Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(59)

Once Otto had reviewed the letters, he asked Marta to read them for specific details that might help them narrow down where the family lived, or for information about Santiago’s health. Marta sat beside Otto at the conference table and read through each of the letters, jotting down very few notes. She handed them back to Otto when she finished.

“Mostly, they’re filled with family milestones. It’s the stuff that means nothing to you and I, but breaks the heart of the one missing it.”

“No mention of towns or cities?”

“No. There were several letters from Santiago’s daughters and one from his son, written just before the boy entered the Ejército Mexicano, or the Mexican Army, last year. But they didn’t mention where he’d be stationed.”

“Anything about Santiago’s job?” Otto asked.

“It’s obvious that his wife understood very little about his work at the Feed Plant. The job provided a paycheck and little else.”

*

Josie left Marta and Otto at the police department and drove out to talk with Sauly Magson. His house was located just south of the mudflats on the Rio, surrounded by thick swaths of three-foot-high prairie grasses that rippled in the breeze like ocean waves. Mountain runoff and natural springs kept the area green year-round, and with the recent rains it looked almost tropical. Sauly’s house was a three-story grain elevator he had painted purple and converted into an artsy space. He had become something of a local celebrity the past year after he was photographed by a writer from Western Art and Architecture, writing a story on free expression. Josie doubted he had even seen the article.

She heard a boom, like that of a cannon, explode behind his house. Anyone else and she would have been concerned—with Sauly it was the norm. Josie walked around the back of the grain elevator toward the sandy slope that led down to the river. She found him, bald-headed and bare-chested, with a blue bandana tied around his neck. He was wearing a pair of jean shorts with no shoes, holding an aerosol can and lighter. He turned and Josie saw he was shaking the can and laughing aloud.

“Did you hear that? Glory!” he yelled. Raindrops from the drizzle slipped down his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Sauly stood by a seven-foot-long plastic pipe that looked like a giant bazooka gun. Beside the pipe lay a bag of potatoes and several small cans of propane and aerosol propellant.

He seemed to realize he was talking to a police officer, and his smile faded.

“You here to ruin my day?” he asked. “It’s just a potato gun.”

She smiled. “Nope. What’s with the pipe?”

He picked up a potato and rammed it down into the pipe. “The potato seals the end. Then I hook up the propane at the other end of the pipe. It mixes with air in the chamber, then I light it. Want to watch one? The sound shakes things up on your insides.”

“I was actually hoping to get some information from you. Do you have a minute?”

He smiled a wide, toothless grin. “For you? Anything. Let’s go inside and have a sip of cold tea.”

Sauly asked her to carry the potato bag and he picked up the propellant along with the pipe. They walked through the wet grass to the back of his house and placed his toys underneath the green-and-white-striped awning that covered a deep back porch.

Josie followed him inside, through a small mudroom and into the kitchen. Sauly had picked a series of fifteen differently sized square windows and built them into the elevator’s sides at differing angles. The effect was somewhere between sophisticated architecture and fun-house carnival, and Josie loved it. His kitchen was outfitted with two such windows. Josie sat at the kitchen table, in front of a four-foot-square window turned sideways to make a diamond shape. From the table, the Rio appeared to flow directly from one corner of the window to the other, splitting the outdoor scenery in half. Josie was certain the placement of the window was no accident and she was amazed at the precision.

As Sauly poured their tea and chatted about building his potato gun, Josie looked around the room. It was painted a deep maroon with buttery yellow cabinets and sage green trim. On the table was a collection of cactus plants arranged around the inside of a twelve-inch snapping turtle shell. Black-and-white photographs of the Rio were framed in old barn wood and hung around the dining room.

He placed two glasses of tea and a small glass dish with sugar cubes and spoons on the table.

“So, here’s the deal,” Josie said. She dropped several sugar cubes in her tea as Sauly sat down beside her. “We found a body out in the desert. It looks like murder. No identification on the body. We tracked him down through his work boots to the nuclear plant. We think his name is Juan Santiago. He worked on the cleanup crew.”

Sauly leaned back in his chair, startled, and rubbed his bald head. “Yes, ma’am. I know who you mean. I worked with him about a year before I left.”

“I need to know anything you can tell me about him.”

Sauly made a low hum. “Can’t give you much. It’s been two years since I worked with him. And he never said nothing to anybody. Earned his dollar and left.”

“That’s what everybody said. Surely he connected with someone. You don’t remember him hanging around anyone? Maybe sitting by someone at lunch?”

“Not a one. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he just didn’t make friends. You get my meaning?”