XO

volunteering principle. When someone answers a question, then immediately offers what he or she anticipates will be the next question, that person is often trying to deflect or diffuse a line of inquiry.

Dance had noted that Tabatha said she hadn’t seen anybody here last night-or this morning.

Why had she felt it important to mention that? It made no sense unless she was covering up something.

Dance removed her sunglasses.

“I really need to get in to the children.”

“Tabatha, what did you see this morning at Bobby’s trailer?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

Effective kinesic analysis of witnesses and suspects involves conversing with the individual for a long period of time-days or, ideally, weeks. Initially nothing is said about the crime at all; the interviewer asks questions and makes comments that relate to the subject’s life, all topics about which the truth is known. This establishes the suspect’s baseline behavior-how he or she speaks and acts when responding honestly. It’s then that the interviewer segues into inquiries about the crime and compares the subject’s behavior when answering those questions to the baseline. Any variation suggests stress and therefore possible deception.

However, even without establishing a baseline, there are a few mannerisms that suggest lying, at least to an experienced investigator like Kathryn Dance. Tabatha’s voice was now slightly higher in pitch than earlier-a sign of stress.

A glance toward Bobby’s trailer, in front of which Madigan and his deputies were staring back at Dance. She ignored them and said calmly, “It would be good for everybody if you could give us a little more information.”

Everybody…

You too.

At least she wasn’t a crier. Often at this stage, when Dance tipped witnesses or suspects into admitting they’d been lying, many women, and a surprising number of men, began to cry. It could take upward of an hour to convince them that they were not subhuman for being deceptive; they were simply scared or concerned about their families or had other reasons. Tabatha gave no reaction, other than a thoughtful furrowing of her thick eyebrows as she probably considered the risk to her children if she was honest.

Dance assessed she was on the borderline.

“We’ll make sure you’re looked out for. But this is pretty serious.”

A low voice, woman to woman, adult to adult. “You can say that. It’s easy to say that.”

“I give you my word.”

One mother to another.

A very long ten seconds passed. “There was somebody in the trailer this morning.”

“Could you describe them?”

“I couldn’t see the face. ’Causa the angle, you know. Just the body, chest and shoulders, through the window. Like a, you know, silhouette. Not even clothes. That’s all I could see. I swear.”

Often a deceptive flag, that last sentence can also mean exactly what it says, as Dance now believed. “Which window?”

“That one there, in the front?” She pointed. It was horizontal, two feet high, three wide.

“You came out for a smoke and saw this person?”

“I’m aiming to quit. I will. Worried about the weight, you know. That always happens when you quit smoking. I try. Don’t really want to gain any more pounds. Tony Senior’s commented on it. And he should talk. Mr. Budweiser.”

“What time?”

“Eleven, eleven-thirty.”

“Did you see a car? Or when the person left?”

“No.”

Then she noticed to her alarm that Madigan had given up shooting hate rays at her, had turned and was nearly to the front door of Bobby’s trailer.

“Thank you, Tabatha. Go be with your children.”

“Will I have to testify?”

As Dance sprinted toward the trailer she called over her shoulder, “We’ll look after you, promise!” Then shouting: “Detective! Stop!”

Chapter 12

P. K. MADIGAN’S hand was nearly to the doorknob.

His eyes slid Dance’s way and she saw his face cloud with the irritation he mustered so well.

But he also seemed to understand instantly that she had a point about not wanting him to go inside.

Or, she deduced from his hand dipping toward his pistol, maybe some risk awaited.

He stepped back. So did Dennis Harutyun.

Dance hurried across the street and joined them.

“Anybody inside?” the chief detective asked sharply.

Dance steadied her breathing. “Don’t think so. But I don’t know. The thing is the perp-or somebody-was here this morning. Eleven, eleven-thirty. You don’t want to contaminate anything.”

“In here?”

“I think we should assume it was the killer.”

“She know that for sure? The time?” A glance toward Tabatha’s trailer.

“Probably. The TV was on and it would’ve been all morning. Her husband’s away a lot and she’d keep it on for comfort. She’d know the time according to the show she was watching.”

“Who’d she see? Can she ID ’em?”

“No. And I believe her. She didn’t see a face or vehicle.”

A deep sigh. He muttered to Harutyun, “Get CSU over here. And tape off the property. As much as you can. All of the trailer.”

The careful deputy made a call.

Madigan and Dance both stepped away from the trailer and stood on the crumbling walk.

“What’d Edwin, or whoever, be doing here? Afterward?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could’ve been a friend, one of the crew.”

“A friend maybe. I talked to the crew. They would’ve said something about being here or acted deceptive. And none of them did.”

Silence for a moment as he stared at the door, wanting to go in. He rocked on his feet. He asked her suddenly, “You like to fish?”

“No.”

“Hm.” He studied the crisp, jaundiced grass. “You don’t fish? Or you don’t like to?”

“Neither. But I’ve got a friend who’d live on his boat in Monterey Bay if he could.”

Michael O’Neil was always out in the choppy water. Often with Dance’s son, Wes, and his own children. Sometimes Dance’s father, a retired marine biologist, went along.

“Monterey Bay. Hm. Salmon.” Madigan looked around. “I like to fish.”

“You catch and release?”

“No. Seems crueler to me. I catch and eat.”

“Michael does that too.”

“Michael?”

“My friend.”

More silence, dense as the growing heat, as they watched Harutyun and Stanning string the yellow tape.