The Sleeping Doll

her face.
    His grammar and syntax were good, she noted, ignoring his fishing expedition for information about her residence.
    Dance continued to ask about his life in Seaside and in prison, observing him the whole while: how he behaved when she asked the questions and how he behaved when he answered. She wasn’t doing this to get information—she’d done her homework and knew the answers to everything she asked—but was instead establishing his behavioral baseline.
    In spotting lies, interrogators consider three factors: nonverbal behavior (body language, or kinesics), verbal quality (pitch of voice or pauses before answering) and verbal content (what the suspect says). The first two are far more reliable indications of deception, since it’s much easier to control what we say than how we say it and our body’s natural reaction when we do.
    The baseline is a catalog of those behaviors exhibited when the subject is telling the truth. This is the standard the interrogator will compare later with the subject’s behavior when he might have a reason to lie. Any differences between the two suggest deception.
    Finally Dance had a good profile of the truthful Daniel Pell and moved to the crux of her mission in this modern, sterile courthouse on a foggy morning in June. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Robert Herron.”
    Eyes sweeping her, now refining their examination: the abalone shell necklace, which her mother had made, at her throat. Then Dance’s short, pink-polished nails. The gray pearl ring on the wedding-band finger got two glances.
    “How did you meet Herron?”
    “You’re assuming I did. But, no, never met him in my life. I swear.”
    The last sentence was a deception flag, though his body language wasn’t giving off signals that suggested he was lying.
    “But you told the prisoner in Capitola that you wanted him to go to the well and find the hammer and wallet.”
    “No, that’s what he told the warden.” Pell offered another amused smile. “Why don’t you talk to him about it? You’ve got sharp eyes, Officer Dance. I’ve seen them looking me over, deciding if I’m being straight with you. I’ll bet you could tell in a flash that that boy was lying.”
    She gave no reaction, but reflected 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 planted it to blame me. They wore gloves. Those rubber 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 more than ten years?”
    “Being smart, I’d guess. Better to bide his time. Then spring the trap.”
    “But 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 jail. I’ll bet the cops planted the hammer themselves.”
    “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, all this time later, dimes you out. But your second versionis 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 thought for a few seconds. “Okay, I’ll go with number two. The police. It’s a setup. I’m sure that’s what happened.”
    She looked him in the eyes, green on blue. Nodding agreeably. “Let’s consider that. 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