Scratchgravel Road (27 page)

*   *   *

After dinner was finished and supper cleaned up, Dillon went through a stack of information he had printed for Josie on Beacon Pathways. The information included their current holdings, profit margins, even a mission statement and ten-year business plan.

“Honestly? It’s the kind of information that makes me want to buy stock in their company,” Dillon said. “Beacon is opening another plant in California. They have a crew there now, taking stock and running environmental tests.”

Josie frowned and scooted her chair away from the dining room table. She stared out the glass at the cactus and agave plants in Dillon’s backyard. The sun had slipped below the horizon and left a purple haze across the desert floor. The whole situation bothered her on some level that she couldn’t express. She felt jilted. It was the angry taxpayer syndrome. As a kid she used to listen to her grandpa rant and rave about people abusing the system. She’d just thought of him as an angry old man, but she’d been paying taxes long enough now that his words seemed less angry and more rational.

Dillon smirked. “Okay. What’s your issue?”

“Where are the boundary lines? Beacon seems to be benefiting on all sides by dragging their contracts out as long as they can.”

He shrugged. “Not against the law.”

“Here’s my issue. We’re dealing with material that is so dangerous Paiva talked about burying it for thousands of years. I don’t want him dragging his feet on this. I want this mess out of my backyard!”

“You’d have to prove negligence on their part,” he said.

“That’s just it. Who would do that? They’re so specialized, and insulated out here. Who’s keeping tabs on them?” she asked.

“I don’t really know. I guess the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.”

“The whole operation makes me feel helpless. And I hate that.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“You in the mood for a late-night drive?”

He looked surprised. “I figured after your foray into Mexico last night that you’d get to bed early.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How about a late-night trip around the Feed Plant?”

Dillon laughed. “You’re serious. Right now?”

Josie nodded. She was wearing down from the previous night with little sleep. She knew she ought to go home, but curiosity had her. She wanted to see the Feed Plant on her own terms, away from Diego’s careful watch.

He finally shrugged. “Let’s do it.”

*   *   *

Just five minutes outside of town, all other civilization disappeared. The night had cooled down to a comfortable eighty degrees, and the wind from the jeep’s open windows felt like silk on Josie’s skin. A smattering of stars shimmered around clouds that stretched down south into Mexico. By the time she reached the gravel on Plant Road, they hadn’t seen another car for several miles. She stopped the jeep and turned off the engine. The chain-link fence that stretched around the perimeter of the plant appeared like a solid wall in the dark. Josie unclipped her Maglite from underneath her seat and shone it on a large rectangular sign that loomed in front of the gate. The sign read
PRIVATE PROPERTY: BEACON PATHWAYS: TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
.

Dillon pointed to a darkened gate shack. “They still use that?”

“No, there’s a microphone and gate.” Josie was looking through her night-vision binoculars and spotted a security camera at the top of the gate. She hadn’t noticed the camera when she and Otto checked in. Diego had said the cameras were mounted at the gates but that they weren’t monitored, only checked if a problem arose. She hoped that was true.

Dillon placed a hand on her thigh and whispered, “Listen.”

They could hear the yips and barks of a distant pack of coyotes.

“Sounds like a bunch of drunken kids at a party,” he said.

“The Christo Ranch connects to this side of the plant. I read an article in the
Sentinel
last week. He’s got coyotes tearing up his calves,” Josie said.

She got out of the jeep and shone her Maglite on the eight-foot-tall gate in front of them and was surprised to see it was unlocked and slightly ajar.

“There’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.” Josie looked at Dillon, who had followed her to the fence. “Either the security guard is really lazy or there’s a reason they leave it unlocked.”

Dillon pushed open one of the sides far enough to allow Josie to drive through. Leaving it open, he got back in on the passenger side. She eased the jeep forward, leaving the headlights off.

“I feel like I have a free pass to break the law when I’m with you,” he said.

“Explain that one?”

“I’m forty-two years old, and I’ve never trespassed. At least not intentionally. And, as far as I can remember, I don’t think I’ve ever driven at night with my headlights off.”

“You’re such a city boy.”

“I grew up living in a house off a busy interstate in Los Angeles. I played at the Boy’s Club, not outside.”

“Why not outside?”

“My mother’s biggest fears were baby-snatchers and smog.” He lifted his hands straight up to the night sky. “It’s why I love it out here. You get a sense of what eternity is.”

Josie grinned. “It’s a rush, isn’t it?”

Leaving her headlights off, she drove slowly down the narrow gravel lane until they reached the second set of gates into the factory. Josie pulled her jeep off the gravel path and drove through rocky sand, around to the right of the fence.

“I noticed when Otto and I were out here, there was a gate the maintenance guys used.”

Three hundred feet down the fence line they came across the gate and found the padlock hanging unfastened on the fence. Josie made a mental note to tell Diego about his lax perimeter security and drove through the opening and down a rutted, muddy path that led to the main area of the plant. She pulled to a stop and killed the engine. They sat and listened to the silence, then slowly picked up the humming of various machinery and engines running throughout the plant.

She pointed to a building to the right of where they were parked. “See the sign in front of the building? That’s the pilot unit. That’s where the experiments are taking place. That’s the last building where Juan Santiago worked before his arms became full of sores, and he ended up dead.”

“You sure you want to go over there?”

“We’ll just poke around.”

“Maybe that’s what got Santiago dumped in the sand,” Dillon said.

Josie ignored the comment and opted to walk instead of starting the engine again. She had counted five cars in the front parking lot when they drove around the fence. She didn’t know if they were security or night-shift workers.

A security light was posted in front of each building, but the muddy courtyard area between the buildings was dark in shadows. There was no rain forecast for the night, but the ground was still a mess. She stopped and pointed at the ground.

“It looks like a stream running through here,” she said. “The rainwater is funneling in and washing out a path through the center of the plant.”

As they approached the crane and dump truck that she and Otto had seen on their visit, she said, “Those haven’t moved. Look at these buildings. Beacon has been here for over ten years. Even if they are working on new technology, you’d think they would have dismantled some of the buildings.”

He pointed upward, toward the skyline, where the exposed beams of one of the larger buildings looked like a giant metal erector set. “They’ve obviously done some work. The outside walls are down.”

“There were ten units when it was in full production. Count them now. Still ten. Actually eleven with the new building. They’ve expanded the plant!” Josie said.

They approached the pilot unit from the right side in order to stay out of the security light. Dillon caught her hand before they reached the side door. “You’re sure this is safe? We don’t have any protective gear.”

“We wore hard hats the other day. That was it. Same as Paiva. With his experience, I can’t imagine he’d walk around outside if things weren’t safe.”

As they approached the side door, Josie realized the door’s window was blacked out with a tinted film, but light was visible around the edges. She placed her head against the glass and saw lights on inside the building and the vague outline of several men in white suits working around machinery.

The door opened suddenly and Josie faced a man wearing a full hazmat suit and helmet.

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled. The sound was muffled from the headgear, but his voice was loud and angry.

After the initial shock of getting caught, Josie pulled her badge from her back jeans pocket. Dillon stepped back into the shadow of the door. “My name is Josie Gray. I’m chief of police in Artemis. I’m investigating the possible murder of an employee of the Feed Plant.”

“It isn’t safe for you to be walking around without someone who works here. That’s why we have No Trespassing signs posted. If you want to see someone, call ahead.”

“I understand. I called too late tonight to meet with Mr. Paiva. I’ll call in the morning. Sorry for the problem. We’ll head back out.” Josie waved and turned and walked away. The door closed immediately behind her, but she was certain they were being watched.

“Did you smell that place when he opened the door?” Dillon said. “I felt like the smell alone would be enough to burn my insides.”

“Like sniffing battery acid,” she said.

“Don’t you think it was odd he didn’t ask what you were talking about? You mentioned a murder investigation and he didn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I’m sure the news of cops showing up spread like wildfire.”

When they climbed back in the jeep Josie said, “Let’s make one more detour before we leave.”

“We’re already busted. Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure you have latent criminal tendencies,” she said.

He squeezed her thigh as she turned the engine on and drove the jeep toward the back of the plant with the headlights still off.

“Wait till you see this,” she said. Josie pulled in front of a lot the size of a football field, filled with black barrels, some of them double-stacked. She turned her headlights back on so Dillon could get the full effect. “This used to be the back parking lot when the factory was in full production. As the waste started to pile up, the back parking lot filled. The number of workers decreased as the waste increased, until the barrels eventually took up the entire lot.”

They both sat in the car for some time, staring at hundreds of barrels, most of them rusted and corroded. “It’s one thing to read about this in the newspaper. It’s entirely different to see it in your town’s backyard,” she said.

“They didn’t actually make the bombs here,” Dillon said. “This plant was just a part of the bigger process?”

“The Feed Plant took raw uranium ore and turned it into uranium metal. They shipped it east to factories where they fed the uranium into reactors for nuclear weapons. See the numbers painted on the outside of the barrels? They tell the plant operators what kind of waste is inside each one. Enriched. Remelt materials. Whatever.”

“How the hell do you know all this?” he asked.

“After lunch today I spent some time on the Internet. While you were checking Beacon’s financials, I looked into their so-called safe-cleanup operations. I have to admit, they have a pretty good record. They seem to have a good reputation in the field.” Josie looked to her right and saw the miniature headlights from a golf cart approaching fast. “Damn.”

“I hope you have bail-out powers. I don’t want to spend the night in jail,” he said.

The golf cart stopped and a very angry Diego Paiva exited and approached the jeep. He was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, leather sandals, and a Cincinnati Reds ball cap.

“I believe you just informed one of my employees that you were leaving, not continuing to trespass.” His voice was controlled but angry.

Josie nodded slowly. “You’re right. I apologize. We’re on our way out now.”

“Who is this man?”

“This is Dillon Reese, a local accountant. He’s doing some pro bono work for the police department.”

“What exactly does an accountant have to do with Beacon Pathways?”

“This is a murder investigation, Mr. Paiva. The police ask intrusive questions from every possible angle. I understand what you’re feeling.”

“I doubt you do.”

“Investigations often make innocent people angry at what feels like an invasion into their privacy.”

He pursed his lips and looked as if he were trying to calm his temper before speaking. “I assume that as an investigator, you are not given carte blanche to wander private property aimlessly? I believe that’s what warrants are issued for. I also believe you are way out of line.”

Josie looked away from Diego and out across the barrels, and tried to phrase her response without cynicism, but he beat her to the punch.

“Let’s not cloud your murder investigation with what appears to be your bigger issue.” He nodded his head toward the barrels. “I’m not sure what you expect here. Over two billion pounds of waste were my inheritance when I took over cleanup. Two
billion
pounds. That’s not waste you can take to a landfill. You can’t burn it. You can’t dump it in the ocean or bury it. So what do you do? People expect companies like Beacon to come in and clean things up with a broom and dustpan, but this is what I was left with.” He nodded again toward the barrels. “It doesn’t help when the police and media snoop around trying to find conspiracy when there is none. I’m not trying to hide anything here, Chief Gray. I’m trying to safely and effectively process this waste so you and I can raise our grandkids on this land without worry.”

“I didn’t go looking for a conspiracy theory. Juan Santiago showed up in the desert with open wounds on his body.” She paused to gauge his response. His face remained impassive. “Preliminary findings are consistent with some form of radiation poisoning. He didn’t have cancer. That leaves one rational explanation.”

Diego crossed his arms over his chest and smiled slightly, as if her explanation was amusing. “If this happened anywhere but here you wouldn’t even consider radiation. It would seem like a ridiculous idea.”