“Your loss… well, not yours. Two hundred and some odd people’s loss.”
“And killing them is only going to make your organization a pariah, a—”
“I know what ‘pariah’ means. Go on.”
“Don’t you think it would work to your advantage, from a publicity point of view, if you call off the attack, or tell me the location now?”
He hesitated. “Maybe. That could be, yeah.” Then his eyes brightened. “Now, I’m not inclined to call anything off. That’d look bad. Or tell you direct where this thing’s going to happen. But you being Ms. Firecracker and all, how ‘bout I give you a chance to figure it out. We’ll play a game.”
“Game?”
“Twenty Questions. I’ll answer honestly, I swear I will.”
Sometimes that last sentence was a deception flag. Now, she didn’t think so.
“And if you find out where those two hundred and ten folks’re going to meet Jesus… then good for you. I can honestly say I didn’t tell you. But you only get twenty questions. You don’t figure it out, get the morgue ready. You want to play, Kathryn? If not, I’ll just decide I want my lawyer and hope I’m next to a TV in—” He looked at the clock. “—one hour and forty-one minutes.”
“All right, let’s play,” Dance said, and she subtly wiped the sweat that had dotted her palms. How on earth to frame twenty questions to narrow down where the attack would take place? She’d never been in an interrogation like this.
He sat forward. “This’ll be fun!”
“Is the attack going to be an explosive device?”
“Question one—I’ll keep count. No.”
“What will it be?”
“That’s question two but, sorry, you know Twenty Questions: has to be yes or no answers. But I’ll give you a do-over.”
“Will it be a chemical/bio weapon?”
“Sorta cheating there, a twofer. But I’ll say yes.”
“Is it going to be in a place open to the public?”
“Number three. Yes, sorta public. Let’s say, there’ll be public access.”
He was telling the truth. All his behavior and the pitch and tempo of voice bore out his honesty. But what did he mean by public access but not quite public?
“Is it an entertainment venue?”
“Question four. Well, not really, but there will be entertainment there.”
“Christmas related?”
He scoffed. “That’s five. Are you asking questions wisely, Ms. Firecracker? You’ve used a quarter of them already. You could have combined Christmas and entertainment. Anyway, yes, Christmas is involved.”
Dance thought this curious. The Brothers of Liberty apparently had a religious side, even if they weren’t born-again fanatics. She would have thought the target might be Islamic or Jewish.
“Have the victims done anything to your organization personally?”
Thinking police or law enforcement or government.
“Six. No.”
“You’re targeting them on ideological grounds?”
“Seven. Yes.”
She asked, “Will it be in Monterey County?”
“Number eight. Yes.”
“In the city of…” No, if she followed those lines of questioning, she’d use up all the questions just asking about the many towns and unincorporated areas in Monterey County. “Will it be near the water?”
“Sloppy question. Expect better from you Ms. Firecracker. Do-over. Near the what?”
Stupid of her, Dance realized, her heart pounding. There were a number of bodies of water and rivers in the area. And don’t ask about the ocean. Technically, Monterey wasn’t on the Pacific. “Will it be within a half mile of Monterey Bay?”
“Good!” he said, enjoying himself. “Yes. That was nine. Almost halfway there.”
And she could see he was telling the truth completely. Every answer was delivered according to his kinesic baseline.
“Do you and Gabe Paulson have a partner helping you in the event?”
One eyebrow rose. “Yes. Number ten. You’re halfway to saving all them poor folks, Kathryn.”
“Is the third person a member of the Brothers of Liberty?”
“Yes. Eleven.”
She was thinking hard, unsure how to finesse the partner’s existence into helpful information. She changed tack. “Do the victims need tickets to get into the venue?”
“Twelve. I want to play fair. I honestly don’t know. But they did have to sign up and pay. That’s more than I should give you, but I’m enjoying this.” And indeed it seemed that Keplar was.
She was beginning to form some ideas.
“Is the venue a tourist attraction?”
“Thirteen. Yes, I’d say so. At least near tourist attractions.”
Now she felt safe using one of her geographical questions. “Is it in the city of Monterey?”
“No. Fourteen.”
“Carmel?”
“No. Fifteen.”
Dance kept her own face neutral. What else should she be asking? If she could narrow it down a bit more, and if Michael O’Neil and his crime scene team came up with other details, they might cobble together a clear picture of where the attack would take place then evacuate every building in the area.
“How you doing there, Kathryn? Feeling the excitement of a good game? I sure am.” He looked at the clock. Dance did, too. Hell, time had sped by during this exchange. It was now 2:42.
She didn’t respond to his question, but tried a different tack. “Do your close friends know what you’re doing?”
He frowned. “You want to use question sixteen for that? Well, your choice. Yes.”
“Do they approve?”
“Yes, all of them. Seventeen. Getting all you need here, Kathryn? Seems you’re getting off track.”
But she wasn’t. Dance had another strategy. She was comfortable with the information she had—tourist area, near the water, a paid-for event, Christmas related, a few other facts—and with what O’Neil found, she hoped they could narrow down areas to evacuate. Now she was hoping to convince him to confess by playing up the idea raised earlier. That by averting the attack he’d still score some good publicity but wouldn’t have to go to jail forever or die by lethal injection. Even if she lost the Twenty Questions game, which seemed likely, she was getting him to think about the people he was close to, friends and family he could still spend time with—if he stopped the attack.
“And family—do your siblings approve?”
“Question eighteen. Don’t have any. I’m an only child. You only got two questions left, Kathryn. Spend ‘em wisely.”
Dance hardly heard the last sentences. She was stunned.
Oh, no…
His behavior when he’d made the comment about not having siblings—a bald lie—was identical to that of the baseline.
During the entire game he’d been lying.
Their eyes met. “Tripped up there, didn’t I?” He laughed hard. “We’re off the grid so much, didn’t think you knew about my family. Shoulda been more careful.”
“Everything you just told me was a lie.”
“Thin air. Whole cloth. Pick your cliché, Ms. Firecracker. Had to run the clock. There’s nothing on God’s green earth going to save those people.”
She understood now what a waste of time this had been. Wayne Keplar was probably incapable of being kinesically analyzed. The Ten Commandments Principle didn’t apply in his case. Keplar felt no more stress lying than he did telling the truth. Like serial killers and schizophrenics, political extremists often feel they are doing what’s right, even if those acts are criminal or reprehensible to others. They’re convinced of their own moral rectitude.
“Look at it from my perspective. Sure, we would’ve gotten some press if I’d confessed. But you know reporters—they’d get tired of the story after a couple days. Two hundred dead folk? Hell, we’ll be on CNN for weeks. You can’t buy publicity like that.”