“That’s fine,” Claire said. “Thanks.”
The polygrapher arrived fifteen minutes later, a stout, squat, bearded man in his late fifties wearing aviator horn-rimmed glasses. He carried a silvery metal briefcase. While he set up the instruments, he chatted. His name was Richard Givens. He had a deep, soothing voice. He spoke slowly, carefully, as if to a child, and in a soft-edged Southern accent. He was from Raleigh, North Carolina. He had attended polygraph school during his service with the Naval Investigative Service and had been an examiner with the navy at Newport, Rhode Island, and San Diego.
“Do you think there might be some more comfortable chairs anywhere around?” he asked. “Comfortable chairs would be a very good idea, if you have them.”
Grimes went out into the hallway and returned a minute later with a chair under each arm. “These okay?”
“Those would be great,” Givens said. He bustled around for a while. “I use a five-channel instrument,” he explained. “That means five pens moving on this spool of paper here. There’s three parameters-the pneumo, the cardio, and the galvanic. The pulse rate, the breathing pattern, and the galvanic skin response.”
“Can we stay in the room?” Grimes asked.
“If you want to,” he said. “But you’ll have to stand behind the prisoner. Out of his line of sight.”
“Fine,” Grimes said.
“The test I give,” Givens said, now stopped before Grimes, his short arms swaying awkwardly at his side, “is highly structured, very pure. Very dogmatic. First I will meet with the prisoner and talk until we feel comfortable with each other. I’ll go over the questions with him in advance, several times. He will know every question in advance. There will be no surprises. When I feel the test is complete, I will send both you and the prisoner out. Then I’ll go over the charts. Then I will call you back in first.”
Claire nodded. She sat in one of the comfortable chairs.
“If I find that deception is indicated-if he’s lying, in my opinion-I will tell you that. Please understand that my product remains confidential.
“Then I will call the prisoner in and give him a report as well. If he has failed the test, what I’ll tell him is that the test is not going to help him in any way. Then, if you want, I’ll begin the interrogation process. To elicit a confession.”
“We’ll let you know what we want when the time comes,” Claire said.
Givens looked at his watch. “The prisoner isn’t arriving for half an hour, is that right? Not till oh-five?”
“Right.”
“Good. Now I need to find out from you the exact parameters you’re interested in finding out about.”
Claire and Grimes watched Tom-he was still Tom to her, whatever his official name-arrive in a white panel van. Wearing a khaki uniform and full restraints, he was escorted out of the van by several armed brig guards. They took him, jingling loudly, down the hall. One guard stationed himself outside the window of the conference room. Another stood in the hallway outside the door. Still another removed Tom’s restraints and then joined the one standing outside the door.
“Tom, this is Richard Givens,” Claire said, introducing the two as if at a cocktail party. “Richard, this is-Ronald Kubik.” They were about to go through a truth-telling examination. She would use his true name. It had the unintended side effect, however, of making him seem a different person.
“How do you do, Ronald,” Givens said as they shook hands. He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs and gestured for Tom to do the same. They conversed for a long while. Givens had suddenly become warm and convivial, no longer didactic. The shift was startling. Tom had begun their talk wary, but after a while his reserve had melted and he was his usual amiable self.
“Ronald, have you ever been polygraphed before?” Givens asked.
“Yes, I have,” Tom said.
“When was that?”
“At several points before and during my service with Detachment 27.”
“Then you were given the test the army uses. It’s called the Zone of Comparison Test. It’s a very simple test, a very good test. That’s the test I’m going to give you this morning. I don’t know how the examiner who gave you the test worked, but when I give the polygraph, there are no surprises. No surprise questions. In fact, you and I are going to draw up a list of questions, and then we’re going to go over it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“No surprises. No ambushes. All very friendly, okay?”
“Okay. Sounds good to me.”
“Now, Professor Heller, Mr. Grimes, could you come around here? I need you to stand out of Ronald’s sight. No distractions, please.”
They both moved around to where Givens was standing. Claire’s pulse quickened-a sympathetic reaction to what her husband was experiencing?
“Is your name Ronald Kubik?” Givens asked. His voice had become once again slow and deliberate and monotonous.
“Yes.” Tom’s voice was clear and strong.
There was a long silence. Claire counted at least fifteen seconds. Had Givens forgotten what came next?
“Regarding your presence at the incident at La Colina on 22 June 1985, will you answer my questions truthfully?”
“Yes.”
Another long pause. Grimes looked at Claire.
“Are you convinced I will not ask a surprise question on this test?” Givens asked.
“Yes.”
Claire counted fifteen seconds again. The long silence was intentional.
“Before your enlistment in the army, did you ever deliberately injure anyone?”
“No.”
“Did you actively participate in the death of anyone during the 22 June 1985 shootings?” Claire held her breath. She felt everything inside freeze. Even her heart seemed to stop beating.
“No.” Tom’s reply was loud and clear and strong. She exhaled silently. She squinted, trying to make sense of the pen-scratchings on the unspooling paper, but couldn’t.
“Following your desertion from the army in 1985, did you ever deliberately commit bodily harm to anyone?”
“No.”
Eighteen seconds this time.
“Did you take part in the shootings on 22 June 1985 in the village of La Colina, El Salvador?”
Tom’s reply came more quickly this time. “No.”
Sixteen seconds. Claire found herself following the jerky little movement of the second hand on her watch.
“Is there something else you’re afraid I’ll ask you a question about, even though I told you I would not?”
“No.”
Fifteen seconds precisely.
“Have you ever threatened a loved one with bodily harm?”
“No.” Seventeen seconds of silence.
“Did you see any civilians die on 22 June 1985 in the village of La Colina?”
“No.”
Fifteen seconds, then twenty. The longest pause yet. “Thank you, Ronald,” Givens said. “We’re done now.”
Grimes knocked on the door. It was opened, and the two guards came in. They put the restraints back on Tom. They took him out into the hallway, and Claire and Grimes followed. Grimes and Claire sat in front of the stenographers’ office. Tom stood with his guards on either side. They all waited in silence, five minutes, which seemed forever.
Givens opened the door. “Professor Heller, Mr. Grimes, could I talk to you, please?”
They entered the room. Her heart thudded. She felt prickly perspiration under her ears.
He waited until they had both sat down. He didn’t seem to be interested in generating suspense; he seemed to be following some script, moving through it with plodding deliberateness.
“Well,” Grimes said, “is he a lying motherfucker?”
Claire wanted to throttle him.
Givens did not smile.
“In my opinion, he is telling the truth. My report will state NDI. No deception indicated.”
“Aha,” Claire said, calm and professional on the surface. Inside she was elated. Not since Annie’s birth had she actually experienced such a physical, biological sensation of elation: a great swelling inside her rib cage, the feeling that her organs, her heart and lungs, had lifted several inches. At the same time she felt an immediate easing of tension. “Thank you,” she said. “When can we expect your report?”