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.”
CHAPTER
62
Robie 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
