More Twisted

that it was very rare for a suspect to realize he was being analyzed kinesically.
    “But then how did he know about the evidence in the well?”
    “Oh, I’ve got that figured out. Somebody stole a hammer of mine, killed Herron with it and then planted it to blame me. They wore gloves. Those rubbers ones everybody wears on CSI .”
    Still relaxed. The body language wasn’t any different from his baseline. He was showing only emblems—common gestures that tended to substitute for words, like shrugs and finger pointing. There were no adaptors, which signal tension, or affect displays—signs that he was experiencing emotion.
    “But if he wanted to do that,” Dance pointed out, “wouldn’t the killer just call the police then and tell them where the hammer was? Why wait over ten years?”
    “Being smart, I’d guess. Better to bide his time. Then spring the trap.”
    “Why would the real killer call the prisoner in Capitola? Why not just call the police directly?”
    A hesitation. Then a laugh. His blue eyes shone with excitement, which seemed genuine. “Because they’re involved too. The police. Sure . . . The cops realize the Herron case hasn’t been solved and they want to blame somebody. Why not me ? They’ve already got me in custody. I’ll bet the cops planted the hammer themselves.”
    “Okay. Let’s work with this a little. There’re two different things you’re saying. First, somebody stole your hammer before Herron was killed, murdered him with it, and now, over ten years later, dimes you out. But your second version is that the police got your hammer after Herron was killed by someone else altogether and planted it in the well to blame you. Those’re contradictory. It’s either one or the other. Which do you think?”
    “Hm.” Pell gave an easy smile. “Okay, I’ll go with the second one. The police. It’s a set-up. I’m sure that’s what happened.”
    She looked him in the eyes, green on blue. “Okay, let’s take the situation apart: First, where would the police have gotten the hammer?”
    He thought. “When they arrested me for that Carmel thing.”
    “The Croyton murders in ninety-nine?”
    “Right. All the evidence they took from my house in Seaside.”
    Dance’s brows furrowed. “I doubt that. Evidence is accounted for too closely. No, I’d go for a more credible scenario: that the hammer was stolen recently. Where else could somebody find a hammer of yours? Do you have any property in the state?”
    “No.”
    “Any relatives or friends who could’ve had some tools of yours?”
    “Not really.”
    Which wasn’t an answer to a yes or no question; it was even slipperier than “I don’t recall.” Dance noticed too that Pell put his hands, tipped with long, clean nails, on the table at the word “relatives.” This was a deviation from baseline behavior. It didn’t mean lying, but he was feeling stress. The questions were upsetting him.
    “Daniel, you have any relations living in California?”
    He hesitated, must have assessed that she was the sort to check out every comment—which she was—and said, “The only left’s my aunt. Down in Bakersfield.”
    “Is her name Pell?”
    Another pause. “Yep . . . . That’s good thinking, Officer Dance. I’ll bet the deputies who dropped the ball on the Herron case stole that hammer from her and planted it. They’re the ones behind this whole thing. Why don’t you talk to them?”
    “All right. That explains the hammer. Now let’s think about the wallet. Where could that’ve come from? . . . Here’s a thought. What if it’s not Robert Herron’s wallet at all? What if this rogue cop we’re talking about just bought a wallet, had R.H. stamped in the leather, then hid that and the hammer in the well. It could’ve been last month. Or even last week. What do you think about that, Daniel?”
    Pell lowered his head—she couldn’t see his eyes—and said nothing.
    It was unfolding just like she’d planned.
    Dance had forced him to pick the more credible of two explanations for his innocence—and proceeded to prove it too wasn’t credible at all. No sane jury would believe that the police fabricated evidence and stole tools from a househundreds of miles away from the crime scene. Pell was now realizing the mistake he’d made. The trap was about to close on him.
    Checkmate . . .
    Her heart thumped a bit and she was thinking that the next words out of his mouth might be to suggest his willingness