Coyotes in Winter: Part 2 of 6
The investigation moves in an unexpected direction as Rossi and Lopez learn more from their unexpected visitor.
This is part two of a six-part serialized mystery story. For the first part, or in case you forgot where we left off, see Coyotes in Winter Part 1.
The woman dropped herself beside Lopez and said, “I have the money.”
The diner sat near the main road at the east end of a small town. The main road formed the town’s spine and it had bones of streets hanging from that, like a dried-up fish skeleton. Beyond the diner was a speed limit sign and the rolling, north-south oriented mountains of Upstate New York, populated with pickup trucks and muddy SUVs.
A diner accessible by one main road, surrounded by open fields, with no buildings nearby. A diner that had no cameras. Not even over the cash register.
Lopez scooched over to make room for the woman while making sure that she could reach her service pistol. Other than her cop shoes, she had no signs of being a deputy. Her black hair partially covered her face. She wore a fashionable woman’s overcoat, sweater, and casual pants. We were outside of Lopez’s jurisdiction and it was her day off.
“Money for what?” I said.
“Papers,” the woman said.
“I don’t know you.”
The rising warble of an approaching police siren echoed through the diner. The woman shrunk back in the seat and hid behind Lopez. It turned out to be a paramedic unit. They’d switched to using police sirens because drivers didn’t respect the old-school fire truck sirens. The woman eyed the SUV warily as it passed.
“I’m Fuentes,” she said. “I call you.”
Lopez said, “What kind of papers are you talking about?“
Fuentes looked over Lopez. Decided she wasn’t a problem. “Look… I know you have to be cautious….”
Blank looks from us.
“Papers. Identification. ID.” She waggled her hands in frustration. “Green card?”
Lopez reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. She put it on the table in front of Fuentes. It was her sheriff’s department ID. “Would this work?”
Fuentes picked it up, squinted at the photo, the fine print, the logo. Looked at the back. “This is policía ID. I cannot use this.”
“We’ve got other stuff.”
“I hope with better quality. This photo does not look like my sister.”
“It has to look like your sister?”
“You are idiots? I told you that. It must look like my sister.” She looked at Lopez’s cop ID again. “This señora, she is not Guatemalan.” She pushed the ID back to Lopez. “She is old. This photo could be my mother.”
I stifled a smile. Lopez pursed her lips, annoyed. Of course, her ID photo wasn’t flattering and her hair had been pulled back in a cop bun.
“We’ll get you better ID,” I said.
“You said you would have it today.”
“How’d you know about us?”
“A bird told to me. Are you going to help?”
Lopez and I had developed a private language. Not the kind that you could translate word-for-word. Early in our relationship, we each seemed to sense what the other was thinking, and each gesture or expression became a cue for a thought. This time, Lopez flared her nostrils at me: Keep going. We’ve got something.
Lopez said to Fuentes, “How much money do you have?”
Fuentes took a fat envelope from her coat. Lopez opened it carefully and ran her thumb along the edge of the contents. She passed it to me. I kept it close to my body in case anyone was looking. I shouldn’t have bothered; the diner was deserted. The waitress stood behind the counter, reading her phone.
The envelope held a brick of singles and fives. It didn’t appear to be much until you imagine earning a dollar per bucket of vegetables you’ve picked. Imagine trying to live off of that and saving some on the side. I gave it back.
“It is the amount you told me,” she said.
“How’d you get this?” Lopez said.
“I work on a farm,” Fuentes said.
“Are you dealing?”
“Dealing?”
“Selling drugs.”
“I am trying to get me and my sister to a new life here. I do not sell drugs. I work on a farm.”
“The ground is frozen,” Lopez said.
Fuentes looked more closely at Lopez and made to get up. “I clean rooms too. You said you would meet me on Thursday. Today is Thursday. You said you would be with a woman. A blonde woman.”
Lopez subtly shifted her weight from her butt to her toes. I’ve seen it enough times to recognize it. Getting ready for action.
Fuentes thought about what she’d just said. “Blonde significa…. You are not blonde,” she said to Lopez.
“Not since high school, hon,” Lopez said. “I’ve got more bad news. Today is Tuesday.”
Fuentes stumbled getting up, knocking against the table, and our coffee mugs jumped. Lopez was right on top of her. She had a firm grip on the woman’s arm, an inch above the elbow, applying pressure to the tendon and sending an electric-like shock through the arm. Lopez is six feet tall and has large hands, basically the same size as mine. Sometimes we share gloves.
She and Fuentes spat Spanish at each other. My Spanish is decent. Lopez, who’s from Penfield for God’s sake, was more proficient.
All I caught was Fuentes saying, ICE also speaks Spanish, before she dropped back on the bench.
“We’ll let you go,” I said in English. “Answer a few questions.”
“I do not talk to ICE.”
“We’re not ICE,” Lopez said.
“I do not talk to cops.”
I held out my hand. “Talk to me,” I said. “I’m a nurse.”
“Nurse?” Fuentes eyed me skeptically.
I was dressed even more casually than Lopez. I turned to show Fuentes the hospital logo on the shoulder of my coat. I used to wear it when I was an EMT.
“Where did you go to school, Señor Nurse?”
“US Army. Trained as a combat medic. Became a nurse after I left.”
“What is atelectasis?”
“Partial lung collapse. Or a lung that doesn’t expand completely.”
“What’s the purpose of the sinoatrial node?”
“Pacemaker for the heart,” I said.
“What size of needle is used for subcutaneous injection?”
“Typically 25-gauge. You sound like you know things, too.”
“I am a nurse,” Fuentes said.
“Really?” I said. “What’s normal SpO2?”
There was a slight delay while she translated my question, her mouth making the shape of the last four syllables. “Ninety-five to one hundred percent.”
I signaled Lopez.
Lopez released the woman’s arm. Kept her hand nearby, though.
Fuentes beckoned with her finger. “OK, Señor Nurse. Questions. Then I go.”
I said, “Someone’s been stealing antibiotics from the free clinic in Rochester. Do you know why?”
Fuentes looked at me, thinking about what I’d said. Her mouth repeated some of my words without making sounds.
I said, “I work at a free clinic. Someone’s been stealing meds. These meds are for URIs, UTIs, minor chemical burns, stuff you see from working farms and from cleaning rooms. Nothing serious, right? Nothing that gets the attention of police.”
She nodded.
“The meds you stole are powerful. If you use them the wrong way, you can hurt people. I’m worried that someone is trying to treat sick people with powerful meds, and they might make them more sick. I only want to make sure these sick people get well.”
“I understand most of what you say,” Fuentes said. “The undocumented people, they are mi gente. I try to help them. I know about your clinic.”
“You do?” Lopez said.
“Do you know the word coyote?” Fuentes said.
Lopez scratched my knee: I’ll take it from here.
Lopez said, “Someone brought you into the country illegally.”
“Yes,” Fuentes said. “Coyotes brought me and my people here. We work in the box factory, the motels, the restaurants. The problem is that my people are being sick. They’re not used to the diseases here. The coyotes brought them to the hospital but that brought too much attention. Then the coyotes found out I am a nurse. So they make me treat my people. I go with the women to clinics. I get diagnosis. I treat them. Coyotes stop using your clinic. Now I understand why.”
“They use another clinic?”
“Yes. Far away. But they must still be taking medicine from your clinic.”
I studied the empty parking lot through the diner’s large windows. If the coyotes stopped using our clinic for treatment, but knew it well enough to steal meds without being caught, then they knew our schedules, and they knew our blind spots.
We’ve been watching the coyotes. And they’ve been watching us.
An old brown Ford Explorer trundled past on the main road and I wondered if I’d seen it before.
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