Scratchgravel Road (22 page)

Alexander Litvinenko was poisoned by a highly radioactive isotope called polonium-210. The drug can be touched with no danger done to the skin; however, once ingested, it destroys the tissues inside of the victim. Pictures of the former KGB agent, the only person known to have been intentionally killed by a lethal dose of polonium, were frighteningly similar to Juan Santiago. Both men showed augmented signs of aging, and had obliterated digestive tracts.

At six
A.M.
, Cowan took a quick shower in order to be in his office by seven. Atlanta, Georgia, was just an hour ahead of Artemis, and he wanted to catch his contact before he got caught up in meetings.

Mark Preston was a research scientist at the CDC and Cowan had attended graduate school with him. Cowan remembered little of him, other than that he was friendly and studious, and his dream in life was to work on communicable diseases. Cowan knew Preston was working for the CDC because he had seen a paper co-published by him several months ago in
The Journal of the American Medical Association
.

Cowan cleared off a place at his desk in the coroner’s office and put his notes in front of him. He didn’t plan on bringing up the Litvinenko case for fear of being taken for a quack, but he needed some basic information on radiation poisoning. After speaking with an operator and receptionist he was finally connected to Preston.

“Of course I remember you. You went back to Texas, is that right?”

“That’s right.” Cowan smiled, pleased Preston had remembered him from so many years ago. “I’m the coroner for a small West Texas town. Our resources are limited, but it doesn’t keep us from getting the occasional odd duck case. That’s why I’m calling.”

Preston laughed. “Odd ducks are my favorite. Fill me in.”

Cowan spent several minutes explaining the basics of the case, from the body’s exposure to the elements, to the lesions and internal decay.

“Well, that’s a unique one,” Preston said. “Do you suspect radiation exposure, meaning body penetration? Or are you thinking internal or external contamination?”

“Possibly both. The intense desert heat will obviously speed up putrification, but I’m still concerned about contamination by ingestion. The deceased’s digestive tract is destroyed, more so than his other body systems. But the lesions on his arms appear unrelated.”

“Do you know what kind of dose the deceased may have received?”

“No.”

“Here’s the truth. Radiation exposure is typically not that deadly. The amount of radiation exposure, even from a dirty bomb, would typically not be enough to cause immediate danger. Years down the road, the people directly hit would probably be at greater risk of certain types of cancer, but that doesn’t sound like what you’ve got.”

“I’m not referring to terrorists. There is a nuclear weapons plant that is currently being dismantled and cleaned up. The deceased worked on the cleanup crew at the plant. I’m concerned the company’s practices could have led to contamination.”

There was silence on the other end for several moments. “The name of the company?”

“Beacon Pathways,” Cowan said.

Another pause. “Do you suspect ARS? Acute radiation sickness?”

“That’s my fear,” Cowan said.

“A telltale sign is a day or two of intense vomiting and diarrhea. Next, the patient makes a recovery for a few days and feels good. Then it hits again with a vengeance. Fever, no appetite, exhaustion. Does that fit the profile of the deceased?”

“I can’t answer that. It’s all speculation. We found the body and we’re still trying to track down information. He lives by himself. He’s a loner. We don’t have any medical information for him.”

“Do you have a dosimeter set up in the morgue yet?”

“No.”

“So, you don’t have any radiation readings on the body?”

“No, I’m just now starting to put together a picture of what might have happened. And even that is speculation,” Cowan said.

“We need to establish low-dose and high-dose rates. You keep everyone out of the lab until you get some readings. That’s your first task.”

“Okay.”

“It’s critical you get a baseline reading to see what kind of radiation the body is emanating. If you’ve got someone who died within a week of contamination, then he was hit with a massive dose. You need to get your office checked immediately.” Preston paused on the phone and mumbled something to himself as he wrote a note, then continued. “We’ll need to get you several meters. It’s critical to find out the type of radiation that was used. Without knowing that it’s hard to know what kind of danger you might be in.”

Cowan rubbed his forehead. He was feeling completely overwhelmed.

“You need dose rate readings for everyone who’s been in contact with the body. You need a pancake probe to check your equipment and lab. Survey the remains tub, the body bag, everything. Are you wearing a Tyvek suit when you’re in contact? Checking your feet when you leave the lab? Those kinds of precautions?”

“Somewhat.” Cowan wrote down notes as Preston talked, but he knew he was missing details. Worse yet, he had no idea how to get the necessary equipment Preston was referring to. Cowan finally broke in. “I’ll be completely honest. Radiation is not my area of specialty. I’m not sure where to even begin. I don’t have any equipment, or any money to purchase the equipment. We’re on a nonexistent budget.”

“Ah. Understood. Let me put you on hold a minute.” Preston was gone for almost five minutes before returning and apologizing for the delay. “I have good news though. I’m going to send you a certified hazardous materials technician. Her name is Diane Patel. She’ll be able to help you put together a plan and get things moving quickly. This is exactly what she’s trained for.”

“That would be much appreciated.” Cowan sighed, the relief immense. “I can work with Beacon to see what kind of equipment we have available.”

“Diane will bring the necessary equipment. Without knowing Beacon professionally I’m hesitant to trust their monitors. Diane will get a flight out first thing in the morning.”

“Here is my worry,” Cowan said. “I don’t think there is a public health menace. The body was discovered several days ago, and I haven’t seen any indication that anyone else was involved. My bigger worry right now is for the officers who came into contact with the body.”

“Absolutely. Those officers must be checked immediately. As well as yourself.”

FIFTEEN

At six thirty Thursday morning Josie called Teresa’s name, and woke her from a deep sleep in the backseat. Through the night Josie had finished two cups of cold McDonald’s coffee that she had stocked up on in El Paso, and drunk on the long ride home. She had spent an hour on the phone with Dillon, who had forgiven her for taking the trip, and then told her stories from his childhood to keep her from falling asleep at the wheel. Now, her eyes felt as if someone had sprinkled sand in them, and although she was exhausted from driving and the stress of the night, she was also thoroughly satisfied.

Josie pulled into Marta’s driveway, turned the rental car off, and stretched her back after the long ride. It was a bleak morning. They’d had a one-day reprieve from the rain. Now, it was back and forecast to stay for several days, dumping another several inches. Josie sat for a moment, watching the rain streak down the car window.

Marta opened the front door to her home. She was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting striped T-shirt, her face filled with worry. She looked confused when she saw Josie exit the rental car. From the front door of her home she couldn’t see Teresa in the backseat, and Josie could see panic fill Marta’s face.

“It’s good news, Marta. I’ve brought her home. She’s getting her stuff together in the backseat.”

Marta’s eyes widened and she ran through the rain to the car as if she wouldn’t believe the news until she could see her daughter herself. She peered through the back passenger window and covered her face with her hands. After a moment she walked around to the other side of the car and approached Josie.

“You, my friend, I will never be able to repay.”

Josie hugged Marta, who pulled away suddenly and said, “I just checked the Internet an hour ago. They don’t expect to open the International Bridge today. The flooding is too bad. How did you?” She motioned to the car.

“It’s a long story. Let’s get out of the rain. Teresa can fill you in. I’m headed home for a shower and few hours’ sleep.”

*   *   *

After a tearful reunion and apologies and promises from Teresa, Josie pulled back out of the driveway. She drove the ten minutes to her home, glad to let her thoughts wander over not much of anything. She planned to collect Chester from Dell’s house, go home and eat a fried egg, take a shower, and sleep until eleven when she would get up for second shift. It would be good to put the past twenty-four hours behind her.

Josie pulled down her lane, drove past her own home, and down the long drive to Dell’s place. She found him inside the horse barn, with the sliding doors pulled all the way back, standing over a raised fire pit. Dell had mounted a tire rim from an old semi horizontally onto a metal tripod. He’d welded a grate in the bottom of the tire rim to hold the fire and coals. The tripod lifted the rim off the ground, and with a metal bottom inside the rim, it made a sturdy fire pit. Dell was sliding a swinging grate over the red coals when she ran inside the barn and out of the rain.

“How do?” he called, and set a metal coffeepot on the grate.

“You having smoke withdrawal?”

“I need some blue sky. Can’t stand all this rain. We’ll have us some cowboy coffee and that’ll cheer us up.”

Chester came loping around from the back of Dell’s house. He knew the sound of Josie’s car engine and made a beeline to greet her. He came into the barn and shook water all over both of them. Dell threw Josie an old towel and she dried the dog off and scratched his chest and ears until he wandered away to check one of the horses making a racket in the back of the barn.

Dell dragged two bales of straw over to the fire and they both sat watching the smoke drift out of the barn into the rain.

“Dig into that cooler, there against the stable. I kept Chester some scraps from breakfast.”

Josie smiled when she found a half pound of fried bacon wrapped in tinfoil. “You have better dog scraps than what I keep in my refrigerator for people.”

Chester smelled the bacon and came back to sit patiently in front of her, accepting each piece as if it were a delicate morsel, chewing carefully before swallowing. He always appeared to sincerely enjoy the taste of a good snack, and Dell couldn’t resist spoiling him.

Dell stood, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the interaction. “That dog’s got better manners than most kids.”

Josie and Dell watched the coffee percolate as she caught him up on the dead body and the connection to the old Feed Plant.

“What do you know about that place?” she asked.

“Nothing. Don’t want to either. Go talk to Sauly. He worked there for years before they fired him. Sons a bitches.”

She grinned.

“Why on God’s green earth would a man make something that can’t be touched for ten thousand years just so he can heat his house? They call that clean energy?” Dell stood and jammed his poker stick into the coals and then placed a small chunk of wood into the fire. “We’re so smart we’re stupid. I can’t even talk about it. Pisses me off too much.”

Dell walked to a storage room in the back of the barn to retrieve two coffee cups. By the time he came back to the fire and poured the coffee he’d calmed down and moved on to a topic that didn’t raise his ire.

“How about the pencil pusher?” Dell asked.

She sipped her coffee and took her time answering. “His name is Dillon.”

“I know his name. Where’s he been? Haven’t seen his car much.”

She shrugged and tried to figure Dell’s angle. “He’s been at a conference. I just saw him a couple days ago.”

“Seems like I haven’t seen him all that much,” Dell said.

“What is this?”

“Conversation. I thought that’s what you females liked.”

“Well, I’m not your typical female.” She fell quiet, assuming the conversation would turn.

“So, how is he?”

Josie sighed. “He’s okay. He’s good. Why do you care how he is?”

Dell held a hand up. “I’ll restate the question. How are you and Dillon together? As a pair?”

“Dell! Why are you asking me this? It’s too early in the morning.” She blew air out in frustration. “I don’t know. What does that mean, how are we as a pair? Am I one way on my own, and another with him?”

“Sure. Lots of people like that.”

“We’re fine.” She patted her leg to get Chester to wander over and lie down at her feet. She stroked his head and hoped Dell would let it go.

He was quiet a minute as he stared at the fire. “Here’s why I ask. You went through hell and back a few months ago. Had gunmen shoot up your bedroom with you laying there. That’s enough to fry anybody’s brain. But, it should also make you think. You’re not getting any younger. If you like this fella then maybe it’s time to do something about it. If you don’t, or if you’re happy the way you are, then leave it be. Nothing wrong with that. Just don’t let fear hold you back.”

“Who says I’m afraid?”

“You’re a cop. What happens if you let fear influence your decisions as a cop? You get your ass blown to kingdom come. Same thing happens in your relationships. You let fear influence your relationships and you end up living alone on a beach.”

“That what happened to you?” she asked.

“I don’t have fear. I just don’t want what other people seem to want. But I think you do.”

*   *   *

After four hours of sleep that left her body feeling heavy and her mind sluggish, Josie dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She drove to work on autopilot and walked into the Artemis Police Department at noon, ready for a second shift. She had a quick conversation with Lou and then found Otto upstairs glaring at his computer, and Marta brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

Otto heard Josie enter the office and turned toward her, his lips pursed in anger. “This blasted thing won’t let me in. Something’s timed out.”