Viper - Michael Morley [96]
Sylvia frowned. ‘Doesn’t Creed have to be attached to it somehow?’
‘Nope. It works on voice patterns. It’s so sensitive that it can detect even the slightest hesitation, a variance or stress. If we open up a phone line in the interview room and just get Creed to talk normally – discuss things he wouldn’t lie about – then we can have a baseline reading to calibrate from and Howie can give us real-time readings and results.’
‘So throughout the interview he can tell us whether Creed is lying or not?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And this is how accurate?’
‘Ninety-eight per cent. Beats the pants off the poly.’
‘Let’s do it.’ Sylvia looked pleased. ‘Great thing is, because the test is being run outside Italy, I don’t even need permission.’
Jack phoned Howie. He was in luck. It was now ten p.m. in Italy, four p.m. in NYC.
It turned out that apart from a couple of Buds with his corn dog lunch, Howie hadn’t touched a drop. Sylvia grabbed some files she needed, then headed to IT to fix the connections.
Howie had his Dell up and running before Jack’s ass hit the seat opposite Creed. The profiler wore a small, covert, Bluetooth earbud receiver linked to his cellphone that was on an open line to Howie’s phone.
Sylvia reminded Creed that the interview was being recorded on tape – but she didn’t mention the LVA. She got him to state his full name, age, current address, and asked him again if he wanted a lawyer. He waved her away. ‘I’m here to help. I’ve always been trying to help. I don’t need a lawyer.’
Got the baseline and the guy’s already lying, Howie whispered in Jack’s ear.
‘That’s not quite right, Luciano, is it?’
Creed stared at Jack. He was shocked to be pulled up so quickly. He reflected. ‘You mean the press conference? I suppose you’re right. I wasn’t trying to help there; I was trying to embarrass you. I hope I succeeded.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Because for more than a year now I’ve been trying to get the constipated minds of the carabinieri to look into these cases. But, oh no, you people keep telling me, “Shut up, Luciano. They’re not linked, they’re not murders, they’re just missing people.” Well, now you know the truth. You fucked up. They’re murders – they’re dead people, not missing people –’
‘Okay, we get the picture,’ interjected Jack. ‘You want to help – great. Let’s start at the beginning.’
Creed glared across the table. ‘Fine. The beginning.’
‘Did you have any connection to these women? Other than the research work you did for the carabinieri during your secondment from the university?’
‘None at all.’
True, Howie whispered in Jack’s ear. He’s telling you the truth.
‘You never dated any of these women – weren’t personally involved with them or had any sexual connection to them?’
‘No. None. I never knew any of them.’
LVA reading shows uncertainty – strong hesitation, said Howie.
Jack went back over the same ground. ‘What was the sexual link, Luciano? There was something sexual between you and at least one of these girls. What was it?’
Creed looked away and let out a huuh. ‘The last one, Francesca, the hot one. I used to jerk off to her pictures. There were some swimsuit shots in the police file – I photocopied them and used to look at them when the urge took me.’
Sylvia looked away so Creed couldn’t see her disgust. Jack showed no emotion. ‘Back in New York, I found some drawings that you’d made. Sketches you’d done while staying at the Lester. Can you remember them?’
Creed shuffled in his chair. ‘Not really. I doodle all the time. I have a creative mind. Why are they of interest?’
He remembers them, prompted Howie.
Sylvia opened one of the files she’d brought and slid across the table the drawing Jack had retrieved and pieced together.
‘Not bad,’ said Creed looking at the pencil scribblings of vaginas and breasts.