Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(26)

“Thank you, Mr. Hardner,” Otto said.

He smiled curtly. “Now, I’ve a long drive. I should make my way back up north.”

Josie showed him out, wished him safe travels, then made her way back up to the office, where she found Otto on his computer.

“Wouldn’t want to be his paralegal,” Josie said.

“A tad condescending, wasn’t he?” Otto turned his chair toward her.

“What did you think about his theory of jealous boss shoots his pretty secretary?” Josie asked.

“I was afraid you might come out of your seat,” he said.

“Actually, it was just the reference to the good-looking secretary that got to me. How would Hardner know that Christina was pretty? He played it off like Dillon was a small part of the investigation. And Dillon never mentioned anything to me about an assistant district attorney interviewing him. I feel certain that Dillon would have told me. That’s not a typical day in the life of an accountant.”

“What are you getting at?”

“He tried to play off Dillon’s involvement as minor. But I wonder if he’s holding back information. I think he knows quite a bit about Dillon. He couldn’t resist the jab at me—letting me know that he knew we were romantically involved. So why would he want to downplay Dillon’s involvement in the case?”

“Downplaying isn’t Mr. Hardner’s strength,” he said, and pointed to his computer screen. “Check this out. Wally Follet’s Web site. Not much more than contact information.”

Josie checked her watch. “It’s five thirty. You have time to run over there tonight?”

“You bet. Let’s go visit the kid who can’t steal a pack of gum.”

*

Wally’s Folly was located on the north end of Arroyo County. Josie offered to drive to distract herself from the situation. Otto did his own part by providing a running commentary on his family’s current state of affairs: his daughter’s pregnancy, his wife’s local drama at the Homemaker’s Club, and the state of his goat herd. He pointed out the trees turning lime green with new growth and the swaths of bluebonnets and neon yellow broomweed fields on either side of the road, but Josie still struggled to connect with anything beyond her own bleak thoughts.

They followed River Road a mile upstream to the Rio Camp and Kayak, a local vacation spot. The salvage yard faced River Road, with the backside of the property sloping down into the Rio Grande. The lot was dusty with a smattering of driveway rock here and there. A Rottweiler was tethered to a chain under a shade tree beside the office. He was already on his haunches with his teeth bared as Josie drove toward him.

Trees lined the east side of the yard and the other two sides were enclosed by an eight-foot-high wooden fence. There were ten to fifteen rows of cars and trucks and various other vehicles in pieces, from stripped-down bare-metal frames to piles of tires and a collection of several hundred steering wheels hanging from the side of a large hay barn. It was hard to imagine that any vehicle in the several-acre lot was actually worth anything. The skeletons of the rusted cars and rows of parts and pieces gave Josie the impression of an auto graveyard patrolled by a murderous dog.

She parked in front of the mobile home office and read the weathered, hand-painted sign: WALLY’S FOLLY: WRECKS AND REBUILTS. DAILY 9:00–5:00.

“I believe the kid who can’t steal gum is staring out the office window at us,” Otto said.

“Let’s go have a chat.” Josie got out of the car and the Rottweiler leaped toward her, the chain straining at his neck as he barked and growled. She hoped the chain would hold but placed a hand on the butt of her gun just in case.

She knocked and the kid opened a dented, flimsy metal door.

“Can I help you?” he said.

His hair was in need of a cut, and his lanky body gave the impression that his muscles hadn’t kept pace with a recent growth spurt. He wore blue jeans and a Chicago Cubs T-shirt. She noted several fading bruises on his forearms and a split lip that was healing.

Josie held her badge out and introduced herself. “We’d like to talk with you a few minutes about your business.”

“Sure.” The kid walked down the steps and Josie noticed how painfully thin and pale he was. It appeared as if he hadn’t stepped out of the trailer in months. He turned toward the dog and snapped his fingers, telling him to lie down.

When the dog finally settled Josie looked back to the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Hector Follet. People call me Hec for short.”

Josie and Otto both shook his hand. She said, “Is this your place?”

“You mean, like, my business? Or my home?”

“Either one.”

“Sure, both I guess. My dad owns the business. I stay here at the shop.”

“Your dad here?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“When will he be back?”

He lifted one corner of his mouth, an expression that indicated he wasn’t sure how to answer. “You don’t already know?”

She tipped her head. “We heard some officers from El Paso were looking for him.”

He nodded. “So why are you here now?” There was no malice or disrespect in his question.

“There’s a crime that took place in town. In Artemis. A man is missing that worked with your dad. His name is Dillon Reese. You recognize the name?”