Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(49)

“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.”