“No.”
“Do you own one?”
“They’re illegal in Ontario, except for police work.” Sandra smiled. “But you can buy them easily in New York or Quebec.”
“No,” said Peter, “I’ve never used one.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask,” said Sandra.
“That darned police training,” said Peter.
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “Did you know the deceased man?”
Peter tried to say the name nonchalantly. “Hans Larsen? Sure, I’d met him — I’ve met most of Cathy’s coworkers, either at informal gatherings or at her company’s Christmas parties.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Of Larsen?” Peter took a sip of coffee. “I thought he was a jerk.”
Sandra nodded. “A number of people seemed to have shared your opinion, although others spoke highly of him.”
“I suspect that’s the way it is for just about everyone,” said Peter.
“Just about.” Silence again, then: “Look, Peter, you seem like a nice guy. I don’t want to bring up painful memories. But I know your wife and Hans, well…”
Peter nodded. “Yes, they did. But that was over a long time ago.”
Sandra smiled. “True. But it was more recently that your wife told you about it.”
“And now Larsen is dead.”
Sandra nodded once. “And now Larsen is dead.”
“Ms. Philo—”
She raised a hand. “You can call me Sandra.”
Peter smiled. “Sandra.” Play it cool, he thought. Sarkar would have the virus ready today or tomorrow. It’ll all be over soon. “Let me tell you something, Sandra. I’m a peaceful person. I don’t like wrestling or boxing. I haven’t hit anyone since I was a boy. I’d never hit my wife. And if I had a child, I’d never spank him or her.” He took a sip of coffee. Had he said enough? Would more be better? Cool, dammit. Be cool. But all he wanted to do was tell her the truth about himself — not those machine duplicates, but the real him, the flesh-and-blood him.
“I — I think a lot of the problems in this world come from violence. By spanking our kids we teach them that there are times when it’s okay to hit someone you love — and then we’re shocked to discover that these same kids grow up thinking it’s okay to hit their spouses. I don’t even kill houseflies, Sandra — I capture them in drinking glasses and take them outside. You’re asking whether I killed Larsen. And I’ll tell you directly that I might indeed have been angry with him, I might indeed have hated him, but killing or physically hurting isn’t in my nature. It’s something I simply would not do.”
“Or even think about?” asked Sandra.
Peter spread his arms. “Well, we all think about things. But there’s a world of difference between an idle fantasy and reality.” If there weren’t, thought Peter, I’d have had you and my secretary and a hundred other women right on this very desktop.
Sandra rearranged herself slightly in her chair. “I don’t normally talk about my personal life while on the job, but I went through something very similar to what you did, Peter. My husband — my ex-husband, as of a few months ago — cheated as well. I’m not a violent person, either. I know some would consider that an unlikely thing for a police officer to say, but it’s true. But when I found out what Walter had done — well, I wanted him dead, and I wanted her dead. I’m not given to throwing things, but when I found out I threw the remote control for our TV across the room. It smashed into the wall, and the case broke open; you can still see the spot on the wall where it hit. So I know, Peter, I know that people have violent reactions when this sort of thing happens.”
Peter nodded slowly. “But I did not kill Hans Larsen.”
“We believe it was a professional murder.”
“I didn’t arrange for his killing, either.”
“Let me tell you exactly what my problem is here,” said Sandra. “As I said, we’re looking at a professional hit. Frankly, that sort of thing costs a lot of money — especially with the, ah, extra work this one involved. You and Cathy are better off than most of her coworkers; if anyone could have afforded this sort of thing, it would have been you or her.”
“But we didn’t do it,” said Peter. “Look, I’d be glad to take a lie-detector test.”
Sandra smiled sweetly. “How thoughtful of you to volunteer. I have portable equipment with me.”
Peter felt his stomach muscles tighten. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, it’s a Veriscan Plus — that’s made by your company, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“So I’m sure you have a lot of faith in its abilities. Would you really be willing to take such a test?”
He hesitated. “With my legal counsel present, of course.”
“Legal counsel?” Sandra smiled again. “You haven’t been charged with anything.”
Peter considered. “All right,” he said. “If it will put an end to all this, yes, I’ll agree to a test, here and now. But in the absence of counsel, you may ask three questions only — did I kill Hans Larsen? Did I kill Rod Churchill? Did I arrange their deaths?”
“I have to ask more than three questions — calibrating the machine requires it; you know that.”
“All right,” said Peter. “Presumably you have a script of calibration questions. I’ll agree to the test so long as you don’t deviate from that script.”
“Very well.” Sandra opened her attache case, revealing the polygraph equipment within.
Peter peered at the device. “Don’t you have to be a specialist to operate those machines?”
“You should read your own product brochures, Peter. There’s an expert-system AI chip inside. Anyone can operate one these days.”
Peter grunted. Sandra affixed small sensors to Peter’s forearm and wrist. A flat-panel screen popped up from the attache case, and Sandra angled it so that only she could see it. She touched a few controls, then began to ask questions. “What’s your name?”
“Peter Hobson.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-two.”
“Where were you born?”
“North Battleford, Saskatchewan.”
“Now lie to me. Tell me again where you were born.”
“Scotland.”
“Tell the truth: What is your wife’s first name?”
“Catherine.”
“Now lie: what is your wife’s middle name?”
“Ah — T’Pring.”
“Did you kill Hans Larsen?”
Peter watched Sandra carefully. “No.”
“Did you kill Rod Churchill?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange the killing of either of them?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea who killed them?” Peter held up a hand. “We agreed only three questions, Inspector.”
’’I’m sorry. Surely you don’t mind answering one more, though?” She smiled. “I no more like having to be suspicious of you than you like being a suspect. It I would be nice to be able to scratch you off my list.”
Peter thought. Dammit. “All right,” he said slowly. “I don’t know any person who might have killed them.”
Sandra looked up. “I’m sorry — I guess I upset you I when I went beyond what we’d agreed. There was some very strange activity when you said ‘person.’ Would you please bear with me for just one moment I more and repeat your last answer?”
Peter yanked the sensor from his arm, and threw it n the desktop. “I’ve already put up with more than we agreed,” he said, an edge in his voice. He knew he was making matters worse, and he fought to keep panic from overwhelming him. He pulled the second sensor off his wrist. “I’m through answering questions.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sandra. “Forgive me.”