The Answer Man (5 page)

H
erbert Decker hated parties almost as much as he hated the watery Tom Collins he was sipping. He stood in the massive atrium of a rented mansion on Habersham Road, surrounded by a cast of characters who regularly appeared in the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
's society pages and trendy “Peach Buzz” column. The party was being given by a Belize diplomat with whom Decker was negotiating to supply raw materials for the country's public works projects. Before the deal was concluded, Decker was sure a bribe would have to be arranged. It was already factored into his company's internal budget, just as such payments were in the books of many firms dealing with foreign governments.

“Herbert, we've been talking about you behind your back,” Governor Walter Holden said with the dazzling smile that got him elected. His popularity had never been lower, and with the next election only months away, he was almost certainly in his final year in office. Tonight the governor was sticking close to the party's host, Marco Vincent.

Decker handed his glass to a passing waiter. “It can't be worse than what you guys say to my face.” He laughed, and the two men responded with polite chuckles. He hated cocktail chatter.

The governor stood close to Decker. “Mr. Vincent has expressed some concerns about your company.”

“ ‘Concerns' is a tad harsh,” Vincent said with only the slightest trace of an accent. He was a handsome man with dark skin. “ ‘Musings' is more like it.”

Decker spoke through his frozen smile. “And what were you musing?”

“I was telling Governor Holden that as much as I wish to do business with your firm, I still must sell the idea to my country's public works ministry.”

“Of course.”

“That, I'm afraid, will be more difficult with the negative publicity your company is receiving.”

Holden spoke quietly. “He's afraid the embezzlement case may scare off some of his country's decision makers.”

Decker felt his face getting flushed. He knew it would appear that he was embarrassed, but he was enraged. He looked up at the ceiling. “I see.”

“Please don't misunderstand me,” Vincent said. “I have the utmost respect for you and your company. But as you know, perception is important. And to some people, the perception is that Vikkers Industries cannot control its own employees. My government needs assurances that you will be a reliable supplier of the materials we need.”

“The actions of
one man
—?”

“I'm sure it will not be a problem, but it is something we must be aware of. Those who favor other alliances may try to use this as ammunition against you. That's all I'm saying.” Vincent caught someone's eye on the other side of the room. “Excuse me.” He walked away, leaving the governor with Decker.

“When does the trial begin?” Holden asked.

“In less than a month.” Decker was still fuming.

“I know this Belize contract is relatively small, but there's no way to assess the total damage done. Perception is everything.”

“You should know, Holden.”

Holden ignored the comment. “I'd hate to see you suffer any more than you have already.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Decker snapped.

“Get your house in order.” He patted Decker on the arm and walked away.

“That's my plan,” Decker said under his breath.

Four minutes past nine
P
.
M
.

Ken had never been alone in his office building before, and it wasn't a sensation he particularly enjoyed. There were sounds he never heard during the day. The creaks. The water rushing through rusty pipes. The air whistling through dusty vents. And finally, two sets of footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Ken's body ached as he rose and stepped toward the door. His face had stopped throbbing in the past few hours, but his stomach and ribs still hurt. He looked outside and saw Myth and Sabini.

“What happened?” Myth asked, her hand lightly caressing his bruised face.

“Just another satisfied customer.”

“That looks bad,” Sabini said. “You want to do this some other time?”

“No. We need to get started. Are you ready?”

Sabini nodded and stepped into the office. Myth started to follow, but Ken blocked the doorway with his arm. “Where are you going?” he said.

“I thought I'd watch.”

“I can't allow that.”

“Why not?”

“Every variable can affect the outcome. As his attorney, you might give him a feeling of security he wouldn't have otherwise. When the D.A.'s examiner tests him, nobody else will be in the room. I need to do it the same way. I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave.”

She stared at him, then finally nodded. “Fine. Call me tonight after you finish.”

She said it like an order, Ken thought. Making it clear she was still in charge. But she wasn't in charge anymore, at least not in his office, and it was driving her nuts.

Good.

He smiled. “Sure. Good night.” He closed the door and turned back to Sabini.

“How are you this evening, Mr. Sabini?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Have a seat.”

Ken went over the ten-question test with his interviewee, making sure he understood it all. Sabini was polite, but not too polite. He was agreeable, and the only questions he asked were to clarify some of the test's finer points.

So far, so good.

Ken hooked him up to the polygraph. He turned on the machine and thumped the top panel, unsticking the pulse needle. He elected to forgo the card trick. A D.A.-appointed examiner probably wouldn't do it, though Ken thought it helped reinforce the notion of the machine's accuracy.

If they believe this stuff works, maybe it really will…

Ken asked the first question. “Did you attend school at Rockport College?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be completely truthful to me regarding the Vikkers Industries embezzlement case?”

“Yes.”

Ken always wondered how he would react if he ever got a no in response to this question. He never had.

“Do you understand I will inquire only about issues we have discussed?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever stolen anything from an employer of yours?”

“No.”

“In your capacity of chief financial officer of Vikkers Industries, did you misdirect company funds so as to derive personal financial gain?”

“No.”

“Have you ever lied to keep from getting into trouble at work?”

“No.”

“Between February and November of last year, did you arrange electronic fund transfers between your company and personal bank accounts in Zurich, Switzerland?”

“No.”

“Is your full name Burton Charles Sabini?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever violated any laws in the preparation of business or personal tax documents?”

“No.”

“Do you presently have access, either directly or indirectly, to the funds illegally transferred from your company's accounts?”

“No.”

Ken looked at Sabini's readings as the paper spooled over the polygraph stand's edge. The responses were strong and distinct. Not much gray area here.

He unhooked Sabini from the polygraph, ignoring his client's questioning look.

“Well?” Sabini asked.

Ken tore off the graph and held it in front of Sabini's face. “You know what this is? It's Illustration 1-4 in the polygraph textbooks—the classic liar. Every reading points to that: breathing, skin perspiration, pulse rate. This is bad.”

Sabini slumped. “Shit. I was afraid of that. Is there any hope?”

Ken studied the graph in his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought.

He stood and walked to his desk. “First of all, forget every bullshit story you've ever heard about what it takes to beat a polygraph. You're not going to be biting your tongue, pressing your foot against a tack, or anything like that.”

“Okay, so I know what I'm
not
going to do.”

Ken picked up a pack of cigarettes. “Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Start. It'll draw oxygen from your skin, make your perspiration levels less volatile. You had a tough time with that.”

He slipped the cigarette pack into Sabini's shirt pocket.

“Great. I'll pass the test but die of lung cancer.”

“That's the breaks.”

“What else?”

“Can you…pucker?”

Sabini shifted uneasily. “Look, I'm not going to kiss you.”

“I don't want you to pucker with your mouth.”

“Then what with?”

“Your asshole.”

Sabini stared at him, then abruptly stood up. “I don't know what you have in mind here—”

Ken pushed him back into the seat. “Sit down, you're not my type. Now, try it. Pull your asshole in. The old anal pucker.”

Sabini was obviously still uneasy, but he concentrated, sucking it in. His eyes darted from side to side.

“Yeah…yeah!” he said excitedly.

“I knew you were a tight-ass. Good. That sends your blood pressure north. You'll be in good shape if you can do that on all the nonrelevant questions.”

“What?”

Ken wired him to the polygraph. “There are a couple of basic kinds of questions: There's the nonrelevant control questions and the relevant questions.”

He tried to think of a way to explain it simply. “Basically, nonrelevant questions are things they think they already know the answer to. Some will be harmless, Is this your name?—type questions. They figure you'll be straight with them on those. Other nonrelevant questions will be mildly threatening. On those, they're counting on you to lie.”

“They
want
me to lie?”

“Yeah. They'll ask you things like, Have you ever stolen anything from your employer? They think that everybody has taken at least some pens or paper clips home with them. If they can see what your responses are when you lie about this, they think your readings will be even more extreme if you lie about something related to this specific case.”

Sabini nodded. “The relevant questions.”

“Right. What we have to do is level out your responses on everything. Then, depending on how well you do, we might try to give 'em some slightly higher readings for those mildly threatening questions. They would expect that.”

“Just tell me when to pucker.”

Ken smiled as he thumped the needles. He shook a can of WD-40 lubricant and sprayed the indicator mechanism. There. That took care of the sticky respiration needle.

He started the graph paper rolling again. “The first question is always a harmless irrelevant. Always.”

“Okay.”

“Did you graduate from Rockport College?”

“Yes.”

“Are you puckering?”

Sabini nodded.

“Don't do it so much. Loosen up just a little…a little less…”

Ken watched the graph as the blood pressure readings dropped lower, lower, lower…

“There! Try and pucker just like that on the nonrelevant questions. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“And don't hold your breath. You can pucker and breathe at the same time.”

Sabini tried to take slow, normal breaths, but he clearly still felt awkward.

Ken went to the next question. “Will you be completely truthful with me regarding the Vikkers Industries embezzlement case?”

“Yes.”

The blood pressure needle dropped.

Ken smiled. “Relevant question. You stopped puckering. Good. Okay, stay calm, breathe easy…. Now, do you understand that I will inquire only about issues we have discussed?”

“Yes.”

The readings were stable.

Ken explained, “This is just to assure you there will be no questions out of left field. In the pre-interview, the examiner will go over the test to make sure you understand it. They don't want you worrying about any outside issues that might throw off the readings for the questions they
are
asking.”

Sabini snorted. “Like anything could worry me more than being accused of stealing twelve million dollars.”

“Still, you can count on it being there. Probably the third question. Okay. Have you ever lied to keep from getting into trouble at work?”

“No.”

“Okay, this is one they
expect
you to lie on. Just relax, keep your breathing regular….”

Ken nodded as the readings leveled off.

“Now…In your capacity as account financial manager, did you misdirect company funds so as to derive personal gain?”

“No.”

The needles jumped sharply across the graph.

“You took a sharp breath, and your other responses went up too.”

Sabini glared at the machine. “I just need some practice,” he mumbled.

“You'll get it. But you have to stop being afraid of this thing. It will catch you only if you think it will.”

Ken picked up his deck of playing cards. “There's a trick we do to convince people that polygraphs really work. If they believe in the machine, they're more likely to have strong nervous responses to the relevant questions.”

He fanned out the deck. “Take a card.”

Sabini selected a card, looked at it, and held it close to his chest.

Ken put the rest of the deck down. “Normally, I'd go through this whole bullshit routine about asking you to lie
to me about the card. I'd ask you about the number, color, suit, and so on. And then, thanks to my wonderfully perceptive lie detector, I'd be able to tell you that you have the queen of hearts.”

Sabini looked up in surprise. “That's right!” He turned his card around.

Ken picked up his deck and fanned it out faceup.

They were all the queen of hearts.

“The polygraph works only if you believe it does. Ready to try again?”