to say no, to distrust the machine, but such wisdom was overridden by the desire to get out of the room. Just get away from Kerber. Anything to get the psycho out of his face.
Detective Ferguson hooked him up to the machine again and asked a few questions. The polygraph made its noises, its graph paper slowly rolled out. Donté stared at it without a clue, but something told him the results would not be good.
Again, the results proved he was telling the truth. He was at home that Friday, babysitting, and he never left.
But the truth was not important. While he was away, Kerber moved his chair to a corner, as far from the door as possible. When Donté returned, he took his place and Kerber pulled his chair close so that their knees were practically touching. He began cursing Donté again, telling him he had not only flunked the second polygraph but “severely flunked” it. For the first time, he touched Donté, by jabbing his right index finger into his chest. Donté slapped his hand away and was ready to fight, when Needham stepped forward with a Taser. The detective seemed anxious to give it a try, but did not. Both cops cursed and threatened Donté.
The jabbing continued, along with the nonstop accusations and threats. Donté realized he would not be allowed to leave until he gave the cops what they wanted. And maybe they were right after all. They seemed so certain about what happened. They were convinced beyond any doubt that he was involved. His own friend was saying that he and Nicole were involved in a relationship. And the polygraphs—what would the jury think when they learned that he had lied? Donté was doubting himself and his own memory. What if he had blacked out and erasedthe terrible deed? And he really didn’t want to die, not then, not five or ten years down the road.
At 4:00 a.m., Riley Drumm left the police station and went home. He tried to sleep but could not. Roberta made coffee and they worried and waited for sunrise, as if things would clear up then.
Kerber and Needham took a break at 4:30 a.m. When they were alone in the hallway, Kerber said, “He’s ready.”
A few minutes later, Needham opened the door quietly and peeked in. Donté was lying on the floor, sobbing.
They took him a doughnut and a soft drink and resumed the interrogation. A revelation slowly came over Donté. Since he could not leave until he gave them their story, and since he would, at that moment, confess to killing his own mother, why not play along? Nicole would turn up soon enough, dead or alive, and this would solve the mystery. The police would look like fools for verbally beating a confession out of him. Some farmer or hunter would stumble over her remains, and these clowns would be exposed. Donté would be vindicated, freed, and everyone would feel sorry for him.
Twelve hours after the interrogation began, he looked at Kerber and said, “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll tell you everything.”
After the break, Kerber helped him fill in the blanks. He had sneaked out of the house after his sister was asleep. He was desperate to see Nicole because she was pushing him away, trying to break off their affair. He knew Nicole was at the movies with friends. He drove there, alone, in the green Ford van. He confronted her in the parking lot near her car. She agreed to get in. They drove around Slone, then into the countryside. He wanted sex, she said no. They were finished. He tried to force himself on her and she fought back. He forced her into sex, but it wasn’t enjoyable. She scratched him, even drew blood. The attack turned ugly. He flew into a rage, began to choke her, and he couldn’t stop, didn’t stop until it was too late. Then he panicked. He had to do something with her. He yelled at her back in the rear of the van, but she never responded. He drove north, toward Oklahoma. He’d lost track of time, then realized that dawn was approaching. He had to get home. He had to get rid of her body. On the Route
Detective Ferguson hooked him up to the machine again and asked a few questions. The polygraph made its noises, its graph paper slowly rolled out. Donté stared at it without a clue, but something told him the results would not be good.
Again, the results proved he was telling the truth. He was at home that Friday, babysitting, and he never left.
But the truth was not important. While he was away, Kerber moved his chair to a corner, as far from the door as possible. When Donté returned, he took his place and Kerber pulled his chair close so that their knees were practically touching. He began cursing Donté again, telling him he had not only flunked the second polygraph but “severely flunked” it. For the first time, he touched Donté, by jabbing his right index finger into his chest. Donté slapped his hand away and was ready to fight, when Needham stepped forward with a Taser. The detective seemed anxious to give it a try, but did not. Both cops cursed and threatened Donté.
The jabbing continued, along with the nonstop accusations and threats. Donté realized he would not be allowed to leave until he gave the cops what they wanted. And maybe they were right after all. They seemed so certain about what happened. They were convinced beyond any doubt that he was involved. His own friend was saying that he and Nicole were involved in a relationship. And the polygraphs—what would the jury think when they learned that he had lied? Donté was doubting himself and his own memory. What if he had blacked out and erasedthe terrible deed? And he really didn’t want to die, not then, not five or ten years down the road.
At 4:00 a.m., Riley Drumm left the police station and went home. He tried to sleep but could not. Roberta made coffee and they worried and waited for sunrise, as if things would clear up then.
Kerber and Needham took a break at 4:30 a.m. When they were alone in the hallway, Kerber said, “He’s ready.”
A few minutes later, Needham opened the door quietly and peeked in. Donté was lying on the floor, sobbing.
They took him a doughnut and a soft drink and resumed the interrogation. A revelation slowly came over Donté. Since he could not leave until he gave them their story, and since he would, at that moment, confess to killing his own mother, why not play along? Nicole would turn up soon enough, dead or alive, and this would solve the mystery. The police would look like fools for verbally beating a confession out of him. Some farmer or hunter would stumble over her remains, and these clowns would be exposed. Donté would be vindicated, freed, and everyone would feel sorry for him.
Twelve hours after the interrogation began, he looked at Kerber and said, “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll tell you everything.”
After the break, Kerber helped him fill in the blanks. He had sneaked out of the house after his sister was asleep. He was desperate to see Nicole because she was pushing him away, trying to break off their affair. He knew Nicole was at the movies with friends. He drove there, alone, in the green Ford van. He confronted her in the parking lot near her car. She agreed to get in. They drove around Slone, then into the countryside. He wanted sex, she said no. They were finished. He tried to force himself on her and she fought back. He forced her into sex, but it wasn’t enjoyable. She scratched him, even drew blood. The attack turned ugly. He flew into a rage, began to choke her, and he couldn’t stop, didn’t stop until it was too late. Then he panicked. He had to do something with her. He yelled at her back in the rear of the van, but she never responded. He drove north, toward Oklahoma. He’d lost track of time, then realized that dawn was approaching. He had to get home. He had to get rid of her body. On the Route
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