“No.”
“Do you like your steak cooked rare?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had sex with a man?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been in prison?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like apple pie?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been addicted to alcohol or drugs?”
“No.”
“Are you an escaped convict?”
“No.”
“Do you believe you could kill in defense of your own life?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like ice cream?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever killed another person?”
“No.”
“Have you ever stolen anything?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sometimes drive too fast?”
“Yes.”
“Are you opposed to abortion?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a police officer working undercover?”
“No.”
“Do you like sports?”
“Yes.” This was a lie.
“Are you employed by a federal law enforcement agency?”
“No.” He breathed the word.
“Have you told any lies during this examination?”
“No.”
“Are you wearing socks?”
“Yes.”
“Is your true name Jesse Barron?”
“Yes.”
“Is your shirt red?”
“No.”
“Before St. Clair, did you live in Toccoa, Georgia?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Casey said. He switched off the machine.
Jesse had tried to keep count; he had lied nine or ten times, he thought. “How’d I do?” he asked. If he got the wrong answer, his plan was to grab the pistol Pat was wearing, walk him out of the police station, then make a run for it.
“You lied three times,” Casey said.
Jesse tried not to look relieved.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You never stole anything,” Casey said, looking at the tape.
“I stole five dollars when I was treasurer of the agriculture club in high school.”
“You said yes to being a Christian.”
“Well, if I could have, I’d have said I was sort of a Christian.”
“The other one is funny. I got a reaction when you said no to being an escaped convict.”
Jesse couldn’t help but laugh.
“You said yes to having been in prison.”
“Well, in jail, once, in Toccoa, when I was a kid.”
“Oh. But you’re not an escaped convict?”
“Nope.”
“Actually, Jesse, you did better than most. What I was looking for was a pattern of lies, and that didn’t show up.”
Jesse could feel the sweat under his arms. “I swear, I didn’t tell you a single lie.”
“Well, if I were a more expert operator, I might not have called the three I did. Mostly, Jesse, I wanted to know if you are a cop.”
Jesse tried looking amazed. “Why on earth would you think I’m a cop?”
Casey slapped him on the back. “Never mind, it’s not important. You better get on home for dinner.”
“Okay, see you later.”
“Goodnight, Jesse.”
Jesse walked out of the station into the cool night air, breathing deeply. He got into his truck and started for home, nearly limp with relief. Then he had a disturbing thought: what if Pat Casey were a better polygraph operator than he’d let on?
When Jesse had left the station, Casey called Jack Gene Coldwater.
“How’d it go?” Coldwater asked.
“There were two anomalies that might be important,” Casey replied. “First, I got a reaction when I asked if he were an escaped convict, but judging from his other answers, I think that was a fluke. No ex-con would have a sheriff in his hometown vouching for him.”
“And the other?”
“I think maybe he once killed somebody.”
“Natural enough to lie about that,” Coldwater said. “Is he who he says he is?”
“The polygraph says yes. Oh, and he admitted to sleeping with Jenny.”
Coldwater laughed. “Well, at least we know he’s not queer.”
Chapter 27
Jesse stood at the kitchen counter opening the wine while Jenny put dinner on the table. He poured a little wine into a glass and tasted it.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been to a good restaurant or two, you know.”
“You have? Where?”
“Atlanta, mostly, and, of course, New York.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been to New York?”
“I’ve been around.”
“Why in the world would you have gone to New York?”
Jesse thought fast. “I went to a builder’s show at the Coliseum, once. Spent nearly a week up there.”
“What’s it like?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I’d love to.”
“You mean it?”
“I do.”
“Shall we take Carey?”
“No, not if it means missing school.”
“It would, I’m afraid.” He wasn’t afraid at all; he looked forward to having her all to himself in the big city.
“The school frowns on kids missing a day for any reason.”
“Can she stay with a friend?”
“I’m sure she can. Come on, let’s eat.” She called Carey to dinner and sat down. She had cooked steaks, his favorite.
Jesse tore into his dinner.
“Can I have some wine?” Carey asked.
Jenny looked shocked. “Certainly not, young lady. Not until you’re twenty-one!”
“Aw...”
“Carey, would you like to stay with Harriet Twomy for a few days next week? I’ll call her mother.”
“Sure, but why?”
“Jesse and I are going to New York City for a short vacation.”
“Why can’t I go?” the child wailed.
“You know very well you can’t miss school.”
“And who gave you permission to go?” Carey demanded.
Jenny reddened. “I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
“You’ll get in trouble,” Carey said.
“That’s enough, young lady; eat your dinner.”
Jesse drove to Coeur d’Alene the following morning and bought a 35mm camera. As his purchase was being wrapped he spotted a Polaroid instant camera, and he bought that, too. On the way back to St. Clair he pulled over at a rest stop and retrieved his cellular phone from his lunchbox.
“This is Fuller.”
“It’s Jesse.”
“How’s it going, buddy?”
“More and more interesting. Pat Casey gave me a polygraph examination last night.”
“Oh, holy shit!”
“Looks like I passed.”
“How could you beat a polygraph?”
“A combination of a little yoga breathing, and, I suspect, Casey is either a green operator or a piss-poor one.”
“Are you sure you’re in the clear?”
“I’m still alive. The acid test will come next week, when I go to New York.”
“New York? What are you talking about?”
“My employer is sending me to make a pitch to an architectural firm. If Coldwater lets me get out of town, then I figure he trusts me.”
“How long will you be there?”
“Going Thursday, coming back Monday.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“You’re staying at the Roosevelt, at Madison and Forty-seventh Street.”
“Why?”
“I think it would be good for you and I to meet and have a talk.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Call the hotel direct and make the reservation. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“How will I contact you?”
“I’ll contact you.”