Scratchgravel Road: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  “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.

&nb
sp; 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, n
o 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.”

  TEN

  Josie and Otto were quiet on the drive back to town. Josie’s head was filled with scenarios of Teresa’s departure, wondering where she would go, mixed with images of the grim scene they had just left behind. As the rain intensified, Otto turned on the local radio station, which was playing a recording from the National Weather Service, a flash flooding alert for all of West Texas along the Rio Grande. A female radio announcer came back on and said Mexican dams on the Conchos River were spilling floodwater, and with the failure of several levees on the Mexican side, flooding was already an issue in Piedra Labrada, the Mexican city across the border from Artemis. The International Bridge that linked Presidio and Ojinaga had closed due to flooding. The announcer was connected by phone to a Texas senator who explained that the wastewater treatment plant just a few miles from the bridge in Piedra Labrada had ruptured, sending sewage streaming into the Rio Grande. “This is not a natural disaster,” he said. “This is manmade. There are hundreds of people who are losing their homes today because of poor management practices in Mexico.”