"That's fine."
"Don't you see? The fact that Shirley sold Beth's dress to this used-clothing store could make it hard for me to convince my supervisors that she had nothing to do with Beth's disappearance."
"She was in prison. How could she be involved?" "People have run the Mafia from inside prison walls." "Shirley's practically a kid. She's not a mobster."
"You don't know anything about her."
"Well then, maybe it's time I found out."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Just tell your supervisors to keep an open mind. I've closed tougher deals than this one." He hung up and hit the accelerator, surging well above the speed limit.
Chapter Forty-One.
Gus didn't have topersuade her. Maybe she thought it would be fun or that it was a prerequisite to earning her reward. Maybe she simply thought she could beat it. Whatever the reason, Shirley expressed no reservations about sitting for a polygraph examination.
Andie's challenge had immediately triggered the idea of a lie-detector test. Shirley wouldn't talk unless she had a deal. The FBI wouldn't cut a deal unless she had nothing to do with Beth's disappearance. The polygraph was the answer.
Irving Pappas--Pappy, they called him--was the best in the business. He was a few years older than the last time Gus had seen him, but he looked the same. Warm, aged eyes. White hair and big, bushy white eyebrows. With his grandfatherly looks and a name like Pappy, he had a way of putting his subjects at ease, which only heightened the reliability of his test results. That was crucial. When dealing with the government, the reputation of the examiner was just as important as the results of the test.
Only once before in his legal career had Gus ever asked anyone to take a lie-detector test. Years ago the Justice Department had targeted one of his clients for a criminal antitrust indictment. Gus hired Pappy. His client passed, and Gus shared the results with the government. Although the results would not be admissible at trial, prosecutors and the FBI often gave the tests considerable weight outside the courtroom. The plan worked. There was no indictment. Gus had earned himself a very powerful and loyal client--until Martha Goldstein poisoned the ear of Marcus Mueller and swept him away. Hard to believe that was just two weeks ago. It was even harder to believe that Gus almost didn't care. All he cared about right now was getting Shirley through the test, getting the results to Andie, and getting one step closer to Beth.
They met in a special room reserved for attorneys who needed face-to-face contact with their clients, no Plexiglas between them. Usually that meant preparation for trial. Rarely did it mean a polygraph exam.
Shirley sat in an old oak chair made more uncomfortable by an inflatable rubber bladder beneath her seat and another tucked behind her back. A blood-pressure cuff squeezed her right arm. Two fingers on her left hand were wired with electrodes. Pneumograph tubes wrapped her chest and abdomen.
Pappy sat across from her, watching his cardioamplifier and galvanic skin monitor atop the table. The scroll of paper was rolling. The needle wobbled as it inked out a warbling line. "All set," said Pappy.
"Should I leave?" asked Gus.
"Only if you're making Shirley nervous." Pappy looked right at her. "Does Gus make you nervous?"
"Hell, no." The needle barely swerved, but it was too soon for that to mean anything.
Pappy said, "It probably would be best if you waited outside."
Gus stepped out and closed the door. But he didn't go far. With an ear to the door he listened. In such a stark room voices carried clearly. Gus could hear everything.
Pappy had the voice of a consummate hypnotist. He never came right out and told Shirley to relax. He just talked to her about innocuous things that would put her at ease. Did she ever watch television? Did she like dogs? The questions were so far from the point of the inquiry that Shirley probably didn't even realize the test had begun. As she spoke, however, he was monitoring her physiological response to establish the lower parameters of her blood pressure, respiration, and perspiration. It was a fishing expedition of sorts. The examiner needed to quiet her down, then catch her in a small lie that would serve as a baseline reading for a falsehood. The standard technique was to ask something even a truthful person might lie about. Have you ever smoked pot? Cheated on your taxes? Thought about sex in church? Most people lied, and the examiner got his baseline. No problem for the average Joe. Big problem for a drug-using ex-prostitute who had tattooed her left breast with the peculiar likeness of her own genitalia while doing time for conspiracy to commit murder. Finding that one sensitive subject that tapped into her sense of shame and would make her squirm was going to take some ingenuity on Pappy's part. Gus listened through the door as Pappy made his move.
"Is your name Shirley?"
"Yes."
"Do you like ice cream?"
"Yes."
"Are your eyes brown?"
"Yes."