“Really. She didn’t question you?”
Cassidy grabbed the gallon of milk and found a glass in the cabinet. “Not really. Nothing really to say.”
“That’s funny, because she came here. Questioned me like I was a criminal.”
Cassidy said nothing. She faced the sink and drank the milk. She placed the glass on the counter and he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.
“I’m tired of the games. Tell me what the hell is going on!”
Tears appeared instantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What the hell were you doing out by Scratchgravel Road? You hate it outside! Never once have I seen you go outside to take a walk.”
She jerked her arm away from him, furious suddenly at everyone’s accusations. It was as if she had done something wrong. She stared at him, seething with anger, and wanted to confront him about the phone call. He was the reason she went hiking on Scratchgravel Road, and she wanted to tell him that. She wanted to tell him that she was protecting him from the police, that she was ruining her relationship with her family, and that she hated everything about him. Nothing in her life made sense anymore. But she had no idea what his reaction might be. He had always taken the dominant role in everything, and she had been fine with it. It kept her from having to make decisions. But now what? She had no idea how to take control.
“How would you know what I like or don’t like to do? You don’t pay any attention to me. The only time you talk to me is to complain about something I did. This whole thing is pointless.”
He stood motionless, staring at her.
“I’m moving back with my parents,” she said, forcing herself to look at him, shocked at herself.
He hesitated then came to her as if consoling a child. “Cassidy, come on. You don’t mean that.” He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes. “Can’t you see how stressed out I am? This job thing is messing with me. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I love you. It would kill me if you left right now.”
Leo wrapped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his chest because it was expected. She felt nothing. Her limbs felt like lead weights, as if she had lost her sense of touch. She wanted to ask the question: How did you know the location of the dead man? But she was certain the answer would require something from her, and she didn’t think she had anything to give.
* * *
When Teresa Cruz heard her mom pull into the driveway she was curled up on the couch, physically ill with shame, thinking about her mother, Enrico, and her father in Mexico. The engine stopped and the car door slammed hard. Teresa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, praying for an answer to the mess she was in. Her mom walked into the living room wearing her uniform, one hand propped on the nightstick hanging from her belt, the other hand held out as if she was going to shake a hand, except her fingers were rigid, her hand directed at Teresa.
Teresa sat up and her mother stood in front of her, the rage in her eyes unfocused. She accused Teresa of throwing her life away on a drug-addicted convict, of bringing shame into their home, of heading down the same path her father had, of making a mockery of everything she stood for, of ruining her good reputation in the community. She yelled and paced around the living room, finally coming back to point at her again. When she noticed the blank look on Teresa’s face, her mother stopped as if slapped and began to cry. She turned and left without another word. Teresa sat numbly on the couch and listened to the squeal of tires as her mother backed out of the driveway.
Teresa had no tears left. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t explain any of it to her mother. She’d called Enrico countless times but he wouldn’t answer his cell phone. She walked to the front window, pulled the curtains open to the gray night, and listened as the rain pelted the roof. She thought about the sound the dead body had made as it hit the ground. The man had rolled it out of the pickup truck like a sack of garbage. She looked down at the phone sitting on the end table and made the only decision that made any sense. She called her best friend, Angela, who had her own car, and asked her for a ride to the bus stop in Presidio. She walked into her bedroom and opened her dresser, pulled several outfits out of the drawer, and stuffed them into her school soccer bag.
When Enrico had called that morning and said he’d been arrested, framed by one of his friends for drug possession, he had been desperate. He said he loved her, that he would make it up to her, all of it. And it wasn’t that she believed him; she knew it was a story to get him out of trouble. But he was the only person who knew what she had done, who knew the kind of person she was, and yet he still loved her.
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.”