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.

“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.”