Scratchgravel Road (33 page)

Josie nodded, putting together the pieces in her mind.

Skip’s cell phone rang and Josie listened as he spoke to someone about a request that the NRC had for paperwork. He glanced at Josie. “Diego needs help for a minute. Do you mind?”

Josie motioned toward the building. “Of course not. I’ll catch up with you later.”

She watched Skip jog across the parking lot and considered Santiago and the timeline of events. She felt certain his death was connected with the plant, and her hunch was it took place at night. When she and Dillon had come to the plant the security was lax. She assumed the plant had operated for so many years in the isolation of the desert with no security issues that the gaurds had become complacent. And it wouldn’t take long for the wrong person to pick up on the complacency.

Josie walked over to where Otto stood listening to Mitch brief his crew.

“I got a hunch,” she said.

“Do you now?” His surprise turned to a grin as he turned away from the group. “Fill me in.”

“Skip just confirmed that both Santiago and Brent Thyme were working with hazardous chemicals in the pilot unit the week before they both developed lesions on their arms or hands.”

Otto rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Well, that could change things.”

“We could be looking at chemical burns—not radiation.”

“Maybe the CDC can sort that one out.”

“I’m still stuck on Santiago’s boots. I’d lay money on the fact that he and Thyme got into something they weren’t supposed to, and he came back to make it right. He came back into the plant and put his boots on as a security measure. My hunch is, he left a dead man.”

Otto nodded slowly, thinking it through.

“Remember the first day we came and met Diego, and he took us for a quick tour around Unit Seven?”

He nodded.

“There was a small room on the right side of the building that houses their security tapes. Diego said they don’t monitor them, but they’re digitally archived. I worked with a similar setup last year when the Family Value installed their system.”

“I remember.” He frowned. “You planning on viewing the tapes after we’re done here?”

“I’m going now. Skip just said employees with good personnel records are allowed keys to the various buildings. I want to get to those tapes before someone else does.”

“Diego know you’re planning on viewing the tapes?” Otto asked.

“He’s busy.”

“Skip know?” he asked.

“He’s busy too.”

“And what if one of those two killed Santiago?”

“All the more reason for me to check this out now. Cover for me?”

Otto sighed and pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. He flipped it open. “It’s on with the volume turned up. You call if anything looks out of place. Let me know when you get the video pulled up.”

Josie walked quickly across the parking lot and through the gate into the production area. She walked around the track until she reached the building labeled as Unit Seven, keeping an eye open for Diego and Skip, but she saw no one. The action was currently taking place outside the plant, not inside the buildings, and she felt fairly secure. While the chance was remote, she wanted to at least scan the tapes in case evacuation became inevitable. If Skip or Diego questioned her, which she had no doubt they eventually would, that would be her excuse for operating without their knowledge.

Josie used the master key that Diego had provided her earlier that day, and she let herself into Unit Seven. She quickly scanned the building and determined it was empty, and then proceeded to the security office.

*   *   *

The room was cool, but not like the arctic temperature in Skip’s office. It was a small space filled with electronic equipment and one computer with a flat, wide-screen monitor. The desk and shelves were organized and clean, but she noticed the faint corroded battery smell that Dillon had commented on when they were digging around the plant.

Josie flipped the overhead light switch on and closed the door behind her. She booted up the computer and the system loaded, but a login screen appeared. She looked around the desktop for a login-password combination, hoping to find something taped to the desk, a card left out in the open. She rifled through three desk drawers and was surprised there wasn’t a paper somewhere that contained the logins. She had found most people, even businesses, were often careless with security issues. She scanned the shelves above her and found a dozen software manuals and computer books. The computer login screen said
STATEN SECURITY SYSTEMS, V.4.3
. She found the manual with that title, opened the front cover, and hand-printed in pencil on the first page was
login: BeaconP1
and
password: password1A
. She entered the two terms into the system and was in within twenty seconds.

Once inside the program it was a fairly simple search. She entered dates into the appropriate fields, entered the time range she wanted to view, and then had to choose from thirty-five different locations that were notated with a number from one to thirty-five. Going back to the manual she found a pocket in the back of the book stuffed with someone’s notes. A sheet of paper with the words
Cheat Sheet
written across the top listed the specific location next to the numbers. She found
Pilot Lab
next to number twenty-nine and within a minute she was watching a clear black-and-white video of the empty lab in the pilot unit. Over the next several minutes she practiced using the various controls to scan at differing speeds, and to pause and stop.

In real time the tape showed a static shot of the laboratory that Santiago and Brent had been working in. Skip had indicated it was the only lab in the plant. The room was approximately six hundred square feet and was brightly lit and filled with metal lab furniture. Lab equipment and paraphernalia were stacked all around the room, which appeared to be less orderly than other areas she had seen in the plant. From the rotating security camera, Josie could see everything but the far corner of the room, opposite the entrance door.

After scanning both Thursday and Friday nights, she was able to determine a set schedule that the security guard used to walk the building. He arrived within ten minutes of his three-hour rotation both nights. Josie was pinning her hopes on Saturday. If Santiago knew the schedule as well, he could have slipped in unnoticed. And so could his murderer.

TWENTY-THREE

Otto looked over the shoulder of one of the workers who was checking the satellite picture on his cell phone and whistled at the band of green that signaled rain across West Texas and northern Mexico; it looked as if the rain would continue for at least another hour or two, and from the looks of the radar there would be increased flooding all across West Texas.

While the rest of the men were piling into the pickup truck, Otto and Mitch each climbed on an ATV that Diego had provided. Otto felt as if twenty years had fallen off his back. Maybe even thirty. He wished Delores could see him riding through the desert on a four-wheeler, flinging mud like a kid again.

Mitch took a wide path around the plant and the pickup followed with Otto in the rear. Otto noticed places on the hillside where the ground was cracking in ten- and twenty-foot horizontal stretches, as if big slabs of earth were ready to separate. It was a frightening sight and sobered him quickly. He wondered what the trencher would do to the already unstable ground. They might cause their own mudslide trying to avert another one.

Beacon’s Quad trencher was already at the location Mitch had designated as the starting point for the explosives. Otto had never seen a trencher in action, and this one was obviously top of the line. Otto figured his tax dollars were paying for it, so it ought to be good.

The machine was red, built similar to a bulldozer, but with a large arm on the back of it that looked like a three-foot-wide, five-foot-long chainsaw blade. It sat atop tracks similar to those used on army tanks, however these were triangular in shape, and there were two separate tracks on either side of the machine. It looked as if it could move through about any terrain. The operator left the machine running and hopped out of the cab to meet up with the group.

Mitch got off his four-wheeler and approached the operator with his hand outstretched and introduced himself as the explosives tech.

“Name’s Bob Smitty.” He was a short, heavyset man with a two-day beard and leathery skin.

Mitch pointed to the tracks. “How’s she do in this kind of mud?”

The operator smiled and laughed as if he’d heard a good dirty joke. “You have to try to get her stuck.” He looked up into the sky, where the rain still came down. “She can run in this for sure.”

*   *   *

Josie called and gave Otto an update on her progress and said she needed another thirty minutes to scan the video through Saturday night and Sunday. She was convinced she knew who the murderer was, and the tape would prove it. She pressed Play again and set it to fast-forward. On Saturday at 10:40
P.M.
, just thirty minutes past when the security guard last made his rounds of the pilot unit, she saw unexpected movement and clicked Stop. She took a deep breath, certain she was about ready to break open the case, and clicked the Play button to watch the video at standard speed. A person in a white hazmat suit, wearing black work boots, walked into the room.

“Here we go,” she whispered. She could feel her heart race in her chest as she watched another person dressed in a similar white suit enter the room. The two figures walked across the room to a lab table that held various equipment and glass beakers. One of the figures held a hand up to a glass overhead cabinet and unlocked it, pulling out a white box, what appeared to be a first-aid kit. The container was placed on the counter and the two figures faced one another, apparently discussing something. One of them took a tube of something from the kit and tried to give it to the other person. The two appeared to be arguing. After several minutes, the individual who refused the tube turned and started to walk away. The other person picked up a metal stool, lifted it over his head, and came down with incredible force on top of the other man’s head. Josie knew that she’d just seen the blow that caused the injury to Juan Santiago’s head.

“Josie?”

Josie gasped and turned to the door. She had no idea there was anyone else in the building. “Brent! What are you doing here? I thought you were home sick.”

He looked just as surprised to see her. “I was. Someone called and told me about the mudslide. Said I needed to get here and help.”

Josie breathed out, trying to calm her nerves. She noticed him staring at the video. She turned back to the computer and clicked the monitor off to lose the picture.

“What are you watching?” he asked. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Have you talked to Skip or Diego yet?”

He shook his head no.

“Go find your supervisors to see how you can help.”

Pointing at the monitor he asked, “Does this have to do with Santiago?”

“It doesn’t concern you. We’ve got a mess out here.”

Brent held out his wrist, covered with a large bandage. Josie could see the discoloration underneath. It was obvious the blister on his wrist had worsened and was seeping blood.

“I think I deserve to be a part of this conversation. Look at what’s happening to me!”

*   *   *

Otto stood on the side of the hill with two of Mitch’s crew. His skin felt sticky under the plastic poncho where the rain had trickled in between the gaps and openings to soak his uniform. The smell of wet, sweaty skin was giving him a headache and he was beginning to long for a cool shower. He imagined sitting in his kitchen with a glass of iced tea and a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

They watched as the trencher slowly worked its way down the hill. Two men were laying the blocks of explosive down into the ditch, and Mitch was coming behind them attaching the blasting caps. Another man was attaching the detonation cord. The entire operation was moving smoothly, and Otto had just begun to have hope, when the man standing beside him cursed and pointed to the top of the peak.

“Son of a bitch,” whispered Otto.

They watched in horror as a large chunk on the face of the peak broke free, slamming against the side of the mountain as it tumbled down. The cracking rocks reverberated down the hill. Everyone stopped what they were doing, holding their breath, waiting for the rest of the peak to fall. Amazingly, it did not.

Otto dialed Josie’s number, anxious to get her out of the building before Mitch lit the explosives. She didn’t answer.

*   *   *

Josie felt the cell phone vibrate against her chest and ignored it, not wanting to spook Brent before she understood his motivation.

She stood and gestured with her hand for him to walk out of the small room, but he didn’t budge. The room was too confined and she felt extremely uncomfortable. His attitude had changed considerably. She realized he was holding one of his arms awkwardly behind his body, just behind the door frame.

He spoke again, his voice low, with a forced calm that made him sound even more unstable.

“I came here to tell you that you’re wanted outside. Things are going bad out there. Someone stopped me and said to get you. They want you out there now.”

His words were carefully enunciated, and his eyes had grown wide and unfocused. Josie wondered if he was on something, prescription or otherwise.

“Let them know I’m on my way. I need to lock things up.” Josie rested her hand on the butt of her gun at her waist.

His face turned red, his eyes wide now. “You do not understand. Things are completely screwed. I will take care of things here. They need you outside!”

His voice had become rigid. It was clear he had no intention of leaving the building.

Josie tried to remain calm and took a step forward to move them into the larger area outside the room where she stood a better chance of defending herself. She brought her hand down toward her gun, but he stopped her with a yell.

“Don’t do that!” He brought his hidden hand around to the front of him. He held a pint-sized glass beaker half filled with liquid.