Deceptive Practices

by Simon Wood

  “Shit. Did she work out that you were connected to me?”

  “No. I had tampered with her license plate and used that as the excuse for why I was following her. I made her think I was a misunderstood Good Samaritan. Do you want me to stay on her?”

  “No. I’ll make other arrangements. I’ll be in touch with other work.”

  “Sorry, Roy.”

  Roy hung up. Olivia was quite a woman, and she would have to be squeezed as her punishment.

  He crossed to the center of the room, which was filled with eight magnetic whiteboards on casters. Each board detailed an ongoing Infidelity Limited assignment. He went up to the board for Heather Moore-Marbach. She owned Moore Fitness, a chain of high-profile gyms up and down the West Coast. The whiteboard told her story. It had her picture and a head shot of her wife, Amy. It detailed both parties’ lives and the problem. The most important detail was written at the top of the board in big, bold red letters—“Heather’s net worth: $4 million.” He couldn’t wait to land this fish.

  But who should he use to do the deed? He had about eight people who hadn’t yet paid back their debt to Infidelity Limited, all of whom were dreading his call. Olivia was at the top of his list. She shouldn’t have been yet, but with Richard’s death having gone sideways, he needed to use her fast, before the cops got to her. He wrote Olivia’s name on the board.

  The intercom on his desk buzzed, and he answered. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Luis said.

  “Shit. Be right there.”

  Roy opened the door to find Luis holding a sheer curtain in his hands. Roy took it. It was dry, but it reeked of the sharp stink of gasoline. He traced the smell to its source—the bottom hem. This was Beth’s little trick. Soak the bottom edge of a curtain in gas or lighter fluid, then let it dry. Even though much of the gas would evaporate, it would still burn like a wildfire when she decided she wanted to watch something burn. They’d lost half the living room to this stunt last year.

  “Where’d you find this?”

  “In Beth’s office.”

  “Does she know you’ve found it?”

  “No. She hasn’t come out of her bedroom this morning. I think she’s having one of her dark days.”

  The last thing he needed now was one of Beth’s phases. He handed the curtain back to Luis. “Okay, wash that, then go over this place from top to bottom and see if she’s booby-trapped anything else.”

  “You got it.”

  Roy clambered up the stairs and marched down the marble hallway. There was no carpet in the house anymore. They’d all learned that lesson the hard way.

  Beth’s bedroom was at the end of the corridor, and his room was off to the right. Forever kept at arm’s length. She hadn’t let him in after twenty years of being together. He thought of them as husband and wife, but Beth didn’t. He’d asked her to marry him many times over the years, but she’d always said no. Her previous marriage had scarred her figuratively and literally. He understood and had finally accepted that he’d never get the chance to put a ring on her finger. He twisted the doorknob to her room, but it was locked.

  “Beth, it’s me. Can I come in?” He kept his tone calm, without a hint of judgment.

  No answer.

  “Beth, you can lock the door, but you can’t keep me out. I can kick this door in. I know it, and you know it, but I don’t want to do that. I just want you to let me in. Can you do that for me?”

  He heard Beth move inside the room, and he pressed his ear to the gap between the door and the jamb to get a fix on where she was in the room. “Please come to the door,” he murmured to himself.

  He heard shuffling. “What’s wrong, Beth? Just tell me. I know you’re not happy, and I don’t get it. We’ve got clients. You and I are good. Aren’t we? Have I done something to make you unhappy?”

  The movement stopped.

  “I know about the curtain in your office. Luis is washing it. Have you done anything else? You know I’ll find it.”

  “Why can’t you let me be happy?” Her voice sounded like it was coming from deep inside the room.

  “That’s not fair, Beth. Everything I’ve done has been for you. I’ve protected you. I’ve looked after you.” I’ve killed for you, he thought.

  “You’ve locked me up here. I never go anywhere. You smother me.”

  She was deflecting. He’d heard this speech a thousand times before. It was all a disguise for the real problem. “You want to go somewhere? We’ll go. We’ll jump in the car and go anywhere you want. We haven’t gone out in years. We should do something. We deserve it.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “Anywhere you want. Just open the door, and we’ll talk.”

  There was more movement from inside the room, but it wasn’t the sound of Beth approaching the door.

  “Come on, Beth. I don’t like this. There’s no reason to shut me out. I love you, and I want to help.”

  Then he smelled it. He looked down at his feet. Smoke the color of storm clouds sneaked out from under the door and across his shoes.

  Christ, I should have known. She’d been stalling him. “Luis, fire,” he bellowed. “Get up here.”

  He bolted for his room and grabbed the fire extinguisher from his closet. Sadly, it was one of many extinguishers stashed in the house for this unfortunate situation.

  “Beth, I’m coming in.”

  He smashed the butt of the extinguisher down on the doorknob. The knob buckled under the force and sheared off under a second blow. He kicked the door in to find the full-length drapes ablaze. The flames were scorching the ceiling, smoke spreading across it before molten swatches of it fell to the floor. The rapidly disintegrating drapes ejected slivers of burning material into the air. Some had landed on the nightstand and set it alight. More had landed on the bed and set off patches of small fires.

  And where was Beth in all this carnage? Sitting expressionless in the corner of the room, watching the destruction.

  Roy loved her so much, but she drove him to the edge. Why the fires? Why the destruction? There was no point in asking her anymore. Beth didn’t know the answers, and even if she did, she’d never say. All he could do was love her.

  He broke the safety seal and doused the drapes with the suppressant. The foam blew holes in the damaged fabric, and palm-sized rags tumbled to the floor. He let those burn themselves out while he put out the main blaze.

  Luis burst into the room and smothered the bed with his extinguisher. As soon as those flames were out, he helped Roy clear the curtains and the ceiling.

  “You got this?” Roy asked Luis.

  “Yeah, man.”

  Roy placed the nearly empty extinguisher next to Luis and gathered Beth up. He rushed her into his bedroom and placed her on his bed.

  “What the hell, Beth?” Despair was all the emotion he could muster. “Why? I just want to know.”

  “I just want to be beautiful.”

  He looked at her amazing green eyes through the old scarring that marred half of her face. “You are.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  She might not be able to look beyond the scars, but he could. He’d fallen in love with her the day he’d met her. Nothing could change that. “I’m not.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not beautiful. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “You just have to believe it. I’ll do anything to help you believe.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  He pulled back. “Yes. You name it, and I’ll do it.”

  “I want to see him.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Andrew stopped his truck in front of the Concord Police Department. This was it—polygraph day. If Olivia failed the test, she doubted she’d ever leave the building. She took a deep breath and let it go.

  “Ready for this?”

  Can anyone be ready for a polygraph? Olivia wondered. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Good. Did you do as I
told you?”

  “Yes. No coffee, no Coke, no caffeine.”

  “How’s the tack in your shoe?”

  “Painful.” It had been digging into her big toe during the drive.

  “Remember, you need to press down on it every time you answer a baseline or truthful question.”

  She nodded.

  “Did you take the Valium?”

  “Yes. About twenty minutes ago.”

  These were polygraph-busting techniques Andrew had found from his online research. She wasn’t sure how effective eliminating stimulants and depressing any anxiety was, but even if these measures provided a placebo effect, she’d take it.

  “Then you’re good to go.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”

  She wasn’t so sure. Despite the Valium, her heart was racing.

  “I’ll find somewhere to park, and I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”

  She’d made the right decision, confiding in him. He gave her the confidence that she’d survive this. She climbed out of the truck.

  “One last thing,” he said. “Did you kill your husband?”

  All week, Andrew had been asking her whether she had killed Richard or knew who killed him every day and at all times of the day. He even went to the extent of calling her up just to ask her. It had worked. It desensitized her to the questions, and more importantly, it reminded her of the truth—she hadn’t killed Richard, and she hadn’t wanted it to happen. She was guilty, but not of murder.

  “No, I did not.”

  He smiled. “Perfect.”

  Olivia checked in with the desk officer. A minute later, a secure door opened, and Finz appeared.

  “Thanks for coming, Mrs. Shaw. We’re all ready for you.”

  Olivia bottled her nervousness. She concentrated on everything she needed to do to pass the test. She reminded herself that this was a test like any other. It was hers to pass or fail. The machine possessed no mystic powers. It was simply a recording device. As long as her reactions remained like a calm sea, all was plain sailing.

  Finz showed her into a cramped interview room with just enough room inside to sit around a single table. A bald-headed man sat at the far end of the table. He stood and shook hands with Olivia.

  “I’m Sergeant Isaac Rivera, Mrs. Shaw,” he said, smiling. “I’ll be conducting today’s polygraph.”

  That seemed a tough proposition, seeing as the polygraph machine was absent from the room. It surprised Olivia that they didn’t have it on show. If Finz and company really wanted to unnerve her, what better way was there than to have it sitting across from her as a sign of impending doom? Its absence helped relax her even more. But that could also be the Valium working on her.

  Rivera pulled out a chair for her, and she sat.

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” Finz said.

  “Aren’t you staying?” Olivia asked.

  “No, I’ve got a few things to follow up on. I’ll check in on you when Isaac is all finished up.”

  Olivia didn’t believe that line for a second. A video camera peered down at her from a corner in the ceiling. She assumed Finz would be watching the video feed.

  Finz left, and Rivera closed the door before taking his seat at the far end of the table and opening up a folder. He glanced over it for a second before looking up.

  “Okay, Mrs. Shaw. This is a pretest interview. I need to go through a few things and ask a few questions before we get down to the nitty-gritty. It helps get us an accurate result. Okay?”

  Rivera’s pretest took half an hour. He explained how a polygraph worked and how the test would proceed. He followed this by asking for her address, social security number, and date of birth. He also asked when she got married, Richard’s full name, and about a dozen other pointless questions that the police already knew the answers to. She didn’t balk at them. These were the control questions. Finally, he ran through a number of questions having to do with the murder investigation. As much as Rivera was pretending not to take any notice of her when he asked these questions, Olivia felt him following her every reaction. Just as the questioning got tedious, he closed the file.

  “Okay, that concludes the interview. Let’s do the test. Are you nervous?”

  “A little. I get nervous taking my eye exam. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “You can’t make a mistake. All you have to do is tell the truth. That is what this interview was all about. Informing you how everything works removes the anxiety aspect that can skew the results. Make sense?”

  Truth was no longer a simple yes/no proposition since Infidelity Limited had entered her life. “Yes. That helps. Thanks.”

  Rivera led her out of the interview room and into the one next door. The desk had been removed and the polygraph equipment put in its place. Instead of the usual machine pictured in countless movies, with pens and a never-ending roll of paper spilling from it, a laptop sat in its place. A cable from the laptop ran into something that looked like a computer router, and sensors that would be strapped to her dangled from a black box.

  “Take a seat, Mrs. Shaw.”

  She sat down, and Rivera slipped a blood pressure cuff over her arm and attached all the other sensors to her.

  “Comfortable?”

  “As much as you’d expect.”

  Rivera sat behind Olivia, with the laptop turned away from her. She had nothing to look at except the wall in front of her, which meant she had nothing to focus on other than her guilt or innocence.

  She noticed she’d been placed facing yet another ceiling video camera.

  “If you’re ready, Mrs. Shaw, then I’ll begin.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Remember to answer the questions honestly, with yes or no answers. Don’t let any of this equipment put you off. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Olivia zoned in on what she had to do to pass the test. She kept her breathing shallow and steady, but increased it for the baseline questions in order to hopefully match the stress she’d feel when answering the harder questions.

  “Is your name Olivia Grace Shaw?”

  Olivia pressed her big toe down onto the tack in her shoe. She hid the brief spike of pain before answering. “Yes.”

  “Is your birthday on June twelfth?”

  “Yes,” she said, pricking herself again with the tack. Having to do this with every answer was getting old already.

  “Is your social security number 521-13-0931?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have blue eyes?”

  “No.”

  She couldn’t tell how she was doing. There was no printout with pens flailing widely when she answered a question. The laptop was silent. Secretive. Just like her.

  “Was your husband’s name Richard Shaw?”

  She felt the tide of the questioning turning. “Yes.”

  “Do you know who killed your husband?”

  She slowed her breathing and let the Valium floating through her system dull her responses. She reminded herself to believe in her answers. She was not responsible. “No.” Infidelity Limited never told me who did it.

  “Did your husband have any enemies?”

  “No.”

  “Were you with your sister when your husband was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had your husband gotten into a fight with anyone recently?”

  “No.”

  “Had your husband received any threats?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Yes or no, please.”

  She sighed. “No.”

  Rivera increased the pace of the questions. She struggled to keep a rhythm as she’d practiced with Andrew. She couldn’t slow the questioning down by pausing, or it would look awkward. She felt her control over her breathing wane. She fought to keep it steady and hoped the Valium would keep her under the radar. She certainly felt its effects. She didn’t exactly feel calm, just sluggish and slightly sedated. She’d never been much good with narcotics
. She’d once been given Vicodin for post-op pain management. It left her dazed and barely able to function.

  “Was your husband having an affair?”

  It was a surprise question, no doubt put in there by Finz. It was a dumb move. It showed his hand more than it did hers.

  “No.”

  “Are you an Oakland Raiders fan?”

  The baseline question took her by surprise, which was surely its aim. She stepped on the tack. “No.”

  “Did you kill your husband?”

  Slow, calm breaths, she told herself. “No.” A stranger did.

  “Did you wish your husband was dead?”

  An image of Richard on their wedding day flashed into her mind. She missed his smile. “No.”

  “Were you involved in your husband’s death?”

  “No.” Roy was behind it.

  “Do you know who killed your husband?” he asked again.

  “No.” She felt panic clawing up inside her, trying to take over. It had seemed easy to follow the simple rules to beat the polygraph, but now that she was knee-deep in it, it seemed like an impossible task. She got a grip, remembered her breathing, and controlled it.

  “Did you kill your husband?”

  “No.”

  “Is your name Olivia Grace Shaw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your birthday on June twelfth?”

  “Yes.”

  Rivera was back on the control questions. They had to be at the end of the questioning. She felt her stress bleed out of her.

  “Do you have a pet dog?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Shaw. That concludes the test. You did very well.”

  Did well at what—passing the test or incriminating myself? she wondered.

  Rivera came over and unplugged her from all the sensors. “I just need a few minutes to collate my results,” he said as he exited.

  A moment later, Finz let himself into the room. “How’d it go?”

  “Okay, but it was a little spooky.”

  He smiled. “I know the feeling. Every cop submits to one before they get the job. I just have a couple of questions while Isaac finishes up. Is that okay?”

  The hairs on her neck stood up. These guys were playing with her. She was sure of it. “No problem.”