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Polygraph

Brennan Thomas

    As instructed, I place both hands palm down on the black sensory pad next to her laptop. She is typing, calibrating my present stress level for the preliminary round of questioning.
    Relax. She winks. Just a formality.
    I blink, willing my body not to give anything away to her or Detective Bergdorf observing through the glass window.
    Should someone else be present?
    Not necessary. Typing again. We’ll know everything we need to know shortly.
    It’s her job; she’s done this plenty of times before with more seasoned interviewees. Her practiced gestures and chipper tone affect an air of sympathetic business—we’re all just doing our jobs here.
    Some of the questions I’m going to ask are to get a baseline reading. She wraps two small Velcro pads around my right leg, rubs cool clear gel on my fingertips. For a better reading.
    I hear a click, beep, then a bass hum. The machine has warmed up.
    Okay, here we go. Still chipper. Is your name Brett Mosier?
    Yes.
    Were you born in 1991?
    Yes.
    Did you travel to Las Vegas last weekend?
    Yes. She knows that; they all know that.
    And was this for a bachelor party arranged by a friend?
    Yes. It’s still humming, but they’re getting warmer now. She twists one of the pad’s dials.
    Did you go to a strip club there?
    Yes. Still the hum, no major blips in the baseline. She has to be impressed with that, the honesty. Hold it together.
    Did any stripper give you a lap dance?
    No. I answer that one truthfully; it hadn’t been a dance.
    The machine bleeps once.
    Small change in blood pressure, but I can handle this line of questioning, so long as I can make my answers truthful. I’m praying they stay ambiguous or technical, allowing for wiggle room.
    But they don’t. She suddenly gets direct, looks me dead on.
    Have you ever cheated on me?
    Fail this, and I can kiss Saturday’s Bergdorf and Mosier wedding shindig good-bye.
    I take a deep breath.
    “No.”
    Wait for the machine’s reaction.
    She glances at her laptop. Sharp breath. Frowns at her father staring through the window.
    Saturday is looking hazy indeed.

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