Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(70)

They approached the pilot unit from the right side in order to stay out of the security light. Dillon caught her hand before they reached the side door. “You’re sure this is safe? We don’t have any protective gear.”

“We wore hard hats the other day. That was it. Same as Paiva. With his experience, I can’t imagine he’d walk around outside if things weren’t safe.”

As they approached the side door, Josie realized the door’s window was blacked out with a tinted film, but light was visible around the edges. She placed her head against the glass and saw lights on inside the building and the vague outline of several men in white suits working around machinery.

The door opened suddenly and Josie faced a man wearing a full hazmat suit and helmet.

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled. The sound was muffled from the headgear, but his voice was loud and angry.

After the initial shock of getting caught, Josie pulled her badge from her back jeans pocket. Dillon stepped back into the shadow of the door. “My name is Josie Gray. I’m chief of police in Artemis. I’m investigating the possible murder of an employee of the Feed Plant.”

“It isn’t safe for you to be walking around without someone who works here. That’s why we have No Trespassing signs posted. If you want to see someone, call ahead.”

“I understand. I called too late tonight to meet with Mr. Paiva. I’ll call in the morning. Sorry for the problem. We’ll head back out.” Josie waved and turned and walked away. The door closed immediately behind her, but she was certain they were being watched.

“Did you smell that place when he opened the door?” Dillon said. “I felt like the smell alone would be enough to burn my insides.”

“Like sniffing battery acid,” she said.

“Don’t you think it was odd he didn’t ask what you were talking about? You mentioned a murder investigation and he didn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I’m sure the news of cops showing up spread like wildfire.”

When they climbed back in the jeep Josie said, “Let’s make one more detour before we leave.”

“We’re already busted. Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure you have latent criminal tendencies,” she said.

He squeezed her thigh as she turned the engine on and drove the jeep toward the back of the plant with the headlights still off.

“Wait till you see this,” she said. Josie pulled in front of a lot the size of a football field, filled with black barrels, some of them double-stacked. She turned her headlights back on so Dillon could get the full effect. “This used to be the back parking lot when the factory was in full production. As the waste started to pile up, the back parking lot filled. The number of workers decreased as the waste increased, until the barrels eventually took up the entire lot.”

They both sat in the car for some time, staring at hundreds of barrels, most of them rusted and corroded. “It’s one thing to read about this in the newspaper. It’s entirely different to see it in your town’s backyard,” she said.

“They didn’t actually make the bombs here,” Dillon said. “This plant was just a part of the bigger process?”

“The Feed Plant took raw uranium ore and turned it into uranium metal. They shipped it east to factories where they fed the uranium into reactors for nuclear weapons. See the numbers painted on the outside of the barrels? They tell the plant operators what kind of waste is inside each one. Enriched. Remelt materials. Whatever.”

“How the hell do you know all this?” he asked.

“After lunch today I spent some time on the Internet. While you were checking Beacon’s financials, I looked into their so-called safe-cleanup operations. I have to admit, they have a pretty good record. They seem to have a good reputation in the field.” Josie looked to her right and saw the miniature headlights from a golf cart approaching fast. “Damn.”

“I hope you have bail-out powers. I don’t want to spend the night in jail,” he said.

The golf cart stopped and a very angry Diego Paiva exited and approached the jeep. He was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, leather sandals, and a Cincinnati Reds ball cap.

“I believe you just informed one of my employees that you were leaving, not continuing to trespass.” His voice was controlled but angry.

Josie nodded slowly. “You’re right. I apologize. We’re on our way out now.”

“Who is this man?”

“This is Dillon Reese, a local accountant. He’s doing some pro bono work for the police department.”

“What exactly does an accountant have to do with Beacon Pathways?”

“This is a murder investigation, Mr. Paiva. The police ask intrusive questions from every possible angle. I understand what you’re feeling.”

“I doubt you do.”

“Investigations often make innocent people angry at what feels like an invasion into their privacy.”

He pursed his lips and looked as if he were trying to calm his temper before speaking. “I assume that as an investigator, you are not given carte blanche to wander private property aimlessly? I believe that’s what warrants are issued for. I also believe you are way out of line.”

Josie looked away from Diego and out across the barrels, and tried to phrase her response without cynicism, but he beat her to the punch.