Bloody Mary

CHAPTER 30

Fuller works the staple under the nail of his big toe, digging it in deep.

There’s very little blood, but the pain is electric.

With a quarter inch of metal left protruding, he puts on his sock and shoe.

It’s lying time.

The guards come to get him, go through the ritual of putting on the restraints. Fuller’s head hurts, but he doesn’t ask for aspirin. A pain reliever wouldn’t be in his best interests at this time.

They march him past other cells. Some cajole him, call out insults. He ignores them, staying focused on the task ahead.

The room is the same as before. Steel doors. Two chairs. A table, with the lie detector machine on it. Fuller is put in the chair, facing away from the machine.

Two of his doctors come into the room: shrinks, in suits. His lawyer, Eric Garcia, a Hollywood hotshot who seeks out high-profile cases so he can show off his five-thousand-dollar suits on television. The assistant DA, Libby something, who looks particularly tasty today in a pale pink jacket and matching skirt. The examiner, a different guy than before, round and soft and wearing a freaking white lab coat, for god’s sake.

There’s also a pleasant surprise: Jack Daniels and her fat partner, Herb Benedict, who doesn’t seem as fat as he had a few months ago.

“Looking good, Detective Benedict. Diet seems to be working well.”

“Please, Barry, no talking to them.” Garcia pats Fuller on the shoulder.

The polygraph examiner rolls up Fuller’s sleeve, attaches the blood pressure cuff. He puts sticky probes on Fuller’s fingers to measure changes in electrical resistance resulting from sweat, and three elastic bands around his chest to record breathing.

“Ready to begin when you are, Barry,” the examiner says, standing in front of him.

Barry smiles. “Let her rip.”

“We’re going to start by calibrating the machine. I’d like you to pick a card from this deck, and look at it, but don’t tell me what it is. Then I’m going to ask you questions about the card, and I want you to answer no to all of my questions, even if it is a lie.”

He holds out a deck. Barry picks a card, looks at it. A Queen of Diamonds. He smiles again, knowing that the deck is rigged; they’re all Queens of Diamonds. This is to make him believe the machine is infallible, to make him even more nervous.

“Is the card black?”

“No.”

“Is the card red?”

“No.”

“Is the card a face card?”

“No.”

“Is the card a ten?”

“No.”

And on it goes. Fuller acts normally, and doesn’t try to control his body’s responses in the least. When the examiner finally says, “The card is a Queen of Diamonds,” Fuller laughs, genuinely.

“That’s terrific! Better than a magic show.”

“As you can see, Barry, the machine can pick out lies rather easily. If you lie, we’ll catch it.”

“That’s why I’m here. To show I’m telling the truth.”

“We’ll proceed, then. Please answer yes or no to the following questions. Is your name Barry Fuller?”

“Yes.”

“Is the world flat?”

“No.”

“Have you ever stolen something?”

Fuller knows this is a control question, one that sets the bar. The polygraph records the body’s responses to the questions. The examiner understands that being accused about a crime will cause the breathing to increase, the palms to sweat, and the blood pressure to rise. The yes and no answers are irrelevant. The examiner is looking for the four markers on the scrolling piece of paper to jump when the subject is stressed.

So Fuller makes them jump. He curls his big toe, jabbing the staple deeper into the nail. His pain level spikes, his vital signs react, and the markers do their fast squiggle thing.

“No,” he answers.

“Is the White House in Washington, D.C.?”

Fuller eases up on the toe pressure.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember killing Eileen Hutton?”

“No.”

Fuller realizes that his lie causes some spikes, but the spikes won’t be as high as the spikes created by the stealing question, when he caused himself pain. The examiner will have to conclude he’s telling the truth.

Easy as pie. The trick to beating a polygraph isn’t staying calm. It’s knowing when to act stressed.

“Have you ever lied on a job application?”

Control question. Toe pressure.

“No.”

“Is a basketball square?”

Ease up.

“No.”

“Did you remember cutting off Davi McCormick’s arms?”

No toenail pressure.

“No.”

“Have you ever cheated on your income tax?”

Force that staple in.

“No.”

“Do you consider yourself an honest man?”

Another control. The staple feels like an electric wire, juicing him with pain.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill Colin Andrews?”

Release the pressure.

“I don’t remember. I’ve been told I did.”

And so it goes on, for another half an hour. He takes his time. Makes it look good. Lets his body tell the tale.

“Are you faking this amnesia?”

Fuller smiles at Jack. He winks at her.

“No, I’m not.”

“Thank you, Barry. We’re finished here today.”

Garcia walks over. “What were the results?”

“I’ll need time to examine them thoroughly before I can give you my opinion.”

“What’s your preliminary opinion?”

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable giving that. I’ll wait until trial.”

“Go ahead, Adam.” Libby walks up as well. “Tell us your initial impression. No matter what side it falls on, you’ll likely be subpoenaed anyway.”

The plump man takes off his glasses, polishes them on the end of his sweater.

“In twenty years of administering polygraphs, I’ve never seen such a clear-cut case of honesty.”

Fuller has to bite his lower lip to keep from giggling.

“This man is telling the truth. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

Fuller’s lawyer laughs, pats him on the shoulder.

Jack’s look is worth a million dollars. Fuller mouths the words “see you soon” at her, and blows her a kiss.

The examiner removes all of the probes and sensors, and everyone begins to file out. Fuller’s lawyer wants a moment with him, and makes the guards wait outside.

“This shouldn’t even go to trial, Barry. The judge should have thrown it out.”

“We’re doing good, right?”

“Good? We’re golden. After the experts testify, there won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind. You’ll be back on the street in no time.”

“I want to testify.”

Garcia loses the smile.

“You don’t have to say a word, Barry. You can let the evidence speak for you.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t think it’s a wise…”

“I don’t care. I have to speak my piece. It’s important to me.”

Another pat on the shoulder. “I understand, big guy. They’ll be rough on you, but we can prepare you for that.”

“I’ll do fine.”

“I’m sure you will, Barry. I’m sure you will.”