Part 3
“Then tell me what you know,” Nolan said.
Frank pushed his untouched coffee aside. “He left his things. Tools he’d bought himself. That old helmet. And Destello.”
The puppy had waited around the workers’ rest area, Frank explained. He’d set the helmet apart because he knew whose it was. For more than two weeks, he’d brought food and water when he could and left a small blanket in a sheltered spot.
“I kept expecting Mateo to turn up,” he said. “Or somebody to tell me how to reach him.”
Then management had cleared the older rest area for equipment. A family emergency kept Frank off the site for several shifts, and by the time he got back, the puppy was gone.
“Looked under the trailers. Asked around. I should’ve taken him home before that.” He rubbed his hands together. “Instead, I told myself a bowl of food was enough.”
“He’s getting stronger,” Nolan said. “The paw’s healing.”
Frank nodded without looking up.
“What happened on Mateo’s last night?”
The spoon stopped moving.
“I was near storage, finishing the delivery sheets. There was a crash at the north scaffolding. Metal, loud enough I felt it through the soles of my boots.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. By the time I got there, supervisors were sending people back. Next morning, that section was closed. A repair crew had already started.”
“What did they say needed fixing?”
“Called it routine.”
“And you left it there?”
Frank’s eyes met his. “I started working at sixteen. I’m sixty-one now. There’s finally a little money waiting for me if I can get to retirement.” He paused. “I know how that sounds.”
Nolan looked at the old man’s hands, the swollen knuckles resting beside the cup.
After a while, he folded the photograph.
Frank caught his wrist before he could put it away. “Don’t go charging into something without looking around first.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.”
Nolan nodded, and Frank released him.
That evening, Gusset led him through the neighborhood in short, earnest bursts. They stayed on the public sidewalk outside the project fence, well away from the entrances used by trucks.
At the northern boundary, the puppy halted.
His nose lifted. The upright ear angled toward the site, and a thin whine came from his throat. He took two steps, then reached the end of the leash.
Nolan brought him back beside his boot.
Through the fence, work lights showed a newly repaired section of scaffolding. Nolan could identify fresh surfaces even from the sidewalk. Gusset kept looking past them toward the shadowed ground below.
“You know this part?”
The puppy whined again.
Nolan took a moment to study the position of the rest shelters and access stairs. A dog’s interest didn’t tell him what had happened there. It did make him wonder where Mateo had last stood with him.
He turned away only when Gusset followed.
On Monday, Nolan checked his assignments, put on his welding protection, and completed the first job before approaching Frank during break.
“Who else was working when Mateo disappeared?”
Frank adjusted the glasses hanging from his pocket. “Owen Pritchard might have seen him. Young fellow on reinforcement.”
“Would he talk?”
“Maybe. Don’t come at him like an officer calling a muster. He and his wife just bought a house.”
Nolan found Owen near the outdoor tables an hour later. At twenty-seven, the younger worker still had a boyish face, though he checked the office door with the caution of someone who’d already learned a few expensive lessons.
Nolan showed him a picture of Gusset.
Owen grinned. “That dog got my boot untied three times in one lunch break.”
“He’s moved on to theft.”
“Glad somebody’s got him.”
The grin faded when Nolan asked about Mateo.
“I saw him that evening,” Owen said. “Heading toward the north access with a tool bag.”
“Anything else you remember?”
“He’d been talking to somebody earlier. Didn’t seem pleased. I was too far away to hear.”
“Know who?”
Owen shook his head. “Not for certain.”
“All right.”
“Listen, I can’t lose this job.” He glanced at his phone. “We just closed on the place. My wife’s counting every dollar.”
“I’m not asking you to fill in anything you didn’t see.”
“What do you want, then?”
“That much. Exactly that much.”
Owen studied him, then gave a brief nod.
Later, Frank slipped Nolan a page torn from an old contact book. It held a telephone number and a name: Teresa Salcedo.
“His sister,” Frank said. “Mateo gave it to me when his phone was acting up.”
Nolan looked at him.
“I should have remembered sooner.”
“You can still call her.”
Frank nodded, staring at the paper before letting it go.
At home, Nolan fed Gusset and dialed the number. A woman answered after several rings. He introduced himself and explained where he worked.
“Is this a company call?” she asked.
“No. I’m calling on my own.”
Her silence had edges.
“I found Mateo’s puppy,” he said. “He’s safe. I’ve been looking after him.”
“Destello?”
“That’s what Frank told me.”
Nolan heard her take a breath, then another.
“He’s alive?”
“The dog? Yes. He’s seen a veterinarian. He’s doing well.”
“My brother kept asking about him.”
Nolan sat down at the kitchen table. “You’ve spoken to Mateo?”
“Yes.”
“Then can you tell me where he is?”
Teresa’s voice became very quiet.
“He’s been in the hospital for a month…”
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