This suspect was different. Not only was Bobby Patel extremely intelligent as well as educated; he’d also been with the FBI for over five years. He understood how interviews worked. This was a tough one.
I treated it like other interviews. I tried to get a feel for the “new” Bobby. Not the FBI agent who had been helping me but the suspect in a murder. Perspective is everything. It’s rare that my perspective changes this much during an investigation.
Usually, I use some of the information I have but hold back key facts. I let the suspect fill in the gaps. That way no one can claim I led someone into confessing to something they didn’t do.
Admittedly, most suspects aren’t nearly as formidable as Bobby Patel. Besides being smart and well educated—although often one is not related to the other—Bobby was a black belt in judo. He was the total package as far as tough murder suspects go.
Then Bobby struck with the first verbal jab. He said, “If you have all this evidence, why not have your friend at the OIG just arrest me?”
I had been waiting for this one. And I was prepared. “Because I wanted to hear your side of the story.” I sat still on the hard stairs, trying to project calm. The comment seemed to have struck a chord with Bobby. He stared at me but still didn’t say anything.
I was counting on a guy like Bobby being so tightly wrapped that he wouldn’t be able to hold in something as horrendous as a murder. Looking at him now, I felt like he might break.
“C’mon, Bobby. Let it out. You’ll feel a hell of a lot better about it.” It was a bullshit comment. It didn’t really mean anything, but everyone says it. Even more surprising is the number of suspects who buy it.
Bobby said, “Cut the shit. I won’t fall for any of your homicide detective tricks. You got nothing. And you know that no one will take you seriously. The FBI already thinks you’re a meddlesome kook. You’ll be laughed out of DC.”
“That could be, Bobby. But someone will look at what I found out.” I held up my phone with a photo of the DVD shard from the Whole Foods security office. “That’s in your car. That DVD had you on video. I’m curious, what had you planned to do if the regular security system had been working? Would you have tried to trash the whole video system?”
Bobby was getting more agitated the longer we sat there chatting. His hands couldn’t keep still as he scratched his ear, then wiped his eye. He also had a twitch in his cheek. He started scanning the National Mall. I knew that look. He was weighing his options and wondering if he should run.
I had one more idea. It was a risky choice. I said, “Right about now they should be executing the search warrant on your apartment in Alexandria.”
That got Bobby to sit up straight. He stared at me. “You’ve been stalling me all this time? Just trying to keep me here? You asshole.” He sprang to his feet.
I eased myself up, trying to keep from alarming Bobby. A group of schoolkids was close by. I didn’t want to cause a scene.
Bobby reached toward his waistband. I said, “Hang on, Bobby. Don’t do something stupid. Look around you.”
That seemed to get through. He noticed the kids and moved his hand away. Then he kicked my right leg out from under me as he shoved me. I tumbled down onto the steps. It felt like someone hitting me on the hip and back with a steel rod.
I grunted in pain, then glanced over at the schoolkids. They were terrified. I scrambled to my feet. This was not the typical experience at the memorial.
I backed away, careful to not give Bobby a reason to pull his gun. I didn’t care if we tumbled down the entire flight of marble stairs, as long as there was no shooting.
Bobby looked confused. Almost like he was lost. I tried to guide him away from the crowds. Everyone was staring at us anyway. I gently put my hand on Bobby’s upper arm.
He moved like lightning. He trapped my hand on his arm. He twisted his body, and the world spun. I moved through the air like a meteorite, then struck the hard stone.
Fucking judo.
Chapter 100
Am I seriously injured? Will I be able to move? These thoughts crossed my mind as I stared up at the ceiling of the Lincoln Memorial. I gasped, trying to replace the air that had just been knocked out of me. Slowly I sat up. The groan I let out at least let everyone know I was still alive. And seemed to startle the schoolkids.
Everyone around me was frantically dialing 911 on their cell phones. A woman herded the schoolkids away from me as if getting your ass kicked was contagious.
I spotted Bobby loping away from the memorial along one side of the reflecting pool. I managed to stand up, my legs a little shaky under me. I started down the stairs as quickly as I could. Pain shot through my hip like someone jabbing me with a knitting needle. I wobbled when I made it to the ground level and tried to run. I limped along, hoping I could get control of my battered legs. Finally I was able to pick up the pace, but it was still not exactly a sprint.