Part 4
Nolan put his free hand flat on the table. Gusset was nosing the hem of his pants, trying to interest him in a toy.
“Which hospital?” he asked.
Teresa gave him the name, then stopped. He could hear her deciding how much to say to a stranger. They agreed to meet the next afternoon.
She arrived at the diner carrying a small blue notebook with bent corners. At twenty-nine, she was younger than Nolan had expected, with dark hair twisted into a braid and tired eyes that stayed fixed on his face while he introduced himself again.
“I nearly turned around in the parking lot,” she said.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
She opened the notebook. Pages of dates and telephone numbers lay between them.
“The general contractor tells me to call the subcontractor. The subcontractor sends me to a labor supplier. That office says his assignment was over.” She turned another page. “I’ve written down every person who promised to call back.”
Nolan saw check marks beside very few names.
“Tell me about the night he went in.”
“Someone brought him to the emergency department in a vehicle nobody clearly identified. He needed help immediately. There wasn’t a proper account of where he’d been injured.”
“Did anyone come with him?”
“Not anyone who stayed and explained. The hospital found my information in his emergency contacts.” Teresa folded her hands on the notebook. “He was in intensive care for days. He’s better now, but he gets tired before he can finish a conversation. Some things he remembers. Some he doesn’t.”
“And the workplace report?”
“Still disputed. Nobody wants to say he was theirs.”
The server brought coffee. Teresa moved her notebook to protect it from the cup.
“My brother is careful,” she continued. “He’d been talking about problems at the site. Connections on the north scaffolding. He said he reported them, and replacements kept being put off.”
Nolan leaned closer.
“There were certificates, too,” she said. “Safety courses people supposedly completed. Some of the workers told him they hadn’t taken them.”
“Did he write any of that down?”
“He was preparing a complaint. He wanted someone outside the company to see it.”
She brought out her phone. In the photograph she showed him, Mateo sat outside an apartment building with a puppy sprawled across his knees. He had one hand under the dog’s belly and the other cupped loosely around its oversized feet.
Nolan recognized the crooked ear.
“He said the dog celebrated every time he opened the door,” Teresa said. “Even if he’d only taken the trash out.”
Nolan showed her his own photograph: Gusset asleep in his basket, chin resting on a stolen sock.
“He’s developed some questionable habits.”
Teresa laughed softly. “Mateo used to look everywhere for his gloves.”
She enlarged the picture and held the phone closer. After a moment, she covered her mouth.
Nolan let the coffee cool between them.
When she could speak again, she asked, “Would you come see him?”
They went that afternoon. At the hospital, Teresa introduced Nolan to Ruth Hanley, the social worker helping with Mateo’s care. Ruth wore a knitted cardigan over a plain blouse and carried a folder marked with colored tabs. She was fifty-nine, with cropped white hair and a steady, attentive manner.
“The employment questions affect benefits and payment arrangements,” she explained. “They do not change why he’s here. We’re continuing to work on his care.”
Teresa nodded, though the muscles beside her mouth remained tight.
Before they entered the room, she stopped Nolan.
“He doesn’t look like the picture.”
Nolan thought he was ready. Then he saw the man in the bed.
Mateo’s cheeks were thinner. His hair had been combed neatly away from his forehead, and one hand lay motionless over the blanket. Monitoring equipment made small, regular sounds near the wall.
Nolan stayed by the door while Teresa went to him.
“I brought the man who found Destello,” she said.
Mateo’s eyelids moved. He opened his eyes briefly, then closed them.
Nolan placed a printed photograph on the bedside table. It showed Gusset curled inside the yellow hard hat, before the clinic had cleaned his paw.
“He’s warm now,” Nolan said. “Eating well. Thinks my house came with him.”
Teresa smiled and adjusted the photograph so her brother could see it.
Mateo’s fingers moved against the blanket. Nolan couldn’t tell whether it was a response. He pulled up a chair anyway and sat for a few minutes before leaving.
On his way home, he stopped at the Veydran office. He asked how a past assignment could be verified and who kept the historical crew records. The current roster didn’t include Mateo, which told him nothing about the night in question.
Curtis appeared before the clerk could finish answering.
“Inside, Voss.”
Nolan followed him into the small office. A space heater ticked beneath the desk.
“I hear you’ve been talking about Salcedo.”
“I visited him today.”
Curtis reached for a stack of forms, then put them down. “He’s no longer on our crews.”
“He’s in a hospital bed. His sister needs to establish who employed him when he was hurt.”
“That’s not a question for a welder.”
“Then point me to the right person.”
Curtis looked at the closed door. “You need to let this go.”
“I haven’t taken records. I’ve asked who keeps them.”
“And I’m telling you to get back to your work.”
Nolan left with the clerk’s unfinished sentence still in his mind.
Gusset met him at home as though Nolan’s absence had been a personal insult. He stepped into the house and immediately had to protect the grocery bag from an exploratory nose.
“Destello,” he said, crouching. “That’s quite a name to live up to.”
The puppy tilted his head.
“Don’t worry. You’re making progress.”
After dinner, Nolan moved supplies off the kitchen table. He’d taken down the helmet to compare the faded name with Teresa’s photograph, and its loose strap hung over the edge of a chair.
Gusset spotted it first.
He caught the strap and pulled. Nolan reached to stop him, but the old suspension shifted inside the shell. A corner of something pale showed beneath the padding.
“Leave it.”
The puppy released reluctantly.
Nolan set the hat beneath the light and lifted the loosened edge. A thin packet had been tucked between the lining and the shell. Inside were folded pages, photocopies, and a small sealed pouch containing a memory card.
He didn’t touch the card. He unfolded the first sheet just enough to see the opening lines.
The handwriting was deliberate. A few letters had been retraced, as though their writer wanted no mistake about them.
Nolan read the first sentence aloud.
“If I get hurt, don’t let them erase my name from this job…”
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