plant and you can see the cleanup firsthand.”

Otto looked surprised, but pleased. He and Josie had both agreed on the ride over that they hoped for a look at the facility. There was something about off-limits areas that fed a cop’s imagination.

“Sure. I’d like to see the plant,” Otto said.

As they stood, Sylvia turned to leave the room. Before she reached the door Josie said, “Excuse me, Sylvia?”

The woman turned, looking startled.

“Could you provide me a home address for the employee as well?”

Something flickered across her face, but Josie couldn’t read her.

“Yes, of course,” she said, and left the office.

Diego pointed to a framed map hanging on the wall. “Take a look at the layout of the plant before we leave. It will give you a better sense of the scope of the cleanup.”

Josie and Otto stood behind Diego and looked at a series of buildings that were situated around an oval driving track, each one notated with a number from one through ten, except for one building labeled the pilot unit. It was the first unit past the building they were in now.

Diego pointed to the building labeled with the number one. “The processing started in Unit One with the uranium ore, and moved through each of the remaining nine buildings until enriched uranium was ready for shipment. Each of these buildings contained an amazing array of chemicals that we’re still working to dispose of.” Diego turned and motioned toward the door. “Let’s suit up and I’ll take you over to Unit Seven to meet Skip.”

* * *

Josie and Otto followed Diego to the back end of the building where they each grabbed a hard hat off a metal rack with a sign that read SAFETY FIRST. Before they walked outside Sylvia approached Josie and handed her a Post-it note with Santiago’s name and address neatly written on it. She said nothing, and turned and left after Josie thanked her for the information. Looking at the address, Josie realized his apartment was above the Family Value store.

She excused herself for a moment and called Lou on her cell phone. “Do me a favor. Call Marta at home and ask her if she’ll check an apartment in town to see if anyone’s home. Ask her to check with neighbors, see if anyone has seen the tenant in the past three days.” Josie read off the name and address Sylvia had provided. “Also, check BMV to see if there’s a car registered to that name. If there is, make sure the address is the same as the one I just gave you, and have Marta check it out as well.”

Following Otto and Diego outside, Josie looked up into what seemed to be a perpetually gray sky. The rain had diminished to a drizzle that didn’t merit an umbrella, but it still made for a miserable morning. They walked down a sidewalk and through an unlocked gate.

“Inside this fenced area is what has always been referred to as ‘production.’ You can see each of the ten units I showed you on the poster inside my office. Each unit is marked with a sign outside the main entrance.” He pointed to a building on the back side of the oval track. A sign that read UNIT 7 hung beside the entrance door. “Let’s use the golf carts to keep from walking through the mud.”

The scene behind the main office building was a set out of an old black-and-white horror flick. Driving up to the plant and approaching through the front gate had made the size of the plant deceiving. Most of the buildings had massive steel pipes and drums attached to the sides and tops of the structures, and two large silos, at least thirty feet tall, were located near the back of the plant. Several buildings were connected with enclosed conveyor belts that rose twenty feet off the ground.

Two golf carts were parked by the building in front of a wooden fence that looked like a hitching post. They followed behind Diego and sat in one of the golf carts. Diego started the electric engine. “The most startling fact about this plant?” he said. “In 1956, the year it reached peak production, 2,045 workers came here every day.”

“That’s almost the size of the entire town of Artemis,” Josie said.

“The railroad brought them in and out every day. It was a long commute for some, but the pay was top-notch. Talk to the people who worked here. They were proud to serve their country. Production stopped in 1969. Transportation became too expensive.”

As they drove past the empty crane Otto said, “I thought we’d see more demolition.”

Diego nodded. “Taking the buildings down is the easy part. Removing what’s inside the buildings is the problem.”

He drove the golf cart on the track, around the center of a massive courtyard that was a muddy mess. A recent load of gravel had been spread in order to keep the machinery from getting bogged down.

Diego drove past several large structures toward a steel building surrounded on all sides by round vats and pipes. He pulled the golf cart in front of the entrance, which was gated by chain-link fence. Diego continued with what sounded like a prepared tour speech as they walked through the gate to the front door.

“Unit Seven made enriched uranium ingots during the fifties. Today we’re experimenting with a waste stabilization project. The biggest issue we face at plants like this one is what to do with all the waste. For every pound of uranium that was refined, two and a half pounds of waste was created. And who wants it? With Yucca Mountain lost in political purgatory we’re back to containing it here the best we can.”

Josie pointed behind the production buildings to where hundreds of black metal barrels were stacked on wooden pallets. “So we have our own little Yucca Mountain here in Artemis? Except it’s above ground and could leak into our groundwater.”

Diego opened the building’s door for Josie and stepped aside to allow her and Otto entrance. He smiled sternly at her as she walked past him. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure that does not happen.”

Josie looked around the room and felt her stomach seize up in a knot. At the back end of the building a group of four people dressed in white hazmat suits with helmets were working on a machine that was about the size of her kitchen. A tank was attached to each person’s back and she assumed these were some type of respirators. Large fans and machinery roared throughout the building.

Diego placed a hand on Josie’s back and talked close to her ear to be heard above the noise. “Don’t worry,” he said, pointing to the men in white. “The suits are precautionary. Better to be safe.” He gestured toward the rest of the building. “Would you like a quick tour before we meet Skip?” Diego yelled.

Josie and Otto both nodded and he motioned for them to follow. They began walking over concrete where steel beams had been filed down to the ground, revealing that something had obviously been removed. “This area of the plant was where the uranium fuel core was finished. The core was then shipped to other factories where it was fed into reactors to make nuclear weapons.” He walked them across the plant floor to a wall with several metal doors. “The first two rooms are storage areas. One contains chemicals waiting for disposal. The other is dismantled apparatus waiting for shipment.” He approached the third door and opened it. “This room houses our security tapes. Part of our contract with the government promises the site is secure. We have an expansive security system to ensure that.”

Josie noted that the room housing the security tapes wasn’t locked. She wondered if the security operations at the plant were mostly for show. She imagined very few people not already associated with the plant ever visited. But then, who would want to?

Diego shut the door and walked them over to the large machine where the men in white suits were gathered over a large metal pipe they appeared to be feeding into a furnace. He stopped Josie and Otto about thirty feet away and they watched the men working in tandem. She wondered if they had radios inside their suits. After several minutes Diego moved on and finished a quick tour of the building. He had neglected to explain what the men were doing and she wondered if it was simple oversight or intentional.

Next to the building’s entrance door was an enclosed office area. Diego opened the door and motioned for Josie and Otto to enter. Once he closed the door the noise from outside stopped, almost completely. It was uncomfortably cold, and Josie could feel air movement. The room was approximately twenty feet square and had three metal desks that looked like they had been scavenged from offices in the 1950s.

A man in his sixties wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt, striped tie, and black dress slacks sat at one desk. Diego introduced him as Skip Bradford, and he stood and shook hands with Josie and Otto. He was average height and build and had the serious, introspective demeanor of a scientist, complete with a calculator and pens in his shirt pocket.

Skip excused himself to answer the ringing phone on his desk and Diego continued. “Skip supervises a crew of five men, including Juan Santiago. The men are on the floor working on a vitrification project. We take waste sludge and contaminated material that needs long-term storage to give it time to stabilize. We basically heat it, mix it with glass fragments, and resolidify it. The result is waste contained in glass that is highly resistant to water. Then it can be stored underground for several thousand years until the radioactive material is safe.”

Josie shook her head in amazement. “We have waste in our backyard that is so toxic it has to be stored inside glass and buried underground for thousands of years.”

Diego tipped his head at Josie. “True enough. But we’ve found an excellent, safe solution.”

Skip hung up his phone. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. We appreciate you talking with us,” Josie said. She didn’t have any idea what kind of relationship Skip had with his subordinate. And she had intentionally not told Diego that they expected foul play. She wanted to gauge his reaction when she told Skip. She had found that people performed for the police when asked a question directly, and often provided more honest reactions when listening from afar. If Diego showed no sign of surprise when learning about the murder, then her suspicions would multiply fast.

“I have some disturbing news. I’d like to talk with you about someone who might be an employee of yours,” she said. “We found a man’s body in the desert several days ago. We suspect he may have been murdered.”

Skip’s mouth opened and his eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t mention murder,” Diego said, his expression more angry than shocked.

Skip placed his palms on his cheeks and sat back down in his chair. “Santiago’s been absent since last week. Is that who you mean?” The gravity of what he had just heard showed in his face. “I called him at home on Monday and yesterday but got no answer. I just figured he went to Mexico, back to his family.”

Diego walked over to a kitchenette area in the corner of the room that contained a water cooler with disposable cups beside it. He filled a cup and handed it to Skip, who looked at his boss, bewildered. “I never thought about calling the police. I never dreamed of anything sinister. I assumed he’d just left.” He turned back to Josie and Otto. “People do that. Employees just don’t show up for work one week. No call or notice. They just quit.”

“We’re still trying to identify the body,” Josie said. “Can you tell me if Mr. Santiago was bald?”

His eyes widened. “Yes,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Has he been bald as long as you’ve known him?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Were you aware of any serious illnesses he may have had? Cancer or something that would have caused him to lose his hair?”

He frowned. “No, ma’am. He rarely missed work. I’m not aware of any illnesses.”

She wondered how that played into their chemotherapy theory.

Josie sat down in an office chair beside Skip and put her notebook on her lap. “Would you have expected him to quit? That he would leave with no notice?”

The shock of the news weighed heavily on his movements. He sipped from the cup slowly, then looked again at Josie as if she had asked a strange question. “No. I wouldn’t think so. He was a good worker. Not stellar, but he showed up each day. He worked while on the clock. You know?”

“Did he have another job that you were aware of? Anything else that consumed his time after work?” she asked.

“His family was the only thing I ever heard him mention. I think his paycheck was sent home. He lived by himself.”

“In Artemis?” Otto asked.

He looked surprised to hear from Otto, and turned in his chair slightly to see him. “Yes, downtown. Somewhere near the Family Value. I don’t know exactly.”

“Do you have a photo of Mr. Santiago that would help us identify him?” she asked.

“Yes. Employees have a picture on their ID badge. I believe it should be in his personnel file,” Skip said.

“Would you be willing to come to the coroner’s office to identify the body?” Josie asked.

He looked shocked at the question and took a moment to answer. “Of course.”

“I assume he was in the country legally?” Josie asked.

“Absolutely.” Diego cut Skip off. “We follow strict protocol. His papers are on file if you wish to see to them.”

Josie put a hand up to wave off the suggestion.

“We actually have quite a few legal immigrants working at the plant,” Diego said.

“Did he socialize with anyone? Ever talk about dating anyone, or going out for a beer with someone from work?”

Skip looked miserable. “I don’t think so. He kept to himself. You can talk to the crew, though. There’s four other guys. I’ll call them all in here if you want.”

“He ever fight with anyone?” Otto asked.

Skip frowned. “No. Not that I know of. He didn’t get close enough to anyone to fight. He’d worked here about three years, and I bet the guys he worked with don’t know much more about him than me.” He paused and looked from Josie to Otto. “I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him.”

* * *

After the interview with Skip was over, Diego asked him to assemble the other workers from Santiago’s unit in the cafeteria, located back in the staging facility. Josie was glad to walk back outside. Her hands felt like ice from the cold office.

She followed Otto outside while Diego stayed back to talk with Skip. Josie saw Otto looking up into the moving clouds.

“I don’t want to be back here when it starts pouring down rain,” she said.

Otto nodded, his eyes focused on the sky. “Place gives me a bad feeling. Like doomsday.”

“I keep thinking about all those rusted barrels.” She looked behind the fenced-in production area to what appeared to have once been a large parking lot. The space was now covered with tightly packed metal barrels. From a distance they appeared to be corroded, but she hoped it was just peeling paint. “What do you think all this rain does to the chemicals and the rusted drums?”

The wind picked up and blew the fine gray hair around the top of Otto’s head. He tried to smooth the hair back as he climbed into the backseat of the golf cart, leaving the front passenger seat for Josie. “I’d like to know what these guys do on a daily basis.”

“I still don’t think we mention the sores on Santiago’s arms. We need to talk to a few more people. Make sure we know who can be trusted,” she said. “Agreed?”

“Absolutely. Weren’t you going to see Sauly?”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to him this afternoon if I get time.”

Diego walked briskly out of the building toward the golf cart and Josie was struck by how attractive he was. He conveyed assuredness and the ability to get things done. She imagined he was a good fit for what seemed to be an overwhelming task.

He climbed in the cart and they drove off immediately. “I would have appreciated some advance warning.”

He glanced at Josie but she kept her attention focused on the barrels across the lot.

“You hadn’t mentioned anything about him being murdered. I assumed he’d just come up missing,” he said. His tone was sharp.

“Our goal is to find a killer. Sometimes that doesn’t leave room for common courtesies,” she said.

He said nothing in return. She knew her comment had sounded rude, but those were the ground rules.

As they approached the main office again she pointed behind them toward the lot full of metal barrels. “What’s the problem with the rusted barrels? Seems like you’d want to get those out of here before they rust through.”

He took a moment to respond and Josie wondered if he was considering his response, or if he was still angry. “Sometimes it’s more dangerous to move material like that than it is to leave it be. We monitor the containers carefully. It’s not a pretty sight out there, but there’s no leaching.” He glanced over at her. “People don’t realize what a task it is to move dirty material to another site. It’s not like taking your trash to the city dump.”

“By dirty material, you mean material with radiation in it?”

He nodded.

A light rain began to fall as Diego maneuvered the golf cart through the sludge on the ground. When they reached the staging facility, Josie turned before entering the building to scan the lot one last time. She could not imagine going to work every day in that kind of environment: the combination of corroded metal and disassembled buildings, some nothing more than steel skeletons, made for a scene of bleak desolation.

* * *

In the cafeteria, several women in hairnets and white smocks teased each other good-naturedly as they placed silver pans into a buffet line. Josie glanced at her watch. It was 10:45. The room smelled like canned green beans and boiled potatoes.

The room was set up like a high school cafeteria. It was well lit with poor acoustics and neatly lined rows of tables that would seat groups of ten. The laminate-and-chrome tables looked straight out of a fifties diner. The room looked larger than necessary and Josie wondered if the number of employees was being kept low due to need or cost overruns.

As they reached the tables Josie received a phone call from Lou.

“What’s up?” Josie asked.

“Marta called back. The door to Santiago’s apartment was locked, no one home. No one at Family Value or the other businesses on the block has seen him recently, but they confirmed they knew who he was. They all said he didn’t make much of an impression.”

“Okay. What about the car?”

“No car registered in his name,” Lou said. “Marta also took prints around the door. She said to give her a call if you want her back there,” Lou said.

“All right.”

“One more thing. Marta talked to the postmaster. He said they left mail in front of his apartment door for several days and just took it back to the post office this morning until further notice. Nobody has picked up for five days.”

“Great. Thanks, Lou. That’s a start.”

Josie sat at the table where Diego and Otto had just settled.

“I’ve heard stories about why they named this place the Feed Plant,” Otto said. “Any truth to the rumors?”

“There’s a little truth in every rumor.” Diego smiled slightly. The intensity in his demeanor had subsided somewhat, but his face looked worn since hearing the news that one of his employees might have been murdered. “The name is actually quite accurate, although the motivation for using the name was probably twofold.” Diego crossed his legs and settled into the role of tour guide again. “The Feed Plant took in uranium materials; most of it shipped to us from the African Congo. The raw material was processed using a variety of steps in several units within the plant until we had enriched uranium. It was then sent to other nuclear sites around the country. Our material became fuel for nuclear bombs. We helped feed the bombs. Thus the name.”

Josie didn’t hide the suspicious look on her face. “They didn’t call it the Feed Plant to trick people in the community into thinking it was harmless? A place that created animal feed?”

He smiled. “Of course they did! This was back in the day when secrets were respected. When people knew the government kept secrets for their own good. And people were fine with that. They appreciated the grave responsibility the president carried. There were secrets and respect. Frankly, we could use more of both in today’s world.”

Four men walked through a door at the far end of the cafeteria. Diego’s expression turned serious. “Skip told the men the basics of what you shared with us. He explained that you had questions to ask about their coworker.”

Josie watched as they walked across the cafeteria. All four men wore loose-fitting blue jumpsuits with their names machine embroidered on their breast pockets. As they walked across the room, Josie noticed each man wore the same style boots that the body had been found wearing.

Diego stood as they approached and thanked them for coming. An earnest-looking man in his early twenties, with an unruly mop-top haircut and square wire-rimmed glasses, led the line of men. An older man, who looked to be in his forties, remained standing as the other three sat. He had a buzz cut, protruding ears, and fleshy lips. In a loud voice reminiscent of a drill sergeant he said, “My name is Andrew Magnetty. This is Bobby Cahill.” He pointed at the mop-head, who nodded once at Josie and Otto. “This is Jim Sanders and Brent Thyme.” Jim was a gangly young man who looked like a high school ball player still fighting acne and awkward social manners. Josie recognized Brent from around Artemis. He was about her age, early thirties, and was married to Sarah, one of the waitresses at the Hot Tamale. He had red hair and a spray of freckles across his face and hands. He smiled politely and nodded as he was introduced.

Josie introduced herself and Otto. She explained their purpose for being there, and said, “I appreciate you all talking with us. I want you to understand that the man’s identity hasn’t been confirmed. The man we found may not be Juan Santiago. But his time of death corresponds with the day he showed up missing from work. We’re hoping to find out information from the four of you that will help us find him or confirm his identity.” She was quiet for a moment, allowing the information to settle. She often used wait-time during interviews. Rushing people in high-stress situations rarely resulted in good information.

“We’ll interview each of you separately. That will give you a chance to answer based on your own observations of Santiago, rather than your answer being influenced by your coworkers.”

Otto started his pocket recorder and laid it in the middle of the table. He went through the basic information of time and place and collected all of their names and their relationship to the deceased man.

Josie nodded at the drill sergeant, who took the lead in introducing the group. “Mr. Magnetty, we’ll start with you. The rest of you can take a seat here in the cafeteria and we’ll get you back to work as soon as possible.”

The other three stood and walked to a table at the far end of the cafeteria and sat down without talking. Josie faced Magnetty. “Officer Podowski will be recording the interview unless you have an objection.”

“No, ma’am, that’s fine.”

“Okay. The first thing we need to do is start piecing together Santiago’s life, and right now, the four of you are the only links we have.”

He nodded.

“Why don’t you start by describing Juan, both professionally and personally.”

“Juan took orders and followed through. He kept quiet and did the job. No questions.” Josie noted that Diego was watching him intently. “I tried to cut up with him a few times but he didn’t like it. He’d smile, but that was it.” He looked over at his coworkers sitting across the room. “They probably never saw him cut up either. Pretty serious guy.”

“Do all of you share the same job?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re ground crew. Our job is safe shutdown. Sometimes we all work together, sometimes we’re on our own or with a partner. Just depends.”

“What are you currently working on?”

“We’re taking apart a machine.” He narrowed his eyes, settling into his role. “It’s a complicated process. Not like you can take out a machine with a wrecking ball. Every piece is evaluated, monitored. There’s a written plan for everything in the plant. And the machine we’re working on is part of the respiration unit.”

Not wanting to get too much technical detail, she cut his explanation off. “Did you ever work as a partner with Juan?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Did he ever talk about friends or family?”

“Just that he missed Mexico. I know he was lonely. I tried to get him to go out a few times, after work, but he never would. Always said he was saving money to go home.” The veins in the drill sergeant’s forehead throbbed. He looked across the table at Diego. “That’s why we didn’t think much when he didn’t show up for work. We figured he got enough money to move back home and left.”

“How often did he send money home to his family?” she asked.

“I think he went home each month to visit and deliver the cash.” Magnetty smirked. “He didn’t trust us. Americans, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t have a bank account. No credit cards or anything. He was always thinking someone was going to kick him out of the country.”

“But he wasn’t here illegally?” Otto asked.

“No, he was just paranoid.”

“You don’t know of any friends he had outside of work? Not even one?” she asked.

He frowned. “No. I guess not.”

“Did you ever visit his apartment after work?”

“No.”

Josie dismissed Magnetty and then called over Jim Sanders, the tall young kid with acne. She asked him the same questions but he offered little. He blushed at each question and shrugged, basically repeating that he never talked with Santiago about anything.

Skip Bradford, the group’s immediate supervisor, entered the cafeteria and came over to the interview table. He apologized for taking so long, then listened closely as the mop-topped Bobby Cahill described Santiago as an old guy with no sense of humor.

“What do you mean by that?” Josie asked him.

He shrugged and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I just never talked to him. He was too quiet. Brent talked to him more than anyone, but the guy never really smiled.”

“Was he unfriendly?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I just ignored him.”

Brent Thyme was the last person Josie interviewed. He had a short, slim build and a friendly demeanor.

“I always thought he looked kind of embarrassed to have a conversation with you. He was really shy, kind of backward with people.” He paused and thought for a moment. “But, at the same time, he was mentally tough.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He went through a lot to get here. To get this job. He lived by himself. Focused all his energy on getting a better life for his family back home. I had a lot of respect for him.” Brent’s face burned red under the freckles at his comments. He seemed embarrassed to talk about Santiago’s personal matters.

“Was his quietness caused by a language barrier?” Otto asked.

“No, he spoke English fine. He was just quiet,” Brent said. “I drove him to work every day. He didn’t have a car. But he still didn’t talk. He’d sleep in the morning and look out the window at night. I finally gave up trying.”

Josie’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket and she opened it, saw it was from Marta, and allowed it to go to voice mail until she was finished with the interviews.

“Was he likeable? Did he have a good personality?” she asked.

Brent gave an apologetic smile. “I hate to repeat it, but he didn’t say enough to even let you know what his personality was.”

Josie asked Brent if he had ever had a conversation with him about his personal life.

“He missed his family. He was married and had kids, but they were older. He had a large family in Juarez, I think. Lots of extended family. He was homesick. Trying to scrape up enough to build a house back home.”

“Do you know the last time he visited?” Josie asked.

“No idea. I never met his family. I wouldn’t even know how to contact them to check.”

Josie’s cell phone buzzed again. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw the call was from Marta. She wouldn’t call twice unless there was an issue. Josie excused herself and Otto nodded, indicating he would take over the interview.

Josie answered as she walked across the cafeteria. “What’s up?”

“It’s Teresa. She’s gone.” Josie heard the anguish in Marta’s voice.

“From home?”

Marta took a long breath and exhaled, moaning in the background. “I worked third shift last night. About the time I got to bed this morning Lou called and asked me to run over to Santiago’s apartment. I got back home just now and looked into her room.” Her breathing hitched.

“How do you know she left home?”

“She left a note.”

“What did she say?”

Marta was quiet for a moment and Josie realized she was crying.

“Marta,” she said gently. “We can’t talk this through until you quit crying. Put the phone down. Take a deep breath. Grab a Kleenex. Then give me details.”

Josie turned back to the group of men at the cafeteria table and saw Otto taking notes. She had no doubt he would be thorough. As she watched, waiting for Marta to return, Diego turned and caught her glance, a beat longer than was necessary.

Marta returned to the phone. “I’m sorry. I never expected this. She’s never done anything like this. And, no warning.”

Josie turned her back on the group in order to focus on the call. “What did the note say?”

“We got into a fight. It got ugly. I said horrible things.”

“Was the fight over Enrico?”

“Yes.” She sniffed again, trying to slow her breathing. “I accused her of terrible things, but she wouldn’t even respond. She just stared at me with this blank expression. I was so angry I left the house. I couldn’t deal with her.” She paused a moment. “I knew we needed to resolve things today. Then I found a note in her bedroom. She said she couldn’t live with me anymore. That she’s leaving home for a while.”

Josie felt her shoulders slump and sighed. “Oh, Marta. I’m sorry. You wait at the department. Otto and I will be right there. We’re at the Feed Plant. Start making phone calls to all her friends. Make sure you talk to the parents too. The kids may tell their parents, but they might not be willing to tell you if Teresa told them not to.”

“I should have never left the house so angry. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”