Chorey twitched at the word bombs, but then appeared genuinely baffled.
“IEDs?” he said. “What IEDs?”
Chapter 8
Forty minutes later, I entered the observation booth overlooking the interrogation room where Chorey was still in restraints, sweating and moaning with his eyes closed. Ned Mahoney’s arms were crossed.
“You believe him?” Mahoney asked.
“Most of it,” I said. “You saw his hands there at the end. I’d say it would be impossible for him to build a bomb.”
“Your wife saw him dismantle a Glock in under thirty seconds,” Mahoney said.
“Once it’s unloaded, a gun’s no threat. Building a bomb, you can cross wires and blow yourself to kingdom come. Besides, you heard him, he’s got an alibi.”
“Bree’s checking it.”
“Doc,” Chorey moaned in the interrogation room. “I need some help.”
“I’d like to get him to a detox,” I said.
“Not happening until we get a firm—”
The observation booth door opened. Bree came in.
“The supervisor at the Central Union Mission vouches for him,” she said. “Chorey slept there last night, and left with the other men at 7:30. The super remembered because he tried to convince Chorey to stay for services, but Chorey said he had to go make a protest.”
Mahoney said, “So what? He leaves the mission, picks up pre-made bombs, goes to the Mall, and—”
“The timing’s wrong, Ned,” Bree insisted. “The bomber called me at 7:26 and again at 7:28, after he’d planted the bombs. The Mission supervisor said he was with Chorey between 7:20 and 7:30. During that time Chorey never asked for or used a phone, because he’s, well, deaf. He left the mission on foot.”
“The supervisor know about the gun?”
She nodded. “Chorey evidently turned it in whenever he came off the street to spend the night.”
In the interrogation room, Chorey rocked in his chair. “C’mon. Please, Doc. I got the sickness, man. The creepy-crawly sickness.”
“He’s not your bomber,” I said.
“He could be a diversion,” Mahoney said. “Part of the conspiracy. Besides, he had a loaded weapon in a national park, which is a federal offense. The Park Police will want him for that.”
“The Park Police can get him for that once he’s dry. They’ll know exactly where he is, should they decide to press charges. Or you can send him to the federal holding facility in Alexandria, which is ill-equipped to handle someone with advanced delirium tremens, and you risk him dying before he can get clean.”
The FBI agent squinted one eye at me. “You should have been a lawyer, Alex.”
“Just my professional opinion on a vet who has had a tough go of things.”
Mahoney hesitated, but then said, “Take him to rehab.”
“Thanks, Ned,” I said, and shook his hand.
Mahoney shook Bree’s hand, too, saying, “Before I forget, Chief Stone, you impressed a lot of people this morning. Word’s gotten around how cool you were under pressure.”
She looked uncomfortable at the praise and gestured at me. “You live long enough with this man and his grandmother, you can handle anything thrown your way.”
He laughed. “I can see that. Especially with Nana Mama.”
Bree and I lingered in the hallway. She was returning to DC Metro headquarters to brief Chief Michaels, and to buy a second phone.