The First Victim

CHAPTER 57

"I need you. Pronto. She split the station early. I’m in trouble here.’’ Coughlie had paged Rodriguez to call him back, taking a huge risk by using his cellphone but seeing no way around it. The call had been returned nearly instantly. He heard the barroom noise in the background and knew that Rodriguez was in some happy hour haunt watching News Four at Five. They both had made a regular diet of it.

He followed the BMW toward downtown, wondering what she was up to. First the story about a flu vaccine, then the sudden departure. He knew how Rodriguez would react to that lead story. He had to involve the man in McNeal’s surveillance in order to keep him from going to that health clinic. Coming from her mouth as it had, the story had sounded plausible, even legitimate, but for a variety of reasons Coughlie was deeply suspicious: The INS would have been told if Fort Nolan’s population was at any kind of health risk. It was a glitch in her story that he couldn’t see past. Fearing some kind of trap, some kind of sting, he needed to keep Rodriguez clear of the clinic. The guy had been pretty damn sick for the last several weeks, had buried women who had died with similar symptoms and had repeatedly complained about his health. Coughlie feared that the man would take the bait. If Rodriguez had any love, it was for any kind of medication.

Rodriguez said, ‘‘Forget it. No can do. Got me an appointment.’’ The big man sniffled snot back into the back of his throat. It sounded grotesque.

‘‘This health clinic? Forget about it. It’s a trap.’’

‘‘I’m busy.’’

‘‘It’s a trap. The cops tricked her into this. Listen, I’m following her right at this very moment,’’ Coughlie said. ‘‘I need help with this.’’

‘‘Busy.’’

‘‘Listen to me-’’

Rodriguez interrupted, ‘‘Try me later.’’ The line clicked.

‘‘Hello?’’ Coughlie said into the receiver, astonished the man would hang up on him. A first. ‘‘Hey!’’ he shouted. He held out the cellphone and stared at it, placed it back to his ear and repeated, ‘‘Hey!’’ Nothing.

McNeal parked the BMW.

Coughlie pulled over, fearing he might have to follow her on foot.

McNeal approached a bus stop and stood there waiting. A bus stop? She had mentioned to him that one of Melissa’s surveillance videos had shown a bus. Rodriguez regularly used the bus to reach the sweatshop. Brian Coughlie went numb with the thought.

He tried the pager again. But this time, his cellphone never rang with the return call.

A city bus pulled to a stop. People shoved for position. Stevie McNeal climbed aboard.