Cassidy felt sorely out of place at the cowboy bar. Fortunately, it was early and the place was sparsely populated.
Vince was already there. She was never late for anything, but she had to make sure no one was following her—the FBI or someone from CHR. She still made it almost on time.
She sat down across from him. Vince was drinking a beer, though it was barely after noon. He looked awful. He hadn’t cut his hair in months—probably since he’d been fired—and it fell in his eyes.
But it was more than his physical appearance. He was edgy, almost paranoid.
Very similar to how Charlie had acted at the beginning of his spiral down.
“What’s going on, Vince? Why have you been avoiding me?”
His hand was shaking when he lifted the mug to his lips. He guzzled a third of his beer before putting it down.
“I don’t want anything to do with CHR or Charlie or you.”
“You know what happened to Charlie.”
“It was all over the news. I don’t want it to happen to me.”
Cassidy frowned. “Why would it? Are you…” She hesitated, assessed him. “You look strung out. Are you using drugs?”
“Blunt as always.”
“Dammit, Vince, this is important. I need to know. If you’re not using then maybe you were poisoned with the same substance that Charlie was poisoned with!”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You don’t know what? If you’re using drugs?”
Vince rubbed his forehead. “I’m not using, but I feel perpetually hung over. At first I popped pain pills—so yeah, maybe that was a problem.”
“What kind?” Charlie had eaten aspirin like candy. Maybe the acetylsalicylic acid had an adverse reaction with whatever he’d been poisoned with—though that seemed unlikely to have continuing side effects that lasted three months.
Vince looked into his beer. “Hydrocodone.”
So easy to become addicted to. “Oh, Vince. How long?”
“I started right before I was fired—I had a splitting headache I couldn’t get rid of, and I still had a prescription from when I had my wisdom teeth pulled, but had only used a couple. But the rest of them—I didn’t realize I’d taken twenty-eight pills in less than two weeks. I was fired, and then I grabbed an old prescription from my sister—I went to stay with her in New Mexico for a few weeks. But I swear—I haven’t popped a pill in three weeks. I just feel … not myself.” He paused. “It’s getting better, though. I haven’t taken anything, not even aspirin.”
“What happened? You have to know something.”
“No more than you know.”
“But you let Charlie into the lab that night.”
“I never should have done it. But he said he had to pull some old files. I told him I’d do it for him, but he was totally paranoid. You remember, right? If I’d done it, he’d never have been caught—we’d never have been caught—and maybe I would have been able to figure it out.”
“What files?”
“I don’t think he even knew. He said he would know it when he saw it, but he couldn’t even describe what he was looking for.”
“I think you were both poisoned.” It was the only explanation for these odd symptoms. But how?
“That’s the only reason I agreed to meet with you. You still work there—you’re the only one in the position to go through the files.”
“I haven’t been to work all week.”
“Why not?”
“Because I met Paul Grey on Monday and I had a feeling someone in the building knew about the meeting. People were watching me too carefully, and I didn’t want what happened to Charlie—and you—to happen to me.”
“Do you think I’m going down the same path?”
“No. You’re getting better, but Charlie was getting worse. I think they found a way to continue to poison Charlie, or he had an unexpected reaction to whatever drug they used. And Paul knew what it was.”
“He does? What did he say?”
“Paul’s dead.”
Vince’s eyes widened. “How?”
“He killed himself.”
“How do you know?”
She told him the truth. “I talked to him on Monday and he promised to help me. He said he knew what Charlie had been looking for in May when he was arrested for vandalism. He was supposed to bring it to me Monday night. I saw him sitting in his car under a streetlight. We were meeting in the middle of nowhere because he was paranoid.” She closed her eyes. She’d never get what happened next out of her head. “And he—he looked up at me as I approached his car. Then he shot himself.”
Vince paled. “Oh, God. Was he … poisoned, too?”
“I don’t think so. I confronted him that morning at his car, at CHR. He agreed to meet with me that evening. I laid everything out and he said he knew what I needed to help Charlie.” He’d also told her that her calling in sick had drawn attention to her, and that she might not want to go to work for a couple of days. Was that a warning? Maybe. She didn’t know. She didn’t trust Paul, but at the same time, she didn’t not trust him.
“And?” Vince pressed.
“He said he would go back to the lab when everyone left and bring me proof. We were supposed to meet again at ten. When I saw his car there I was so optimistic, that he had everything I needed, and then he … he just … killed himself.” Her voice faded. She couldn’t tell Vince everything about that night. How she searched Paul’s car for the information he had promised to bring. It wasn’t there. How she’d hacked his phone, looking for proof of anything that would help. Then she’d left Paul there … just left him dead and hoped that someone would find him before morning.
She’d avoided Charlie because he knew about her meeting with Paul, and how could she tell him that his best friend and colleague had killed himself instead of helping to save Charlie?
“Vince, think about this, okay? At the very end of March, Charlie had a huge argument in the main lab with Cortland Clarke and Paul. It was about the clinical trials for the XR-10 memory drug. He insisted that there was a problem with the results, but Paul and Ms. Clarke said no, that Charlie was mistaken. Then Clarke agreed to let Paul review the data—which later he insisted was fine. But after that meeting, Charlie started getting sick—headaches, paranoia, memory loss. I know you saw the same thing I did.”
“I thought it was because he and Lisa were separating.”
“This all happened before that.”
“But people don’t just separate spontaneously. It was only two weeks.”
“Because Charlie had changed. He’d become belligerent. Yelled at people. Maybe—maybe he hit Lisa or one of the kids. Lisa is pretty tough, she’s not going to let Charlie do something like that.”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Think! There has to have been something that happened, something Charlie said to you before he went way down the rabbit hole, or something Paul said.”
“That’s the thing, I can’t remember much about what happened around the time Charlie was fired. It’s all a blur. I don’t even remember letting Charlie into the lab. I sort of remember a conversation with him—where I told him I would look for the files—and that’s it. My head hurt and I was popping hydrocodone.”
“You don’t remember,” she said bluntly.
“I’m not lying!”
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Charlie couldn’t remember anything that happened for weeks, but he was getting worse. He had problems remembering anything that happened, even the day before. He could drive, recite the alphabet, work through complex math problems in his head, remember his wedding day and all the stats from the Texas Rangers, but he couldn’t remember anything related to CHR or what he was working on or what drug might have caused this. Because he was poisoned. I’m certain of it. Only, I think he had to have been continually poisoned and I haven’t figured out how when he lived like a recluse. He’d even moved out of his house into a crummy apartment downtown.”
Vince didn’t say anything for a second. “I think you’re right. I still can’t remember anything except vague things that happened those two weeks in May before I was fired, but I’m getting better now that I’m off the pain pills. I can finally focus. We need to go to the police.”
“What are they going to do? To them, Charlie is a criminal, someone who took people hostage and shot at a cop. They don’t care why, they just care that it’s over and only Charlie died in the process. I need proof, and we don’t have proof. CHR will deny everything, say it’s sour grapes because both you and Charlie were fired and we’re grasping at straws. I have a friend of mine running a bunch of tests on Charlie’s hair samples to see if we can isolate the drug. But until we do that, I can’t go to the authorities. If we tip off CHR they’ll destroy any evidence they have.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You already helped. You confirmed my suspicions. Now I need to get answers.”
“Be careful, Cassidy. If you’re right and someone at CHR poisoned both Charlie and me then you could be in danger.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She had one idea, and now she had to figure out how to implement it. How could she get into the lab without using her own ID?
* * *
Lucy and Leo arrived at Hogtied at one thirty that afternoon. Lucy really wanted to get back home; she was worried about Sean and Jesse, and she was beginning to feel the effects of the accident, particularly in her back, which was sore and stiff. She took three ibuprofen and hoped it would take the edge off.
“Last stop of the day,” Leo said. “That’s the second time you’ve taken pain pills.”
“They’re over-the-counter.”
“You should have taken the day off.”
“I’m okay. But I’m not going to object to going home after this.”
They walked into the cowboy bar. Country music—real country music, not the pop version of country—played out of an old-fashioned jukebox. There were peanut shells on the floor, a stage in the back, and a dance floor that looked well used. The bar itself was old, solid wood, and the bartender looked just as ancient and solid.
Leo introduced them. “We’re looking for a girl who may have been in here last night or earlier today.”
“Y’all have to be more specific,” he said with a thick Texas drawl. “We get a lotta ladies in here.”
Leo showed the bartender Cassidy’s driver’s license photo.
The bartender nodded. “Left an hour ago, or thereabouts.”
“Alone? Was she with anyone?”
“She chatted with a guy for ’bout half hour or so, they had their heads together, then she left.”
“Is he still here?”
“Nope, paid his tab, left right after her.”
“Do you have his credit card receipt?”
“Yep. He ain’t a regular, but I’ve seen him around now and again. Sort of sticks out, soft hands, pale skin. Most of my customers work outdoors, ya know. But he was okay, didn’t cause trouble.”
The bartender turned around and retrieved a small slip of paper from the cash register. “I need that for my books, so I’d be much obliged if y’all just take a picture.”
Lucy did, then handed it back to the bartender. She looked closely. Vincent A. Paine. She showed Leo.
“They in any trouble with the law?” the bartender asked.
“We don’t right know yet,” Leo said, his Texas coming out through his voice, though Lucy rarely heard more than a light accent when he was working. “Let’s just say she’s a material witness to a possible crime, and we’ve been looking for Mr. Paine. You wouldn’t know where he’s living?”
“Can’t say. We’re not a big town here, but we get people from all ’round the hills, ’specially weekends when we have live music. I got a feeling, now that I think on it, he might know one of the girls in our regular band. They play Friday nights. I recall that’s when I usually see him around.”
“Was he here last night?”
“Can’t right say, but I don’t think so. But likely the week before.”
“Would you mind giving us her name?”
“Well, I don’t have a problem helping out law enforcement, but I don’t really know what’s with what here, and I ain’t looking to jam up any of my friends.” He glanced from Lucy to Leo. “How ’bout if I ask her to call you? Or you can just come back Friday and see her then.”
Leo handed the bartender both his and Lucy’s cards. “Please talk to her. And if you see Mr. Paine again, I’d greatly appreciate a call.”
“He’s not a dangerous fellow.” It wasn’t a question. “He’s one of those, whatchacallit, nerdy types. Glasses and skinny and educated. Raised well, I’ll tell ya, polite as they come. I’ll call, just want you to know what’s what.”
“Sure do appreciate it,” Leo said. “And if you can pass those cards on to your musician friend, that would be real helpful.”
Back in the car, Lucy asked, “Why didn’t you play hardball with him? There’s no reason he couldn’t give us her name and number.”
“Because I know folks like him. He’s old school, longtime Texan. He’ll give her our contact info, find out what’s going on, and tell her to call us.”
“You sound confident.”
“You have your strengths, I have mine. She’ll call no later than Monday. If she doesn’t, we’ll come back on Friday. Coming any earlier to play asshole feds isn’t going to give us squat.”