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.
“Yes, but when cold, hard facts trump them, it’s a different story.”
Robie rose.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To find some cold, hard facts.”
CHAPTER 63
Robie knew a quick way out of the WFO and was in his car and waiting out front when Michele Cohen pulled out of the parking garage and raced down the street in her BMW coupe. He slid into traffic behind her. She cleared three yellow lights and he narrowly avoided being trapped behind the last of them. Ten minutes later they were heading up Connecticut Avenue toward Maryland.
Robie was keeping his eye on the Beemer and thus failed to see the two police cars converging on his Volvo. The cops hit their rack lights and the officer in the cruiser on Robie’s left motioned him over. Robie watched the Beemer accelerate and pass through yet another yellow light. A few moments later it was out of sight.
Robie slowed his car and pulled to the curb. He wanted to jump out and start reaming the guys in blue, but knew that might get him shot. He sat there fuming as four cops cautiously approached, two on each side.
“Let me see your hands, sir,” called out one of them.
Robie held his left hand out the window, with his federal badge in it.
He heard one of the cops mutter, “Shit.”
A second later two cops appeared at his window.
Robie said, “I’m sure you guys have a terrific reason for pulling me over while I was tailing someone.”
The first cop pushed his hat back and stared down at Robie’s cred pack.
“Got a call from Dispatch that said a woman was being followed in her car by some guy. She was scared and requested we roll on it. She gave us your car description and plate number.”
“Well, that’s a good way for a perp to evade the police,” said Robie. “Just call in more cops.”
“I’m sorry, sir, we didn’t know.”
“Can I go now?” asked Robie.
“Is she really a suspect? We can help you run her down,” offered the second cop.
“No, I’ll catch up to her later. But in the future, don’t be so quick to hit the panic button.”
“Yes, sir.”
Robie eased the Volvo away from the curb and pulled back into traffic. In his rearview mirror he watched the cops congregating around their cruisers, no doubt wondering if this screwup was going to cost them career-wise. Robie had no interest in derailing them professionally. It had actually been a clever, if ballsy move by Cohen. She could always claim she didn’t know who was in the car, only that someone was following her. And she could tack on the completely true facts that she had just been to visit the FBI and was a valuable witness in a horrific crime and was understandably afraid for her safety.
No, Robie would have to go after her another way. Fortunately, it would not be that difficult to track Cohen down. Her home address was in the file Vance had let him read.
He crossed over into Maryland and worked his way through a number of surface roads until he reached the one he wanted.
Michele Cohen didn’t live in a McMansion, but she did live in an upscale neighborhood. Yet according to Cohen she was unemployed. Her most recent job had been with a financial planning firm that had gone belly up. Robie didn’t know what her husband did. Vance had not mentioned it, if she even knew.
Cohen probably could use the money, thought Robie. But he wondered if they had some other dirt on the woman. Money alone, he thought, would not get an otherwise innocent person to go along with lying to the FBI in a possible terrorist case.
Unless she isn’t otherwise innocent.
He wondered if Vance had run a criminal check on Cohen. Or her husband. Or her alleged boyfriend. Possibly not, since Vance clearly did not think she was lying. Like she had said, why would the woman have come forward? Robie could think of at least one reason.