The First Victim

CHAPTER 58

As Stevie sat across from the rear door of the city bus watching the landscape parade past, she reminded herself of the big man with the hooded sweatshirt, consulting a color printout-a freeze-frame- from the video. She tracked the exact second the bus arrived and departed each of its stops, looking for an elapsed time of twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds as recorded on the digital video. Believing she was onto something, she wanted to test her theory before taking up SPD’s time with it. Adding to her excitement was the realization that she might have lost her tail-as unintentional as it was-by leaving the station through a back exit during a time she was anticipated to be on-air. She assumed, quite rightly, that if there was any time her guards ran for a bite to eat, or took a break, it was during the two-hour period that N4@5 typically occupied. As much as she appreciated the reassurance of their presence she preferred her independence, especially on the eve of what she believed was to be a major discovery. This way she could savor the moment of delivering news of her discovery to Boldt or LaMoia-or better yet, both at the same time. If she found the sweatshop, or even the general neighborhood where the man had left the bus route, she would be doing something positive to help Melissa, not just sitting back and being a target of these people. Playing the victim was not her idea of taking part.

Her eye constantly referenced the printout she held in her lap, the eerie dark image of the big man a blur at the bus door, but the stair-step pattern of the skyline seen through the bus windows distinct, if not distinctive. Looking outside again, she intentionally blurred her eyes to recapture the vague image on the printout. Still nothing; the background offered not a hint of the footage Melissa had shot. Melissa needed her and she was not delivering.

The bus pulled to yet another stop. Fremont Bridge-the same place she had turned around her last time out. She checked the printout and glanced up, her eyes stinging, her head ringing with defeat and grief. If only Melissa knew how much she cared, how much she loved her; if only she had taken the time to be with her, to involve her in her life-maybe even then things would be different, she would feel differently somehow, but she had not done these things. She deeply regretted it now.

Stevie had little time to think about such things. She looked up as Brian Coughlie climbed onto the bus.

He moved down the aisle deliberately, self-confident and strong, looking directly at her and never taking his eyes off her, and for an instant a spike of fear raced through her. Where the hell had he come from? What the hell did he want?

The seat next to her was vacant. She would have gladly had it occupied by the smelliest street person at that moment, although the determination in Coughlie’s eyes indicated nothing would stop him from taking that seat. The bus rolling, Coughlie sat down next to her and looked straight ahead.

‘‘I caught your act,’’ he said, still looking toward the front of the bus. ‘‘A Watchman,’’ he explained. ‘‘Nifty little gadget. I keep one with me everywhere I go now. Addicted to the news, I guess you could say.’’

‘‘What a coincidence,’’ Stevie said, ‘‘both of us on the same bus and all.’’

‘‘In your dreams,’’ he replied. ‘‘SPD dropped the ball when you took off from the station. Not my boys. No sir. Right there is the difference between local and federal, I’m telling you. Be glad we’re on your side.’’

‘‘You’ve been following me,’’ she said with disgust.

‘‘Hell, you’ve so many people watching your ass you might as well be leading a parade. You’re a regular majorette!’’ His arrogance disturbed her-a different man from the one previously seeking partnership.

The bus bounced. All the passengers’ heads rose and fell in unison. Stevie’s teeth chattered, but that had nothing to do with the bus’s jerky movements.

‘‘Tell me about that little stunt of yours.’’

‘‘Stunt?’’ Her legs shook she was so nervous.

‘‘Your idea or Boldt’s? This flu thing. . It’s a simple enough question.’’ He waited for her, but she couldn’t find a defendable answer, couldn’t find her voice at all. ‘‘You reported this flu was spreading out at Fo-No-Fort Nolan. who gave you that? Who’s your source on that? Or did you make it up? Does the news simply make things up? This is my turf we’re talking about here.’’ His crimson face took on a greenish purple under the tube lights. ‘‘I’ll catch hell for this. You know that? Health inspectors. ACLU. You buried us with that piece.’’ He pursed his lips and edged forward on the seat. ‘‘This story is bullshit.’’

‘‘The CDC issued-’’

‘‘Oh, that’s bullshit! We’d have seen it before anyone else! Don’t you get it? It’s our detention facility we’re talking about. We’d have been the first notified. Our population would have been the first immunized. Did they use you?’’ he asked incredulously. ‘‘Or are you part of it?’’

They met eyes. His were bloodshot and half-blind with anger. She wanted off that bus. It stopped, but she didn’t look up. ‘‘Whatever it takes to save her,’’ she said.

‘‘It was Boldt’s idea,’’ Coughlie said.

‘‘I’m telling you: The CDC issued a health bulletin.’’

‘‘And I’m telling you, it’s not possible. They used you.’’ He looked around. ‘‘And what’s this about? You don’t mind me saying so, you and a city bus have got nothing in common. Is it the videos?’’

‘‘The police found a bus ticket,’’ she lied. ‘‘It was worth a gamble.’’

‘‘If they’d found a bus ticket, it would be them riding the bus, not you. What’s going on with you? Why are you lying to me?’’

‘‘Why are you having me followed? Protection? From what? From whom? Or do you want me to do your work for you? A federal agency keeping a reporter under surveillance-’’

‘‘A witness.’’

‘‘No, Brian. Not me. You want to deal with all this, or are you going to call off your people?’’

‘‘You’re making a mistake-a big mistake.’’

‘‘It’s mine to make,’’ she said.

‘‘Yes, it is,’’ he answered. His smile turned her stomach. ‘‘So have it your way. But remember: Some mistakes are costly.’’

The bus pulled to another stop. Coughlie stood and disembarked. He didn’t look back.