Breathless

record of her facial topography detected the subtlest nuances of expression that researchers had found to be associated with either truth-telling or prevarication.
    This laser polygraph had been developed exclusively forHomeland Security. Jardine used it in conjunction with a tightly fitted glove woven full of electronic sensors that measured changes in the body activities that were of interest to more traditional polygraphers: pulse, blood pressure, perspiration.
    Before being subjected to the session, she had been provided with a statement signed by Jardine in the presence of a witness, stating that no information obtained herein could be used against her in any court of law and that she was immune from prosecution for any matters touched upon by his questions and her replies.
    “We are more determined to get the full truth of all this than we are interested in prosecuting anyone for anything,” Jardine had said.
    On the other hand, once she had been granted immunity, if she still declined to be polygraphed, she could be prosecuted under two statutes that, upon conviction, allowed for consecutive sentences totaling as much as four years in prison.
    When Cammy had still hesitated, Jardine said, “Look at it this way. If you want to lie your head off, you can do so with no fear of punishment. You’ve got immunity. But if you lie, it’s still worth my time to conduct this debriefing, because I’ll see when you’re lying and I’ll have some hope of deducing
why.”
    “I have no intention of lying to you.”
    “By the time we’ve gotten this far,” Jardine had said, “no one ever intends to lie.”
    Now, an hour into the interrogation—which Jardine insisted on calling a
debriefing
—the blinds were closed over the kitchen window and door. Light came only from the soffit lamp over the sink and the screen of the deputy director’s laptop.
    Cammy couldn’t see the low-intensity lasers. They were of a singlespecific wavelength of light or a narrow band of wavelengths, and all the crests of the individual waves coincided. Although the beams were invisible to her, she sometimes thought she saw shadows tremble or leap in her peripheral vision, where in fact nothing moved.
    She had not once lied to him. His questioning was meticulous but unimaginative, therefore tedious. Then one of two moments came that were different from all the rest of the session.
    He looked up from his laptop and regarded her through the pane of sandwiched glass. “Dr. Rivers, have you been to the state of Michigan in the past two years?”
    “No.”
    He returned his attention to the laptop. “Have you
ever
been to the state of Michigan?”
    “No.”
    “Have you ever heard of Cross Village, Michigan?”
    “No. Never.”
    “Have you ever heard of Petoskey, Michigan?”
    “No.”
    “Have you ever known anyone from Michigan?”
    She thought for a moment. “In college, veterinary college, there was this woman from Michigan.”
    “Where in Michigan was she from?”
    “I don’t remember. We weren’t close friends or anything.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Allison Givens. We called her Ally.”
    “Is she in veterinary practice in Michigan?”
    “I assume so. I don’t know. I didn’t stay in touch with her.”
    “Have you stayed in touch with anyone from vet school?”
    “Yes. A few.”
    “Have any of them stayed in touch with Ally Givens?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. They’ve never said anything. What’s all this about Michigan?”
    “Please remember, as we discussed, I ask the questions, you answer them, not the other way around.”
    Either he had come to the end of that subject or he did not want to pursue it with her curiosity raised. He moved on to her experiences with Puzzle and Riddle.
    Almost an hour later, as the session was drawing to a close, he asked a question that was a verbal punch.
    “Dr. Rivers, have you ever killed anyone?”
    Stunned, she met his eyes through the glass.
    He repeated the question.
“Cammy
, have you ever killed anyone?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who did you kill?”
    “My mother’s boyfriend.”
    “What was his name?”
    “Jake Horner. Jacob Horner.”
    Jardine didn’t bother consulting the graphics on his laptop screen. He knew that she was telling the truth.
    “That was on your fifteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”
    “Those police records, the court hearing—that’s all sealed.”
    “That was on your fifteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”
    “Sealed. It’s all sealed.