Bobby shook his head and looked at the floor. “No, I’m sorry. I’m a little sensitive. People wrongly assume everyone of Indian descent studies hard, has strict parents and a crazy work ethic.”
“None of those sound like a negative.”
Bobby said, “I do work hard, but I never hear anyone say, ‘I want to party with the Indian guy.’ And everyone calls me Bobby, like I’m still a little kid.”
“What would you prefer to be called?”
Bobby stayed silent for a moment. When he looked up at me, his face was hard to read. Finally, he sighed and said, “Okay, I prefer Bobby. But you’re the only white guy who’s ever asked what I prefer.”
As we laughed together in the coffeehouse, I thought that of all the FBI agents in Washington, Bobby Patel seemed like the best one I could be teamed with. I made a quick assessment that this guy was all right.
Chapter 11
Then we got down to business. I asked Bobby about the rumors I’d heard of Emily Parker dating powerful men in Washington.
Bobby shook his head. “Everyone hears rumors. Emily can’t defend herself, so I ignore them. She’s a very effective agent, and we’re work friends. More like buddies. You know what I mean?”
I just nodded, but I knew exactly what he meant. I had a number of female buddies. Emily was my best female bud. And I intended to find her.
Bobby kept going. “I’m looking at the actual information I have to go on. Not rumors that could be spread by anyone for any reason. Emily’s car was found in the lot of a Whole Foods on I Street.”
“Any idea how it ended up in that lot?”
“We’re pretty sure she left it there. She parks there and a half dozen other lots in the city when she does her marathon training runs. Always runs the same courses to compare her time. Very specific in her schedule.” Bobby looked down at some notes and said, “We couldn’t locate her purse, FBI credentials, phone, or gun.”
I said, “Did you find anything on security video from the Whole Foods or anywhere else on the street?”
Bobby shook his head. “We checked with everyone. We even created a website that aggregated security footage from a number of stores. Nothing. One of the problems at the Whole Foods was that their main system was broken. They were using a backup DVR system with little storage capacity, so the staff downloaded to DVD daily, then wiped the DVR for the next day. But the DVD that would’ve had the files showing Emily pulling into the lot was missing. Just a simple screwup that’s causing me a lot more hassle.”
“You have any leads or suspects at all?”
Bobby shook his head. “Nothing that’s panned out. We searched for a square mile around where we found her car. The DC police have had an extra boat patrolling the Potomac and looking for any sign of her. Still nothing.”
“What about her FBI investigations? Would one of her targets be a viable suspect?”
He shook his head. “She’s been tracking an anarchist group known as The Burning Land. Mostly younger men who like to stir up trouble by pretending to resist authority. In reality, they’re thugs looking for chaos. They’ve been linked to half a dozen fires, looting, and some of them are suspects in two separate murders of former members. We talked to a few of them. They didn’t realize anyone has been looking at them. I guess you can beat up people and riot and expect no one to pay attention.”
Then Bobby passed a folder across to me. He said, “Everyone we’ve talked to with a quick summary of what they said is in this folder. So are the principals in The Burning Land.” He looked me in the eye and took a beat. “I’d like to set up a few ground rules for our investigation.”
“Anything you want.”
“First and most important, no one at the FBI can know I’m feeding you tips. I know your friend from the OIG called me personally, but my bosses won’t cut me much slack if they hear I’ve been farming out leads.”
“I understand completely. It’s generally my goal not to have contact with the FBI.”
Bobby let out a laugh and said, “I get the feeling that’s most cops’ attitude.” He looked down at his notes again. “You need to tell me everything you find out related to Emily’s disappearance. And I mean everything. Even suspicions.”
I just nodded at that one. My experience with the FBI had not made me particularly open to sharing everything with them. This was a unique situation.
Finally, Bobby said, “I’ll feed you some interviews, but you can’t tell anyone you’re working the case.”