This tells you everything you need to know about me: if a string had been protruding from him, I would have pulled it.

If Corbin was all sharp angles, his partner, Agent Francis Russell, was given to latent puffiness, like a half-deflated pale white balloon. I could see instantly that if he held his breath, his whole face would swell up and his chestnut-round cheeks would turn a bright red, which would then match his moussed-down, sharply parted hair. (How about that for a description?)

D.C. detective Harry Markopolos, who was glum and plump, was wearing blue slacks, brown shoes, and a black baseball jacket. “Coach” was stitched in cursive letters over his left breast. He stood several feet away from the agents, as if their attitude might be catching. As we were introduced, he thumbed a Tums from a roll and popped it in his mouth.

The agents handed Reich their business card. Reich stood protectively next to my bed and laid out his rules: I had volunteered to answer their questions. As my attorney, if he didn’t like the tone of those questions or if he believed they potentially might put me or my employer in jeopardy, he would advise me not to answer them, and if they continued that line of questioning, we would end the interview. “Gentlemen,” he finally said, forcing up the two sides of his mouth in a truly pathetic attempt at a sardonic smile.

The agents stood on either side of my bed. They didn’t precisely alternate questions, but it was close: How did I know Amram? How many times had I met him previously? Did I record my conversations with him? Reich’s warning had been accurate, these guys weren’t there to gather background information. This was an active investigation. Did I know anyone else in Amram’s organization? Did he give me anything? It went on for more than a half hour. Did I give him money or any other items of value? Did Amram discuss other people?

Detective Markopolos stood silently near the door. It suddenly dawned on me why he had been invited. Under district law, he was the only one empowered to make an arrest.

Agent Russell handed a copy of the story I’d written about Hassan’s mother to Reich, who glanced at it, then gave it to me and asked me to confirm that I had written it. Jenny would have been very proud of me for resisting the urge to say what I was thinking. I simply said, “Yeah.”

As instructed by Reich, I answered most of their questions with short declarative sentences. Amram had contacted me. I did not know where he had gotten my phone number; perhaps from the Pro site where it was listed. He told me he was involved in drugs. I had no information or reason to believe Amram was a terrorist or was involved in any way in the 7/11 attacks.

“Jeez,” Corbin mused, without looking at me, “I guess you don’t read the papers.”