there.”
“Sounds good.”
I was removing the tape measure from my bag when he said, “Will you wait up a minute with that, Mrs. D? There’s something I have to tell you first.”
No grin. No humor. No innuendo.
A band tightened around my chest.
He leaned forward, focused and intense, all signs of sleep deprivation gone. “The Alexanders’ insurance company wants the FBI involved.”
“Understandable, considering the value of the missing Monet.”
“Correct, if not exactly flattering to our local boys in brown.” He blew out a breath. “I hope you also find this understandable-you’ve been asked to have a polygraph test.”
My jaw went slack. “As in lie detector?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t kill Maria. I didn’t steal the painting, either.”
“I know that. You know that. Now the insurance company and the chief need to know. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We want to eliminate you as a possible suspect. Not incriminate you.”
“Oh really? How comforting. Are these tests foolproof?”
He glanced away from me to study a nonexistent spot on his wall. Body language doesn’t lie. The answer was no.
“I refuse.”
“Thwarting a police request isn’t smart. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He sounded so morally superior I wanted to fling the measuring tape at him. “Well, you’re not me. You’re not under suspicion, either.”
“How you feel is only natural, but-”
“Is that why you’re here today? Instead of Wilma? To tell me this?”
“Partly. I knew you’d be upset.”
“Now you’re a shrink as well as a detective.” I grabbed my bag and leaped to my feet.
He leaned back in his chair, maddeningly a man at ease in his own home. “You’re not alone.”
Halfway to the door, I turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everyone who knew the entry code is to be tested. For starters, you. The gardener. Jesus Cardoza. And the Alexanders.”
“The Alexanders? That’s ridiculous. They were in Europe at the time.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me but didn’t respond.
“Okay, not ridiculous, but farfetched.” I stomped back to the couch and sat on one of the arms, defying it to break off. “When?”
“What’s the matter with today?”
Chapter Five
Rossi called ahead for an appointment. Then, insisting I was too nervous to get behind the wheel, he drove my Audi to the Florida Polygraph Services office on Airport Road. We made good time along the Tamiami Trail but with minimal small talk. I really was too nervous for that.
Bob Butterworth, the polygraph analyst, met us at the reception desk. He topped six-three, carried at least a hundred extra pounds, and was dressed in black from head to foot. His Darth Vader look didn’t make me feel any easier.
“I’ll be waiting outside, Mrs. D.” Rossi took out his cell phone as he headed for the front door. Before it swung closed behind him, I heard him say, “Yeah, I’ll be in as soon as we’re finished here.”
Police business, I surmised, wishing he had followed me into the cubicle with Darth, who said, “Please have a seat and let me tell you how the polygraph works.”
He indicated a straight-backed wooden chair in front of a small table. The stale air in the windowless room reeked of fear and tension, or maybe it was just my imagination working overtime. I took the seat he indicated. With nothing on the industrial tan walls to attract my attention, I concentrated on the table and its black box. Roughly the size of a briefcase, the box bristled with wires, some of which led to a blood pressure cuff. A graph printer was attached to one side of the box.
“There’s no right or wrong to this test,” he said as I sat down. “What the polygraph does is record your physiological responses to the questions I’ll ask. These responses are involuntary. In other words, they can’t be controlled.”
I was about to ask, “What makes you so sure?” when he handed me a sheet of graph paper. “This is a sample printout.” Jagged vertical lines marched across the page. “The longer the lines, the greater the emotional response to the question.”
“Those are the lies, then?”
He stiffened. “Possibly.”
He removed a sheet of paper from a manila envelope Rossi had handed him when we came in. He glanced it at briefly then gave it to me. “Read these over and when asked, simply answer truthfully with a yes or a no. All questions are factual about events that did or did not occur. None are based on emotion or opinion.”
Straightforward enough, but still I could feel my blood pressure shoot up, and my palms go sweaty. Rossi must have written the questions before I got to his house. Knowing he had did nothing to calm me down. In fact, believing he’d set me up, I’d be taking the test mad as hell. As Darth stood there with the blood pressure cuff in his hands, I scanned the questions. He had been truthful; I could answer every one with a single yes or no.
I gave him back the page. He hooked me up to the machine and wrapped the cuff around my upper arm. “I’m also going to put a monitor on your finger to measure pulse and breathing rates, so try not to move your fingers or toes. Movement can affect the results. Okay so far?”
I nodded though I wasn’t okay with this at all. Far from it. Maybe I should have contacted a lawyer before getting in so deep. I heaved a sigh. A fine time to worry about legal counsel now that I was hooked up like fish bait.
“First, I’ll ask you some basic questions,” Darth was saying. “They’re not relevant to the case, but they’ll give me a baseline for your responses. I’ll be marking the sheet as you respond. Don’t worry about that. It’s standard procedure. Just answer truthfully. Then I’ll ask a final question, and I want you to lie.”
I nodded. The fake lie would establish a sample of my reactions when I really was lying.
He stood behind the table, turned on the polygraph machine and asked, “Ready?”
I nodded.
“Is your name Devalera Dunne?”
“Yes.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Divorced?”
“No.”
“Widowed?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever stolen money?”
“Yes.”
“Final question. Have you stolen anything in the last six months?”
“Yes.”
The long sheet of graph paper spewing out of the printer spilled over the table edge. Darth examined it then picked up the list of relevant questions Rossi had prepared.
“All right, Mrs. Dunne. We’ll do a practice run of the lieutenant’s questions. Simply answer as truthfully as you
