LITMIR.BIZ

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his chair. “How does that tell you if our guy was alone or not?”

      “In this case it doesn’t because his statement is so brief. If this were an open case, I would recommend that when you and Sergeant Kidd reinterview the husband, you ask him how he spent the day prior to his wife’s murder. Then the day before that, and so on. It would soon be clear which verb he habitually uses when he talks about being with Mary. And if every day he came home and found her alive, it would be a good bet she was still alive when he came home on the day she died.”

      Paige studied her audience. A few were exchanging looks.

      “The husband tells us he ‘noticed that the house is very quiet.’ He’s switched to present tense. That’s a red flag because there’s a good chance that part of the story isn’t coming from memory. That he’s making it up.”

      People had begun jotting notes.

      “The subject writes that he started trying to find his wife, yet he went straight to her bedroom where her body was. Her bedroom. Not sharing a bedroom is unusual for a husband and wife. I would want to ask him about his and Mary’s relationship.

      “He then tells us ‘I finally decided to call 911.’ What’s to decide? He claims he came home and found his wife dead, so calling 911 should have been automatic. Could be he was wondering if he had let enough time go by to call the police.”

      “Every word,” Alvarado said. “You do look at every word.”

      Paige nodded. “A person gives him or herself away unconsciously because they’re focused on hiding information. Patterns can be detected if you know what to look for.”

      She referred back to the statement. “In his third sentence the husband calls Mary by name. Later he refers to her only as ‘my wife’ and ‘her.’ He’s trying to depersonalize Mary.”

      “Because by that point she’s dead?” someone asked.

      “I’d say so. A depersonalization is common in homicide cases when one spouse murders the other.” Paige skimmed her gaze to the end of the statement. “The last sentence is the kicker. ‘Whoever killed her made her suffer, that is for sure.’ If I were working this case, I’d be sure to ask how he knows that.”

      She shifted her gaze to Henderson and Kidd. Both had their eyes trained on her. “In my opinion,” she said, “the husband is as guilty as homemade sin. Is that how things turned out?”

      “Man,” Henderson said, shaking his head. “Man, oh, man.”

      “Yeah.” Kidd pulled the toothpick out of his mouth. Paige saw that it was a plastic one with a curve on one end that held a length of dental floss. “It took us a couple of days, but we got a confession out of him.” Kidd paused. “Did you read about this case in the papers, Ms. Carmichael?”

      “I live in Dallas, Sergeant Kidd. Our media doesn’t cover most crimes that occur in Oklahoma.”

      “Guess not.” He slid the toothpick into the inside pocket of his sport coat.

      “Statement analysis can be used in areas other than criminal investigations.” Paige moved to the table beside the podium and picked up the stack of assignments. “Let’s take a look at one of these.” She fanned through the pages, spotted McCall’s handwriting, plucked out the sheet and began to read.

      “‘I woke up, showered, shaved, got dressed, then drove across town and picked up a friend. We went to Nick’s for champagne brunch. We left Nick’s and drove to a movie. After the movie we stopped and had a drink. Then she and I went to a mall, did some shopping. Later I took her back to her condo. She unlocked the door, I turned on the lights. I went home not long after that. I worked on my car, watched TV, then read for a while.’”

      Paige glanced up. Because several cops were sending knowing looks in McCall’s direction, she figured Nick’s must be a well-known hangout of his.

      “I’m guessing this was written by a male since the author mentioned shaving and working on a car.” She met McCall’s gaze for an instant before looking back at the paper. “The author didn’t introduce his lady friend by name. The norm for healthy relationships is a clear introduction. For example, ‘My friend, Sally.’ But in tumultuous relationships, introductions often are missing. Still, there’s a sense of togetherness in that the author uses the word we in his initial description of his and his friend’s activities. We went to Nick’s, we left there, we drove to the movie, we stopped to have a drink.”

      “Hey, McCall,” Henderson said, sending his coworker a leering look. “Just how much togetherness went on?”

      Muted chuckles sounded while McCall shrugged, said nothing.

      “A problem,” Paige continued, “or disagreement occurred between the time the author and his friend stopped to have a drink and went to the mall. I know that because he shifted his language from we to she and I. That change shows a distancing. This problem continued when he got to his friend’s condo. He was hoping to…” Paige paused. “Well, let’s just say, hope is all he did.”

      “Holy—” Detective Alvarado flicked a slightly amused look over her shoulder at McCall before turning back to Paige. “How the heck can you tell when someone doesn’t score?”

      “The author mentioned that when he and his friend arrived at her condo, he turned on the lights,” Paige replied.

      “So?” Tia asked. “It must have been dark out.”

      “And turning on the lights would be taken for granted. So, mentioning the activity indicates it meant something.” Despite her best intention not to, Paige looked at McCall. She felt a streak of satisfaction to see Sergeant Lothario’s jaw locked tight and his eyes smoldering. “A reference to turning on the lights is prevalent in statements where a person wanted sex, but didn’t get it.”

      “Why is that?” a man from a security consulting firm asked.

      “No one knows for sure.” Paige held up a hand to ward off the inevitable protests. “That’s a long way from a scientific explanation. So is a cop’s following some hunch that winds up solving a crime. You can’t explain it. It just is.”

      “Hey, Teach, can I get my assignment back before you read it?” a man’s voice spiked with humor asked.

      “No can do.” Smiling, Paige opened her briefcase, slid the assignments inside, pleased she was already gaining converts to the investigative technique she deeply believed in. “Like I said, I told you a lot about myself. It’s only fair I learn a few things about each of you.”

      Paige had excused the workshop attendees for lunch and had the classroom to herself. Or so she thought until she glanced up and saw Nate McCall moving down the aisle toward her with what she sensed was a deceptive calm. Seeing him for the first time on his feet, he was taller, leaner than she’d first guessed.

      “Aren’t you going to lunch, Sergeant McCall?” she asked as she shut her briefcase. His cocky grin was just a memory; his face had taken on a closed look, and she decided he did the dead-eyed cop stare as well as anyone she’d ever seen.

      “Kidd and Henderson will wait on me. I need to talk to you.”

      Not you and I need to talk, or we need to talk, she automatically thought. Verbally, McCall was putting plenty of distance between them.

      “About?”

      “You know damn well what about. I want to know why you started snarling the instant you laid eyes on me. And then on your way out of the room why you made sure to drop your pen behind my chair so you’d have time to peg my handwriting.” He paused, giving her a pointed look that would make a civilian squirm in their shoes. “Jump in if I get any of this wrong.”

      He might be a jerk but he wasn’t stupid, Paige thought, and felt her stomach tighten when he took a step forward.

      “That way you could make sure you pulled my paper out of the stack so

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