Sergio said, “I’ll wait outside while you two talk. I’ll call your mother.” He gave Teresa a stern look. “You’ve put her through torture. She’s very worried about you. And this woman risked her own life to come check on your safety.” He walked over to Teresa and placed her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. Her eyes softened, but her expression remained resolute.
Sergio shut the door quietly behind him as he left.
Teresa sat on the mattress and Josie sat down beside her, her legs bent at the knees and crossed in front of her. Teresa wore a pair of shorts and a bright yellow top covered with a man’s grease-stained plaid flannel shirt. She smelled of engine oil and cigarette smoke. She stretched her long brown legs before her and Josie noted she was at that awkward age, stuck somewhere between a woman and a girl, that made grown men uncomfortable. Her black, sleek hair hung down, partially covering her face. She wouldn’t make eye contact.
“How did you get here?” Teresa asked.
“I crossed the river on a footbridge. Your mother tried to come with me, but I wouldn’t allow it. The current is too fast. Sergio found a room for us at a church. We can stay the night there and hopefully cross the International Bridge in the morning.”
She nodded slightly, her eyes toward the floor. Josie was relieved there apparently would be no fight about leaving.
“I’m sorry I did this to you. I just wanted out of my life, away from my mom. I didn’t mean to drag anyone else into this.”
Josie paused, feeling like she had the bruised soul of a child in her hands, with no idea how to hold it.
“You know, you have a lot of people who care about you.”
Teresa let her head drop as if the topic had been discussed too many times. “Yes, I know. All of Artemis is looking out for my well-being. Everyone wants the best for poor little Teresa. You watch. I’ll have a tracking bracelet on my ankle by tomorrow so you can watch me easier.”
“Why do you want people tracking you down?”
She faced Josie, her eyes wide and angry. “I don’t! I wish she’d leave me alone!”
“So you can live like this?” Josie regretted the words as soon as she’d said them.
Teresa’s dark eyes fixed on Josie. “You’re just as bad as she is. You think because Daddy drinks he’s bad. She doesn’t even give him a chance. You ought to hear the way she talks about him.” She looked toward the couch and lowered her voice to an angry whisper. “He treats me a hundred times better than she does! At least he believes in me. He tells me how smart I am, how pretty I am, how good I am.”
Josie sighed and stared at Javier, his body diminished by a life of alcohol and poverty. He lay on his side, his mouth open, his face covered with several days’ worth of patchy beard. He had a thick head of hair plastered to his head and wore a dirty flannel shirt similar to the one Teresa wore. It was difficult for Josie to imagine what Marta had seen in him, or what possessed Teresa’s loyalty. Was it pity, or simple love for a father?
“You don’t think your mother believes in you? Thinks you’re pretty and smart?” Josie asked.
“What does she say? I’ve embarrassed her again.” She stood up from the bed and faced Josie. “No. That’s not what she’ll say. I’ve disgraced her and her good name. That’s fine. I’ll just live here where I won’t bring her so much goddamned shame.”
She turned from Josie and faced the wall, hands on her hips, her shoulders rigid. Josie ran her hands over her face. She was frustrated, tired, and in a drunk man’s house in a foreign country. She wanted a bourbon and her own bed.
“You know how hard it’s been for your mom to work her way up to the job she has now? A woman serving as a respected police officer in a town like Artemis? There’s a group of men in town who still expect their wives to serve them dinner barefoot. Your mom’s worked her ass off to get where she is, and it wasn’t to prove something to herself. It was to make a better future for you. Then she has to sit back and watch you piss it all away on some drug dealer who’s playing games with your mind. You’re a pawn in his game, Teresa.”
Josie forced herself to quit talking. Teenagers were way past her area of expertise. The last thing she wanted was to make her so angry she would refuse to leave her father. At the same time, she was tired of watching the girl run all over Marta.
Teresa walked over to the candles and stood staring down at the flames. She ran a finger through the fire several times, each time spending longer in the heat. “Half the shit my parents say isn’t even directed at me. They use me to get to each other.”
Josie stared at the girl’s back and could think of nothing to say.
“You know where Enrico went after he got bail? He left. He went to hang out with that jerk at the pawn shop. No ‘thank you.’ Nothing.”
“This is what I don’t get. Who is the one person who stands by you, day after day, and still only wants what’s best for you?”
Teresa turned finally to face Josie. “So, why are you here? Did you come to take me home?”
TWELVE
After Josie and Marta had left for the river, Otto met Skip at the morgue, where he quickly confirmed the body was that of Juan Santiago. Afterwards, Otto stopped back by the office and picked up the absence record for Santiago on Josie’s desk. He stared at the paper, the words a meaningless blur, and allowed his frustration to surface. The timing for Teresa’s escapades couldn’t have been worse. Josie and Marta were both needed at the department to work the murder investigation and to help monitor the growing threat of flooding in Artemis. He couldn’t help imagining what he would have done had his own daughter pulled the same stunt at that age. And, truth be told, he thought Marta needed to yank a knot in the kid’s rope before she ended up pregnant, or worse. But most of all, he was more worried about Josie than he cared to admit to anyone.
He rattled the paper in front of him, trying to get his thoughts focused on the job at hand. He had to get the apartment printed and searched. He called Delores on his cell phone and left a message on their answering machine at home that he would be late for dinner. He finally read the address again, then folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He walked downstairs, wincing at the pain in his knees, lamenting a second-floor office. He gave Lou the address of Santiago’s house and said he was going to check it out.
“You know who the landlord is?” he asked.
Lou leaned back in her seat and coughed. Otto saw the pack of Marlboros sticking out of her purse and considered saying something, but fought the urge.
Mind your own business,
he thought.
“That’s Junior Daggy,” she said. “Realtor?”
“Yeah, I know him. Junior can take a ten-minute conversation and stretch it to sixty.”
Otto drove to Junior Daggy’s Realty, located next door to Dillon Reese’s accounting office. Otto parked and waved at Dillon through his office window. He was standing in the waiting area smiling as an older lady talked. He waved back over her shoulder.
Daggy’s realty office window was covered in black-and-white printouts of houses, land, and business property for sale throughout West Texas. Otto figured it had to be a rough way to earn a buck. The area wasn’t exactly booming.
Otto entered the front door and found Junior leaned back in an office chair, feet propped on his desk, phone held to an ear with one hand, snapping a ball on a string back and forth against a paddle with his other hand. He wore a seersucker shirt, beige dress pants, and huarache sandals. Average height, with a slight paunch, he was deeply tanned with shaggy gray hair growing over the top of his shirt collar. When Otto entered, Daggy sat up and said a quick good-bye to his phone companion, flung his paddleball on the desk, and came around to shake Otto’s hand.
“How you doing, Otto? Haven’t seen you in ages. How’s your lovely wife?”
Otto shook Junior’s hand, smoothing his hair down and adjusting his gun belt out of habit. “Delores is doing just fine. You and Karen okay?”
Daggy nodded. “Yes, sir, never better. Celebrating thirty years in September. Got married in South Carolina so we’re headed east to renew the vows. That ought to get us through the next thirty years, don’t you think?” He pointed to a chair in front of his desk and went on to describe Charleston and all the reasons he and his wife loved the area. After ten minutes of nodding and attempting to redirect the conversation, Otto finally cut him off.
“I have a pretty serious matter I came to talk with you about. I believe one of your renters may have been murdered. I’d like to take a look in his apartment.”
Daggy’s eyes widened. “Murdered?”
“Do you have a renter by the name of Juan Santiago?”
He nodded once, his jaw hanging open slightly. “Yes, sir. Rents a one-bedroom above the Family Value.”
“I’d like to take the key, have a look around.”
“You bet. Let me make a quick call, and I’ll go with you.”
Otto leaned forward and raised a finger to stop Daggy from reaching for the phone. “We’re still early in the investigation. I’d like to take a look first. We don’t want any extra bodies in there that don’t need to be. I’ll keep you informed.”
Daggy looked crushed. He’d just lost a great story to tell the fellas at the Hot Tamale.
* * *
Otto finally got a copy of Santiago’s key and escaped Daggy’s chatter. A light rain had settled over the area but the clouds looked as if they were beginning to break up for now. An end to the rain would hopefully allow Josie passage via the International Bridge by nightfall. Otto was anxious to get a call from Marta on Josie’s progress. The Medrano cartel had been humiliated and severely impacted as a direct result of Josie’s police work. If they knew she was there, they would kill her without hesitation, or more likely, kidnap and use her as a bargaining chip.
Josie used her single status as an excuse to jump into situations she thought were too dangerous for someone with a family. Otto found her thinking foolish and annoying. Crossing the border illegally, regardless of the reason, was grounds for dismissal. Still, had he been thirty years younger and fifty pounds lighter, he would most likely have made the same choice. The problem was, Josie either didn’t understand or chose to ignore the male-dominated political structure of Artemis. A female was not on equal footing with her male counterparts. It was a simple fact.
* * *
Otto could have walked the two blocks to Santiago’s apartment, but he counted on the protection his police car provided. The biggest threat to a cop’s safety was complacency: the moment you let your guard down was typically when all hell broke loose. There wasn’t a day he clocked on to his shift that he didn’t fully intend to drive back home to Delores at the end of it. It was a mentality that had kept him safe through forty years of police work. He had worked with other officers in years past whose mentality was just the opposite. They went to work every day prepared for disaster, ready for it to be their last. Otto had never understood why a man would look at the world that way.
He parallel parked and grabbed his notebook and pen off the passenger seat. An unmarked wooden door faced the street front and was located between the Family Value and the San Salbo Pawn Shop. The door opened to a dimly lit stairwell that led to two apartments at the top of the landing. Otto took the stairs slowly and decided to interview Daggy’s other tenant, Colt Goff, who also lived above the Family Value store, before he checked out Santiago’s place. He trudged up the stairs, so dimly lit he wasn’t able to distinguish the color of the walls, and knocked on Colt’s door. The hallway smelled musty and old, but the small landing was swept clean.
Colt opened the door about twelve inches, but said nothing. She had spiked hair and facial piercings, and she narrowed her eyes at him with suspicion.
“Ms. Goff, I’m Officer Otto Podowski. I’d like to talk with you a few minutes.”
She opened her door farther, stepping away to allow him entrance, while glancing back into her apartment as if trying to assess the damage. Otto walked in and noted a simply furnished space with a navy blue couch and love seat arranged in the middle of the living room. Otto thought he recognized the furniture from Red Goff’s place. Colt’s father had been murdered the year before after a nasty mess that involved gun sales to Mexico. Goff’s daughter had disowned her father long before that, but Otto was certain the appearance of the police was still not a pleasant sight.
Otto sat on the couch and Colt sat on the love seat to his right.
“I appreciate you talking with me. Don’t want you to worry. You aren’t in any kind of trouble. I just have a few questions about your neighbor.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Juan Santiago?”
She nodded once to acknowledge the name. “I know who he is. That’s about it.”
“You ever talk to him? About anything?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked.
“He’s missing from work. We found a dead body that matches his description.” Otto paused and leaned back into the couch.
She raised her eyebrows, but made no other signs of surprise or alarm.
“You guys ever stop by somewhere with good news?”
Otto grinned at her. “Not likely,” he said. “Anything you can provide us on Santiago’s personal life would help. All we’ve heard is that he’s quiet, stays to himself, and sends his money back to Mexico.”
Colt frowned. “I didn’t even know that much. I don’t know what he does with his money. We say hi on the street and that’s it.”
“He ever have visitors?”
She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
“You never heard anyone in the apartment?”
She shook her head no, but then seemed to consider something. “I do remember seeing him talk to some men once. I got out of my car and saw them standing in front of the Family Value, just talking. It was weird, like a month or two ago. The guys were in suits. I remember thinking they looked out of place. Like FBI, or mobsters, or something.”
Otto smiled. “They all look alike?”
She shrugged, smiled back. “A suit’s a suit. Still looks out of place here.”
“Did it look like a friendly meeting?”