CHAPTER TWENTY-seven
So I’ve solved one mystery today.
Mary Claire wasn’t lying.
Agent Dewey escorts me to a room with no windows. It looks like the interrogation room in Holcomb, furnished only with a table and two chairs. But it’s scarier, somehow. Maybe because this time I know my parents and brother won’t be waiting for me when I’m done. Or maybe because I’m not going to be recorded here. I’m going to be hooked up, analyzed, examined.
There’s a black rectangular box in the middle of the table. It’s got cords coming from sockets, cords that will soon be attached to me.
Agent Dewey straightens the graph paper on the machine and tightens the needles. He’s already explained that they will move up and down as I answer yes-or-no questions.
Those are my only choices. Yes or no. It should be easy. But I already feel anxious.
I sit facing a wall as a deputy attaches sensors to my body. The sensors will record my respiration, heart rate, and blood pressure. He puts two air-filled rubber tubes around my chest and abdomen to measure the rate and depth of my breathing. A blood-pressure cuff is wrapped around my upper arm. Fingerplates are slipped around my middle and index fingers.
“The agent will ask you ten questions, and you will answer yes or no to each question. Your responses will be recorded as well as how your body changes during the questioning. Now, don’t worry, everyone has been asked a version of these questions,” the deputy says.
It won’t make an alarm sound if I speak out of line—but I won’t; I have nothing to hide. Agent Dewey coughs, drinks from a coffee cup, and lights a cigarette. He turns on the machine. The spindles go up and down, measuring my blood pressure, spiking when I get nervous or anxious or scared. I think I’m going to wet my pants. Will that short out a circuit and electrocute me?
“Okay, let’s begin,” he says, blowing smoke toward my face.
Instead of saying a word, I nod, mainly because I don’t know if I’m allowed to speak or not.
Agent Dewey takes a deep breath. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Please answer with yes or no; don’t explain, just respond. And no nodding—speak. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say.
Agent Dewey: “Okay, question number one, is your name Carly Fleming?”
Me: “Yes.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number two, are you fifteen years old?”
Me: “Yes.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number three, do you suspect anyone of killing the Clutters?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number four, were you arrested Friday, November twentieth?”
Me: “Yes.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number five, were you born in 1945?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number six, were you born in Kansas?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number seven, do you know who killed the Clutters?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number eight, do you live in Holcomb?”
Me: “Yes.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number nine, did you help kill the Clutters?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number ten, did any of your friends kill the Clutters?”
Me: “No.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number eleven, is today Tuesday?”
Me: “Yes.”
Agent Dewey: “Question number twelve, did you kill the Clutters?”
Me: “No.”