Scratchgravel Road (16 page)

“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.