Corruption by Eden Winters Page A

lies about half
    the time.” He approached the white board in the corner and scrawled “sweating and fidgeting” on the surface. “Who
    can name more giveaways?”
    “Incomplete details,” Johnston offered. Her suggestion joined the others on the board.
    “Yes,” O’Donoghue replied, “but also bear in mind, giving too many details means a rehearsed story. Anyone
    else?”
    “Open hostility,” someone called.
    “While I agree,” O’Donoghue answered, “when dealing with suspects, defensiveness is par for the course. Anyone
    else?”
    Lucky ventured, “Failure to make eye contact.”
    “Points for Mr. Harrison! Any more?”
    Bo added, “Dilated pupils and fluctuations in vocal pitch.” Trust him to recite from a textbook.
    “Yes, though those might not be apparent without equipment. C’mon, I know you can think up a few more examples.”
    Rook— Landry spoke up. “The suspect keeps stopping to make the next part of his story up.”
    O’Donoghue added to the growing list, the felt-tipped marker screeching against the board.
    Inconsistencies, words like “basically” or “honestly”, elevated heart rate and blood pressure, and nervous twitches
    joined the others.
    O’Donoghue put down his marker. “Now,” he said, “the average person can control maybe five of these.” He
    pointed toward the board. “A good interrogator can detect many, but not all. Review your notes. Use aliases and other information
    you’ve already come up with. Your classmates will ask questions and Phillip will film your responses. We’ll play back the recordings,
    looking for red flags.”
    Phillip staggered in under the weight of two heavy bags slung over his shoulder and began setting up camera equipment.
    “Johnson. Would you mind going first?”
    “Not at all.” She blew a kiss to Phillip and took the designated chair, which had wheels to reveal self-conscious fidgeting. Phillip
    busied himself with setup, a deeper shade of pink in his cheeks.
    O’Donoghue threw back the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. “Now, don’t give out any information you
    don’t want disclosed to your teammates. Each of us will ask one question. Remember, while agents need to learn how to detect lies, we also need
    to tell them effectively. For my question, what is your full legal name?”
    “Annie Mae Johnson,” Johnson replied.
    Lucky darted a glance from Johnson’s stoic profile to Phillip, who gave a little lip-twitch. Ah, she lied did she? Better file the info away for
    later use.
    “What’s your favorite food?” Peckerhead asked. Oops. Better make that Landry .
    Some questions bordered on ridiculous, others tried to be witty, some serious. Lucky asked, “What kind of car do you drive?” when his
    turn came. He damn sure didn’t want to pry into the woman’s personal life.
    Johnson returned to her seat, and O’Donoghue replayed the video.
    “Lie!” chorused the class when Johnson slid the chair back two inches while answering the question about her favorite food. Lucky kept
    quiet, checking off his suspicions on his list of clues picked up from Johnson and others who apparently knew her outside of class.
    Twice more the accusation of “lie!” rang out. He never said a word, but Lucky pegged the correct response each time.
    O’Donoghue pointed his way. “Mr. Harrison? Would you mind taking a turn in the chair of doom?”
    Oh, fuck. Lucky’d been afraid he’d be called on sooner or later. Later got his vote. Much later. As in never. He took a moment to
    mentally prepare before taking his place front and center.
    O’Donoghue started off the interrogation. “What is your name?”
    “Simon Harrison,” Lucky replied without hesitation.
    “What’s your favorite beer?” someone asked.
    “Coors Light.”
    “What’s your favorite TV show?”
    “ Cops, ” Lucky replied. Cops still came on, right? No way in hell would he admit to an addiction to the soap opera South Bend Springs.
    “Are you