Trigger Effect

“You suspect I’m your thief?” he asked, watching Paige closely.

Great, she thought. She’d accosted the freaking chief of police. “I saw you in the hallway near the office. I’m simply following up on that.”

“I did pass by there, Ms. Carmichael,” he confirmed. “I had just left the main offices where I conferred with my training staff.”

“Did you spot anyone in or near the guest instructor’s office?”

“Not a soul.” He looked at a uniformed officer standing to his left. “Isom, inform your major about the theft. Tell him I want the building and grounds swept immediately for the suspect and billfold. If we at least recover the billfold we may get the suspect’s prints.”

“Yes, sir,” the cop said, then quick-footed it down the hallway.

Quaid looked back at Paige. “I regret this happening to you while at my training center.”

“You’re not the only one.” Paige’s hands balled into fists of frustration. She’d been on the receiving end of a mugging. She had doubts that last night’s allergic reaction was due to a sudden chemical response to a banana. Then there was the mug shot left under her door. Now, her billfold had been stolen. Was everything related? Was it Isaac’s way of playing cat and mouse, just to demonstrate how close he could get to her? She was standing in a building filled with cops, and still the sensation of Isaac’s presence closed like a hand on her throat.

“I take it your driver’s license, credit cards and cash were inside your billfold?” Quaid asked.

“Cash.” Putting a choke hold on her emotions, she dug into her purse, pulled out a small leather case. “I keep my license and credit cards separate.” She did a quick inventory. “They’re all here.”

“Sergeant Alvarado.”

“Sir?”

“Take Ms. Carmichael’s larceny report. If her billfold isn’t found during the sweep, call my secretary to get a requisition number for a cash voucher to replace her money.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked back at Paige. “You’re instructing forensic statement analysis.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I was at a conference about six months ago. Several other police chiefs there talked about the workshop you’d presented for their departments. They had such high praise I had my training staff arrange for you to come here. In fact, I have it on my schedule to stop by your workshop before I leave here today. I want to see for myself what all the praise is about.”

“We’ll be glad to have you, Chief Quaid.” She held out her hand. “No hard feelings, I hope?”

“None. I admire your style, Ms. Carmichael.” His handshake was firm and all business.

Paige waited until he stepped into the classroom to slide Tia a look. “Thanks for smoothing that over. I owe you.”

Tia grinned. “I’m a soft touch for female cops who aren’t afraid to shoot from the hip.” Her expression went serious. “Let’s go to the major’s office and get the report on your billfold written.”

“You probably should combine the larceny with an ongoing investigation under my name,” Paige said as they retraced their steps. “I don’t know if they’re connected, but they might be.”

“An ongoing investigation of what?”

“I was mugged in the parking lot here yesterday. The bastard got my briefcase. And last night I wound up in the E.R. after taking a bite of fruit that had been delivered to my hotel suite.”

“The fruit was tampered with?”

“That, or I’m suddenly allergic to bananas. The fruit’s at the lab now.”

“Sounds like you had an eventful evening.”

“There’s more. Remember the escaped killer I mentioned?”

“The shrink who killed five prostitutes. Who could forget?”

“Someone slid his mug shot with a typed note supposedly from him under my door. The photo had been in my briefcase.”

“Holy crap.”

“Exactly.”

“I need to call dispatch and get the case number assigned to the mugging. Do you remember the name of the cop who took the report?”

“Vawter. Then McCall did a supplemental report on the fruit and the mug shot. He submitted the fruit to the lab.”

Tia’s forehead furrowed. “McCall’s Homicide. How’d he get involved?”

“He ran into Vawter somewhere, and heard about the mugging. McCall called me because he didn’t like the fact I got roughed up on his turf. I was on the phone with him when I had the reaction to the banana. He got me help, then dropped by my hotel room after I got back from the E.R. I’d just found Isaac’s mug shot when McCall showed up.”

“Well, it sounds like Houdini’s not holding a grudge over your nailing him in the workshop yesterday.”

“No, he’s not.” Paige thought about McCall, a cop who’d cared enough to check on her after she’d wound up at the E.R. About the man who loved his three sisters. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the disdain she’d first felt for him had now turned to respect.

“The established norm is that the true victim of a violent crime will not use the pronoun ‘we’ when describing interaction with his or her assailant,” Paige told the workshop attendees late that afternoon. “Suppose you have two women who claim they’ve been raped. One says, ‘He forced me into the shed.’ The second tells you, ‘We went into the shed.’ The second victim’s use of ‘we’ denotes a sense of togetherness with the suspect. This is an automatic red flag. The investigator should question the victim further. Ask if she knew the assailant. Ascertain if they were together before the incident occurred. If, in fact, the alleged incident truly did occur.”

Slowly pacing the length of the classroom, Paige studied the twenty-four men and women seated at the tables before her. She could now see the glimmer of understanding…and beginnings of acceptance in most of the faces. She had made her case; the majority no longer viewed her craft as voodoo science. She had shown there was a legitimacy to using statement analysis that made sense to a cop’s logical, methodical thinking.

“For tomorrow, analyze the separate statement I assigned to each of you in the back of the training manual. Be prepared to tell me if its author is being truthful or deceptive.” She smiled. “Or both.”