Scratchgravel Road (17 page)

“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, no 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.”

“Disaster and politics,” said Otto. “Where do you come up with the money to plan for the hundred-year flood when you can barely pay the phone bill?”

*   *   *

Josie and Otto found Marta standing in front of her desk talking on the telephone. Worry lines formed a V in between Marta’s eyes and her face was red and splotchy. Josie thought she looked as if she had aged ten years.

Marta hung up the phone and faced them. “One of her friends’ mothers called back. Her daughter finally let loose. Teresa left last night while I was at work. Got a ride from her friend Angela to the bus station in Presidio. Then took the bus across the border before they closed the bridge into Ojinaga. That’s where her father lives.” She paused, her face haggard. “I came home last night and glanced in her room. I thought she was in bed. She’d piled pillows up to look as if she was asleep. Any other night, I would have kissed her goodnight. Last night, I was still too angry.”

Otto pulled a chair out at the conference table and stood behind it. “Come sit,” he said to Marta. “Tell us everything you know.”

Josie grabbed three mugs from the back of the office and carried the coffeepot to the table. She poured them each a cup and sat.

“So she took a thirty-minute bus ride to Presidio, then crossed the International Bridge to stay with her dad in Ojinaga?” Josie asked.

Marta nodded. “Now the bridge has closed and the forecast says the rain won’t stop. But I have to find her.”

“What about driving to El Paso? They haven’t had the rain we have. You could still cross there,” Otto said.

“No. It’s almost four hours to El Paso. Then I have to go through customs. Then drive all the way back to Ojinaga. It’s twelve thirty now. It would be ten o’clock tonight before I got to town.” She closed her eyes and made fists with her hands on the table. “I can’t leave her there. Her dad’s a drunk. If he’s off the whiskey she’ll be fine. If he’s on it, he could stay passed out for days. Who knows if he’s even home. It’s not a safe neighborhood in broad daylight. And, God forbid, if she hasn’t made it to his house by nightfall I can’t even begin to think what could happen to her.”

“Have you called?”

“He doesn’t have a phone. I took Teresa’s cell away from her last week. She’s grounded from it. I have no way of getting hold of her. I tried Javier’s father’s store but no one answered.”

Josie hesitated. “With the river flooded, the only way across is out by Ellis’s house. There’s a footbridge over the Rio that Border Patrol hasn’t shut down yet.”

“Can you get me there?” Marta asked.

“If Border Patrol catches us you’ll be in some serious trouble, Josie.” Otto was staring at her. He knew where she was headed.

“I’ve already called Sergio,” Marta said. “He’s offered to help any way he can. If I can get across the footbridge I’m sure he’ll drive me to Javier’s house and get us back across the border in the morning. Hopefully the bridge will be open again and we can drive.”

Sergio Pando was a Federales who lived in Piedra Labrada, just across the river. He was also a childhood friend of Marta’s. Josie respected him as a person and as an honest Mexican law-enforcement contact whom they relied on frequently.

“Can’t he just get Teresa and bring her to the footbridge? Or, if you trust him, take her to his home until morning?” Otto asked.

“He would never do that. Javier’s a drunk, but he’s a Curandero. He still commands respect. Sergio would never enter his house and take his daughter.” Marta frowned and shook her head.

“I’ll cross by myself. I won’t take you with me.” Josie stared hard at Marta, who she knew would fight the decision.

“Absolutely not. Teresa’s my daughter. I hate to even drag you into this, but—”

Josie broke in. “I won’t talk about it. The river’s at flood level. What if something happens to you? You think Teresa has problems now? What happens to her with no mother?”

Marta was quiet, her face in anguish.

Josie said, “I’ll meet you out at Ellis’s trailer. I’ll call and let him know what’s going on. If the bridge doesn’t look safe, we call it off.”

*   *   *

Josie and Otto came up with a list of items that Otto would work on for the Santiago case in her absence. His first priority was a meeting with Skip Bradford at the coroner’s office to get a positive ID on the body.

Next, she called and talked to Ellis Burns about the strength of the footbridge. He said he had used the bridge four days ago to cross on foot, and it was in good shape, but he didn’t know what the rain might have done to it. He said he would walk down and check it out.

Josie had known Ellis for years and would trust his judgment on the safety of the bridge. Ellis dated a woman who lived in Mexico, about a half mile from the river. He crossed the bridge weekly and the local law enforcement, including Josie, turned a blind eye. Ellis was a Vietnam vet in his sixties who had no intention of moving to Mexico at this point in his life. His girlfriend ran a successful horse ranch in Mexico, and felt the same way: she would not leave her country for America. They used the bridge to conduct an illegal cross-country romance that suited them both just fine.

On the drive home to pack a quick change of clothes, Josie pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and held it before dialing Dillon’s number. She dreaded the call. He would give her grief about the trip, she would get angry, he would say something ridiculous like “you can’t go,” and she would hang up wishing she hadn’t told him.

When she finally called, she gave him the basics, and he stuck to her predicted script.

“You can’t do that, Josie. It’s suicide!”

“What happens when you tell me I can’t do something?”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable. There are men in Mexico who would murder you for bragging rights.”

“This isn’t negotiable. Marta can’t go. Otto can’t go.”

“It isn’t your fight. You can’t even carry a weapon across the border for protection!”

“Dillon. I promise you that I will take every precaution. I will be with Sergio as soon as I cross the river. He’ll take me to Teresa and I’ll bring her home. Simple.”

The argument finally ended in an unhappy stalemate. She promised to call him at the first opportunity, and she hung up glad for his concern, but slightly annoyed all the same.

*   *   *

Once she had a few things stored in a light backpack she could carry across the bridge, she loaded Chester in her jeep and drove back to Dell’s place. He walked out on his front porch in jeans and a plaid shirt with a cigar dangling from the corner of his lips, and a shotgun broken open over his arm.

Josie got out of her jeep grinning. “What’s up?”

“Cleaning my guns.” He watched Josie open the back door of her jeep, and he patted Chester on the back when he loped onto the porch. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m headed to Mexico for the night. Wondered if you’d keep Chester at your place.”