The Innocent (34 page)

Julie sat while Robie paced.

“Are you nervous?” she asked finally.

He looked at her and finally realized that she was scared. And why wouldn’t she be? he thought. This was a lot to deal with, precocious teenager or not.

He sat down next to her. “Not really.” He looked around the room. “It’s just better for you to be here.”

“So is this like prison?”

“Nothing like it. You’re not a prisoner. But we do need to keep you safe.”

“You promise?”

“I’m telling you the truth, Julie, nothing more and nothing less.”

She unzipped her knapsack. “Can I do some of my homework here? I’ve got some math problems to do.”

“Yes, but just don’t expect any help from me. I topped out at pre-cal.”

Five minutes later the door opened and Blue Man entered. Tie knotted, slacks pressed, shirt starched, shoes polished. His features were impassive, but Robie could sense the irritation in the older man. He was carrying a manila file.

He looked first at Julie and then at Robie.

“Is this a good idea?” he asked Robie, indicating Julie with his free hand.

“A better idea than leaving her where she was.”

“I told you it had not been compromised.”

“I know what you
told
me.”

Blue Man sighed and sat down across from Julie, who stared at him with interest.

Robie, sensing that some introduction was necessary, said, “This is Julie Getty.”

Blue Man nodded. “I deduced as much.”

“What’s your name?” asked Julie.

Blue Man ignored her question and turned to Robie. “And what do you hope to accomplish by this?”

“I hope to accomplish keeping her safe. I hope to accomplish getting to the truth. I hope to accomplish getting to them before they get to me.”

“Paranoia setting in?” asked Blue Man.

“You’re late by about ten years on that,” replied Robie.

“Do you two work together?” asked Julie.

“No,” said Robie.

“Sometimes,” amended Blue Man.

She looked around the room. “Am I supposed to stay here somewhere? This isn’t, like, a house or anything.”

Blue Man stared at Robie, who looked away. Blue Man turned to Julie.

“We can accommodate you here. Comfortably. We have certain quarters for, uh, guests.”

“And Will’s going to be here too?”

“I’ll have to let him speak to that,” said Blue Man.

Robie ignored this and said, “Anything on my queries?” His gaze flitted to the file sitting in front of Blue Man.

“Quite a lot actually. Do you want to hear it now?”

Robie glanced at Julie and then back at Blue Man with an inquiring look.

Blue Man cleared his throat. “I see no reason why she can’t hear this. It’s not classified.” He opened the file. “Miss Getty, your father had a very distinguished military career in the Army.”

Julie sat up straighter. “He did?”

“Yes. A Bronze Star with valor, a Purple Heart, and several other impressive commendations. He was honorably discharged, leaving the service with the rank of sergeant.”

“He never talked about it.”

“Where did he serve that he got the Bronze with the V-device?” asked Robie.

“Gulf One,” answered Blue Man.

Robie spoke up. “Was his discharge based on anything other than him not re-upping?”

“There were some medical issues.”

“Like what?” asked Julie.

“PTSD,” replied Blue Man.

“That’s post-traumatic stress disorder,” noted Julie.

“Yes, it is,” said Blue Man.

“Anything else?” asked Robie.

Blue Man glanced down at the file. “Some cognitive issues.”

“My dad’s brain was messed up?” Julie said.

“It was alleged that he had exposure to some materials that might have adversely affected him.”

“DU?” said Robie.

Julie shot him a glance. “DU? What’s that?”

Blue Man and Robie exchanged a look.

Julie saw this and hit the table with her fist. “Look, you guys can’t just keep speaking this code crap and expect me to just sit here and take it.”

“Depleted uranium,” said Robie. “DU stands for depleted uranium. It’s used in artillery shells and also on tank armor.”

“Uranium? Isn’t that bad for you? I mean if you’re exposed to it?” asked Julie.

“There have never been any conclusive studies done that demonstrated the truth of that statement in a battlefield environment,” Blue Man said matter-of-factly.

“Then where did my dad’s ‘cognitive issues’ come from? And why did they discharge him if there was no problem?”

“I understand that he was a heavy drug user.”

Julie glared at Robie. “Did you tell him that?”

Blue Man held up pages from the file. “He didn’t have to. I could read the arrest and conviction reports for myself. All small-time, petty stuff. All quite stupid.”

Julie stood and said defiantly, “You didn’t know my dad, so you have no right to judge him.”

Blue Man glanced at Robie. “She always this shy and unassuming?”

Robie didn’t answer.

“And none of that happened while he was in the Army,” added Julie. “Or he wouldn’t have left just for medical reasons. They would have kicked him out or arrested him. So why did they discharge him?”

“As I said, cognitive issues.”

“But not related to drugs. So it had to be something else,” countered Julie. “And you read from the file. It said that he’d been exposed to this DU stuff and it had adversely affected him. That’s what
you
said.”

“Those were
his
claims. They were never substantiated. But I do see your point. I guess the Army thought there might be some validity to his claims.”

“Did they run any tests on him?” asked Robie. “To see what the cognitive issues stemmed from?”

“No.”

“They probably didn’t want to prove that this DU crap messed with his mind,” said Julie, glowering at Blue Man.

He said, “When you graduate from college, why don’t you apply for a position in the intelligence field? From what I’ve seen you might have what it takes to be a first-rate field agent.”

“I think I’ll pass on that. I’d prefer to use my life in a more positive way.”

Robie pulled out the glossy of Rick Wind showing the tattoo. “This is from Rick Wind’s autopsy. Julie confirmed that her dad had a tat just like this one.”

Blue Man looked at her. “Did they know each other?”

“I’ve never heard of Rick Wind and I’ve certainly never seen him before,” said Julie.

Robie said, “Can we find out if they ever served together?”

Blue Man rose, went to a phone on a credenza, and made a call, while Julie looked down at the tattoo and Robie looked at her.

“You okay?” he asked in quiet voice.

“Should I be okay?” she snapped.

Blue Man returned to them. “We will have an answer shortly.”

“Anything on this eyewitness?” asked Robie.

“Michele Cohen? Not yet. We’re checking. She’s definitely in FBI custody as we speak.”

“If she can ID me and Julie?”

“That would be slightly more than catastrophic,” Blue Man said.

“Maybe she’s lying,” said Julie.

“Maybe she is,” agreed Robie. “But if so we need to find out her motivation.”

Blue Man said, “How will you handle this with Vance? You can’t keep ducking her.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

But right now Robie had no idea what.

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.

“Super agent Vance?” said Julie.

Robie nodded. The text message was clear:
Come now or I’ll come and get you wherever the hell you are.

He phoned her back. “Look, I told you I was in a meeting,” he said.

“Cohen gave us enough to get a BOLO on the two people from the bus.”

“That’s great.”

“Might be a father and his daughter.”

“Okay,” said Robie. “You said the girl was a teenager?”

“Right. Light-skinned. The guy was much darker, according to Cohen.”

“Come again?” said Robie.

“African American, Robie. Can you get your butt over here?”

“I’m on my way.”

R
OBIE SAT ACROSS
from Michele Cohen. She was in her late thirties, with soft dark hair coiled around a long neck. She was petite, about five-two, with a narrow build. She seemed nervous, and Robie would have been surprised if she weren’t.

Vance sat next to Robie in the small conference room at WFO. She was making some notes on her electronic tablet while Robie stared across at Cohen. She had told him her story in great detail. Coming out of a nearby hotel seconds before the explosion occurred. Seeing the man and young woman get off. Being stunned and blown back against a wall when the bomb had detonated. Running down an alley to her car. Driving home to the suburbs where her cuckolded hubby was waiting for her and accepted her story of forgetting the time over dinner with a girlfriend.

The hotel had confirmed that Cohen had come in at the time she said she had. A man was also with her. His story had checked out. He was unemployed and had been for a year. There was no reason why either he or Cohen would lie about this.

And yet of course Robie knew they had lied.

She had given detailed descriptions of two black people getting off that bus before it had exploded, and Robie knew that had never happened. But he couldn’t tell Vance that without revealing his own secret.

These people are playing me and Cohen is part of it. They’ve got me screwed between two packs of Semtex and I have no wiggle room. They’re counting on that. They want to make me sweat and they’re doing a good job.

He wondered if Cohen knew that he was the man who had gotten off the bus. Would she have been told that? Or did she simply have her part to play? Robie wondered where they had found her. Maybe she was a former actress who needed some fast money, and that was her limited role in all this. Yet she knew she was lying to the cops. To the FBI. That would not be done lightly. She had to be very sure that the truth would not come out. And there had to be a very large incentive for her to do this.

Well, if they want to play with me, then I’ll smack some of it back at them and see how they like it.

“Have you ever cheated on your husband before, Ms. Cohen?” he asked.

This question got a stare from Vance, but he ignored it.

Cohen pressed a tissue to her right eye and said, “Twice before. I’m not proud of it, but I also can’t change it.”

“Have you told your husband the truth?”

This time Vance didn’t simply stare. “What does that have to do with anything, Robie?” she exclaimed.

Again, he ignored her. “Could you pick the guy and teen out of a lineup?”

“I’m not sure. There was so much going on. And their backs were to me for some of the time.”

“But you’re sure they were African American? Even though it was dark, there was distance between you and them, and as you said, there was a lot of stuff going on?”

“They were definitely black people,” she said. “I’m not wrong about that.”

“But initially you didn’t go to the police. You only did days later.”

“I explained that to Agent Vance. I was worried about being exposed.”

“You mean your affair being exposed?” amended Robie.

“Yes. I love my husband.”

“Right. And I’m sure you’re very sorry for being an adulteress, but your hubby probably doesn’t understand you,” said Robie.

This comment drew another hard look from Vance.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” Cohen said stiffly. “But I did come forward. I’m trying to help your investigation.”

“And it’s much appreciated,” cut in Vance, with another incredulous glance at Robie. “And despite my partner’s comments he appreciates it too.”

“Will that be all? Can I go now?” asked Cohen.

“Yes. I can have one of my people show you out. Agent Robie and I have some things to discuss.”

As soon as Cohen had departed Vance whirled around on Robie.

“What the hell was that about?” she demanded.

“I was questioning a witness.”

“You mean you were
interrogating
her.”

“Same thing in my book. And for the record I think she’s lying.”

“What possible motivation would she have for lying? She came to us. We didn’t even know she existed.”

“If I knew that the case would be solved.”

“Why are you so sure she was lying?”

Robie thought back to the passengers on the 112 bus. There were a number of black men. And at least two black teenage girls. They had been on the bus when it blew up. But the bus had turned into an inferno with the full fuel tank. Everybody had been hurled from their seats, burned beyond recognition, many of them down to bone. It would be nearly impossible to match remains with the passenger list.

Vance said, “There were at least six black men on the bus and three black teenage girls. The clerk in the depot that night remembers them. Cohen’s story fits the facts.”

“Doesn’t matter, I still think she’s lying.”

“What, based on your gut?”

“Based on something.”

“Well, I have to conduct my investigation on evidence gathered.”

“You’ve never gone with your instincts?” he asked.