Fuller eases up on the toe pressure.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember killing Eileen Hutton?”
“No.”
Fuller realizes that his lie causes some spikes, but the spikes won’t be as high as the spikes created by the stealing question, when he caused himself pain. The examiner will have to conclude he’s telling the truth.
Easy as pie. The trick to beating a polygraph isn’t staying calm. It’s knowing when to act stressed.
“Have you ever lied on a job application?”
Control question. Toe pressure.
“No.”
“Is a basketball square?”
Ease up.
“No.”
“Did you remember cutting off Davi McCormick’s arms?”
No toenail pressure.
“No.”
“Have you ever cheated on your income tax?”
Force that staple in.
“No.”
“Do you consider yourself an honest man?”
Another control. The staple feels like an electric wire, juicing him with pain.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill Colin Andrews?”
Release the pressure.
“I don’t remember. I’ve been told I did.”
And so it goes on, for another half an hour. He takes his time. Makes it look good. Lets his body tell the tale.
“Are you faking this amnesia?”
Fuller smiles at Jack. He winks at her.
“No, I’m not.”
“Thank you, Barry. We’re finished here today.”
Garcia walks over. “What were the results?”
“I’ll need time to examine them thoroughly before I can give you my opinion.”
“What’s your preliminary opinion?”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable giving that. I’ll wait until trial.”
“Go ahead, Adam.” Libby walks up as well. “Tell us your initial impression. No matter what side it falls on, you’ll likely be subpoenaed anyway.”
The plump man takes off his glasses, polishes them on the end of his sweater.
“In twenty years of administering polygraphs, I’ve never seen such a clear-cut case of honesty.”
Fuller has to bite his lower lip to keep from giggling.
“This man is telling the truth. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
Fuller’s lawyer laughs, pats him on the shoulder.
Jack’s look is worth a million dollars. Fuller mouths the words “see you soon” at her, and blows her a kiss.
The examiner removes all of the probes and sensors, and everyone begins to file out. Fuller’s lawyer wants a moment with him, and makes the guards wait outside.
“This shouldn’t even go to trial, Barry. The judge should have thrown it out.”
“We’re doing good, right?”
“Good? We’re golden. After the experts testify, there won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind. You’ll be back on the street in no time.”
“I want to testify.”
Garcia loses the smile.
“You don’t have to say a word, Barry. You can let the evidence speak for you.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t think it’s a wise…”
“I don’t care. I have to speak my piece. It’s important to me.”
Another pat on the shoulder. “I understand, big guy. They’ll be rough on you, but we can prepare you for that.”
“I’ll do fine.”
“I’m sure you will, Barry. I’m sure you will.”
CHAPTER 31
When I left the prison I was shaking, and couldn’t decide if it was from cold, anger, or fear.
Since Benedict and I arrived in separate cars, we didn’t have a chance to touch base after the polygraph. Herb seemed even more distant than yesterday, not carrying our exchange any further than “Good morning.” I back-burnered my problems and confronted Herb when we got back to the station.
“I left Bernice.”
“You left Bernice?”
“Last night. Not that big of an adjustment, really. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for the past month, anyway. At least the Motel 6 has a big bed I can stretch out in, and I’ve got a ‘no nagging’ sign on the door. It’s refreshing, waking up without having to hear all of my problems pointed out to me.”
“Herb, I’m sorry.”
“No need. This was a long time coming, believe me.”
“Are you okay?”
Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay.
“Fine. I missed breakfast, though.” He smiled, and it was an unpleasant thing. “First time in twenty-two years. Want to go grab a bite?”
I nodded. Herb drove, recklessly, to a diner on Clark, the kind of place that served pancakes twenty-four hours a day and boasted “fountain creations” on their storefront sign. Nothing on the menu was over six dollars, and our waitress moved so slowly I was tempted to take her pulse. I got two eggs, sunny-side up.
“Comes with toast,” our server yawned.
I shrugged.
Herb ordered a ham and cheddar cheese omelette, with a side of bacon and two sides of sausage, hold the toast.
“This diet is killing me.”
“I bet. I think I can actually hear your arteries harden.”
He leaned in close, conspiratorially.
“It’s the starch. I thought eating all the fatty foods I wanted would be great, but right now I would kill for a sandwich made out of french fries and macaroni.”
“They’ve got that on the menu. It comes with a free angiogram.”
Herb added a ninth packet of artificial sweetener to his coffee and stirred it with his fork.
“How are you doing, Jack?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do. Maybe it will help me take my mind off my problems.”
I gave it to him. He paused, between noshing on fatty meat, to impart this bit of wisdom: “Damn, Jack, you’re a mess.”
I didn’t feel like eating, but I forced the toast down because Herb’s constant staring at it made me edgy.
“Thanks, partner. Misery loves company, I guess.”
“Are you still in love with Alan?”
“I don’t think I ever stopped loving him.”
“Does he want you back?”
“I think so.”
“Do you love Latham?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to have to choose.”
“I know.”
“Who are you going to choose?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who do you love more?”
