Abe tried to hide his disappointment.
“But I got to thinking.”
Abe was starting to like this guy. He grinned his scar-slashed grin.
“What’d you get to thinking?”
“Well, as I said, the gun didn’t have any prints, but it didn’t even have any smudges. It was like it had never been held.”
“But it had been fired?”
“Oh yeah, no question about that. But still, even with the mud and salt water, you’d expect something. Some oil residue.”
“So?”
“But there wasn’t anything. Which is, maybe, I don’t know, a little suggestive. So I did a trace test for Armor All.”
“Armor All?”
“You know, the car stuff? Hell’s Angels got wise to this first. You wipe a weapon down, then spray it with Armor All and you won’t leave a print.”
“And there was Armor All on this gun?”
“Right.”
“And so?”
“And so that means that whoever shot the weapon knew about Armor All.”
“Uh huh?”
He leaned over the counter, eyes shining in his excitement. “It means the perp was a pro. Anybody else would have just wiped it down afterward, don’t you think?”
Glitsky acknowledged that. “Okay.”
“So your shooter is in the business. This isn’t high tech, but I wouldn’t say it’s general knowledge either. So if you got two suspects and one is, say, a civilian, then maybe that one isn’t so likely to be your guy.”
“Ray Weir,” Abe said, “the husband. A live one, up to now.”
“It’s something to think about, is all I’m saying.”
Drysdale was going over the ground rules again. Outside the window, cars were starting to back up on the freeway heading toward the Bay Bridge. Gubicza leaned backward and could make out the clock on the Union 76 sign-4:38. The day had been shot to hell on this idiocy, and it wasn’t over yet.
Fred, still enthusiastic and confident, was in the process of getting hooked up by the polygraph technician, a woman in uniform who with Drysdale would be the only people present when Fred was questioned. This was Manny’s great concern. Polygraphs didn’t work with distractions-with a trained subject, they didn’t work at all-and Manny would not be in the actual room when the procedure took place. There would be no court reporter, no other attorneys, no one except Fred, Drysdale, and this woman, who would probably sit behind Fred, out of his line of vision.
This wasn’t as bad as it could be because Drysdale had already presented Manny and Fred with a complete list of the questions he would be asking, all either yes or no, and lawyer and client had gone over them for the past hour, making sure there was nothing Fred might slip on.
So Manny listened with half an ear, figuring that if Drysdale was planning on a blindside attack, there was almost no possibility he would do it now.
“So as I say,” Drysdale droned on, “this isn’t any formal proceeding, but the nature of your allegations”-here he smiled at Treadwell, at Gubicza-“are so… so unusual, that I believe you’ll get more”-again searching for the right word-“more enthusiastic cooperation from this office in general…” Drysdale spread his hands out, smiling, everybody’s friend. “This isn’t me, gentlemen. I’m selling the whole package both to my boss and my staff, and there is some concern-possibly justified at this stage, I’m afraid -well, let’s just say your cooperation here, Manny, will enhance your and your client’s credibility.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Treadwell said.
“Fred, please.” Gubicza wasn’t about to have his client get into an off-the-record discussion with Art Drysdale, who beneath his benign exterior was one of the craftiest attorneys Gubicza had ever opposed.
“Me?” Drysdale acted shocked. “I totally believe you. That’s why I’m doing this, we’re doing this.” He hiked a leg up on the table where the polygraph sat. There was no guile on his face, he wasn’t trying to sell anything, just convey information. “Manny, of course, is right to treat this as though we’re adversarial here. But, without mentioning names, I’m not giving anything away when I say that certain members of the staff here are skeptical. But this, today, this is just ammo to use against those people, so in a real sense, for today at least, we’re on the same side. You tell me what happened with Hector Medina, the polygraph corroborates it-okay, so it’s not formally admissible-it’ll get the team behind this case. And that’s what we both want. It makes my job easier.” He spread his arms again, his wide and sincere smile.
The technician was finished now, and Manny walked up behind Fred and whispered that he should remember to stick to the questions asked and above all to try to keep calm. Then he left the room.
“You can sit back if you’d like,” Drysdale said. He himself pulled up an old office chair covered with yellow leather and crossed one leg over the other. “As you know, we ask only yes and no questions, so we’ll start with the easy stuff to calibrate this thing. Your name is Fred Treadwell?”
Fred nodded.
“Please say yes or no.”
“I’m sorry. Yes.”
“Your name is Fred Treadwell?”
“Yes.”
They ran through the usual opening questions-name, address, day of the week-getting used to the slight scratch of the pencil on the lined paper, the hum of the machine.
“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Drysdale said.
“No,” Fred said, and Drysdale noted the skip in the pencil. So it was getting to him. Actually, the subject didn’t have to say anything to get a reading. The body reacted even when the words weren’t said. Drysdale knew this, was counting on it, and on Treadwell not understanding it.
“Okay, let’s tell a couple of lies.”
“But if I know I’m not trying to deceive by giving a false answer, the machine will register true, won’t it?”
Drysdale gave him a broad grin. “You get this stuff, don’t you? You’re right. So try and deceive me a little on this next set, okay.” He leaned forward in his chair. “We’re still in the test phase here, all right?”
Fred nodded, licking his lips. He looked to the door behind Drysdale, as though seeking assurance that Manny was out there to help him if he needed it.
“You have worked at your current job eight years, is that correct?”
“Yes.” True.
“And you’ve lived two years in your apartment?”
“Yes.” False.
“Two years?” Build on the falsehood and see what he does. “And you have painted it during that time?”
“The time I lived there or the last two years?”
Very good, Fred, Drysdale thought. He said, “I’m sorry, have you painted the apartment in the past two years?”
“No.” True.
“And your apartment is on the second floor?”
“No.” False.
“So it’s on the third floor?”
Pause. “Yes.” False.
“But if you fell from the third story, wouldn’t you do more than sprain your ankle?”
“That wasn’t one of the questions.” A light sweat had broken on Fred’s forehead.
All innocence, Drysdale held up his hands. “It seemed to spring naturally from the previous answers.” Not pushing it, he looked over at the polygraph. “Look, in any event, the machine seems to be working properly.” He came back to Fred. “You’ve not lived in your apartment two years and the apartment is not on the third floor. Are both of these statements correct?”
“Yes.”
Drysdale glanced at the machine again, took in a breath and held it a minute. Letting it out in a rush, he said, “All right, the test is over. Let’s begin.”
Drysdale had the typed questions in front of him. He also had Fred’s Statement of Facts on Medina’s attack, which he’d used to draw up the questions. He started at the beginning and asked the questions in order, lulling Fred into a space where his confidence was growing with the polygraph’s support to the point that he seemed almost unaware that he was wired. It was just a conversation between Drysdale and himself, even if one side of it was only yes and no.