The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [108]
“Of course,” Ober said. “One last question, though: If the house is bugged, why are you still telling me all this?”
“There’s nothing Rick’s heard that he can use against me,” Ben explained. “Lisa’s bills are already on their way, and if Nathan’s on his side, he already knows—” Ben heard a key in the lock of the front door and fell silent. “Don’t say a single word,” he warned, whispering over his shoulder as Ober followed him into the living room. “You promised.”
When the door opened, Nathan walked into the room. “My friend, you are going to be thrilled with me,” he said to Ben as he hung his jacket in the closet. He put his briefcase on the coffee table and sat down next to Ober. “Thanks to yours truly, you are now going to pass the marshal’s ever-alarming lie detector test.”
“And how’s that?” Ben asked.
“Well, let’s just say that I made a number of phone calls today, and I was able to get everything we need to beat the test.” Nathan opened his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “I spoke to some of the technicians in the security division and they explained it all. First and foremost, you’re right about the test not being admissible in court.”
“I know,” Ben said curtly. “They’ve never been admissible.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Nathan asked.
Ober looked at Ben. “It’s nothing,” Ben said. “I’m just nervous about it. What else did they say?”
“This is the way the test works,” Nathan said, consulting a sheet of paper. “When you first walk in, they almost always have the machine set up in the middle of the room. They try to make it look imposing since the theory is that most people will confess because they’re so terrified of the machine. They then ask you questions for at least an hour before the machine is even hooked up and turned on. On average, this is where most people crack,” Nathan said, looking up from the paper to accentuate his point. “They said that the shadow of the box is enough to intimidate the average criminal.”
“Hey, Ben’s far more than average,” Ober said. “He’s at least in the ninetieth percentile of criminals.”
Ignoring his roommate, Nathan continued, “The machine itself measures three things: respiratory rate, blood pressure, and galvanic skin response, which is the skin’s response to electric current. Lying usually has a positive correlation with sweating, so the machine picks up your sweat levels. Not that you’d have any problem with that.”
“Just tell me how to pass the test,” Ben said impatiently.
“Relax,” Nathan said. “After the hour of questions, they’ll hook you up to the machine. And when they attach it, the machine will take baseline readings of your breathing and respiratory levels. This is the place where the undereducated always try to cheat the machine. They’ll try to breathe heavy and fidget around—doing anything they can to convince the machine that their heart rate is higher than it actually is. But the guys in security said that a good machine operator will easily recognize this and will quickly account for it.
“After the initial adjustment, they pull out a deck of cards, and they ask you questions about the cards. This is just to convince you that the machine works. Then they ask you three questions, and you’re supposed to answer no to each one, even if the real answer is yes. That’s how they see if you’re lying. They ask if you’re over the age of twenty-one, if you smoke, and if you’ve ever done anything you’re ashamed of. After that, finally, they ask you a maximum of three questions about whatever it is you’re accused of.”
“And that’s it?” Ben asked skeptically.
“That’s it.”
“But what about the way it works in the movies?” Ober asked. “Where you see the suspect getting grilled with dozens of questions while the needle thrashes across the scrolling paper.”
“Doesn’t happen in real life,” Nathan said. “In the real world, it can only test the truthfulness of three statements in a session.”
“So how does that help me?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” Nathan said, reaching back into his briefcase. He pulled out a small brown medicine vial and