Normally she’d want far more details than this, but there was no more time.
Fast…
Dance left the folder at the desk out front and entered the interrogation room. Keplar glanced up with a smile.
“Uncuff him,” she said to Albert Stemple, who didn’t hesitate even though he clearly wasn’t crazy about the idea.
Dance would be alone in the room with an unshackled suspect, but she couldn’t afford to have the man’s arms limited by chains. Body language analysis is hard enough even with all the limbs unfettered.
Keplar slumped lazily in the gray padded office chair, as if settling in to watch a football game he had some, but not a lot of, interest in.
Dance nodded to Stemple, who left and closed the thick door behind him. Her eyes went to the large analog clock at the far end of the room.
2:16.
Keplar followed her gaze then looked back. “You’re goin’ to try to find out where the…event’s takin’ place. Ask away. But I’ll tell you right now, it’s going to be a waste of time.”
Dance moved her chair so that she sat across from him, with no furniture between them. Any barrier between interviewer and subject, even a small table, gives the perp a sense of protection and makes kinesic analysis that much harder. Dance was about three feet from him, in his personal proxemic zone — not so close as to make him stonewall, but near enough to keep him unsettled.
Except that he wasn’t unsettled. At all. Wayne Keplar was as calm as could be.
He looked at her steadily, a gaze that was not haughty, not challenging, not sexy. It was almost as if he were sizing up a dog to buy for his child.
“Wayne, you don’t have a driver’s license.”
“Another way for the government to keep tabs on you.”
“Where do you live?”
“Oakland. Near the water. Been there for six years. Town has a bad rap but it’s okay.”
“Where were you before that?”
“San Diego.”
She asked more about his personal life and travels, pretending not to know the answers. She’d left the file outside.
His responses were truthful. And as he spoke she noted his shoulders were forward, his right hand tended to come to rest on his thigh, he looked her straight in the eye when he spoke, his lips often curled into a half smile. He had a habit of poking his tongue into the interior of his cheek from time to time. It could have been a habit or could be from withdrawal — missing chewing tobacco, which Dance knew could be as addictive as smoking.
“Why’d you leave San Diego, Wayne? Weather’s nicer than Oakland.”
“Not really. I don’t agree with that. But I just didn’t like it. You know how you get a vibration and it’s just not right.”
“That’s true,” she said.
He beamed in an eerie way. “Do you? You know that? You’re a firecracker, Kathryn. Yes, you are.”
A chill coursed down her spine as the near-set eyes tapped across her face.
She ignored it as best she could and asked, “How senior are you in the Brothers of Liberty?”
“I’m pretty near the top. You know anything about it?”
“No.”
“I’d love to tell you. You’re smart, Ms. Firecracker. You’d probably think there’re some pretty all right ideas we’ve got.”
“I’m not sure I would.”
A one-shoulder shrug — another of his baseline gestures. “But you never know.”
Then came more questions about his life in Oakland, his prior convictions, his childhood. Dance knew the answers to some but the others were such that he’d have no reason to lie and she continued to rack up elements of baseline body language and verbal quality (the tone and speed of speech).
She snuck a glance at the clock.
“Time’s got you rattled, does it?”
“You’re planning to kill a lot of people. Yes, that bothers me. But not you, I see.”
“Ha, now you’re sounding just like a therapist. I was in counseling once. It didn’t take.”
“Let’s talk about what you have planned, the two hundred people you’re going to kill.”
“Two hundred and change.”
So, more victims. His behavior fit the baseline. This was true; he wasn’t just boasting.
“How many more?”
“Two hundred twenty, I’d guess.”
An idea occurred to Dance and she said, “I’ve told you we’re not releasing Osmond Carter. That will never be on the table.”
“Your loss…well, not yours. Two hundred and some odd people’s loss.”
“And killing them is only going to make your organization a pariah, a—”
“I know what ‘pariah’ means. Go on.”
“Don’t you think it would work to your advantage, from a publicity point of view, if you call off the attack, or tell me the location now?”
He hesitated. “Maybe. That could be, yeah.” Then his eyes brightened. “Now, I’m not inclined to call anything off. That’d look bad. Or tell you direct where this thing’s going to happen. But you being Ms. Firecracker and all, how ’bout I give you a chance to figure it out. We’ll play a game.”
“Game?”
“Twenty Questions. I’ll answer honestly, I swear I will.”
Sometimes that last sentence was a deception flag. Now, she didn’t think so.
“And if you find out where those two hundred and twenty souls’re going to meet Jesus…then good for you. I can honestly say I didn’t tell you. But you only get twenty questions. You don’t figure it out, get the morgue ready. You want to play, Kathryn? If not, I’ll just decide I want my lawyer and hope I’m next to a TV in”—he looked at the clock—“one hour and forty-one minutes.”
“All right, let’s play,” Dance said, and she subtly wiped the sweat that had dotted her palms. How on earth to frame twenty questions to narrow down where the attack would take place? She’d never been in an interrogation like this.
He sat forward. “This’ll be fun!”
“Is the attack going to be an explosive device?”
“Question one — I’ll keep count. No.”
“What will it be?”
“That’s question two but, sorry, you know Twenty Questions: has to be yes or no answers. But I’ll give you a do-over.”
“Will it be a chemical/bio weapon?”
“Sorta cheating there, a twofer. But I’ll say yes.”
“Is it going to be in a place open to the public?”
“Number three. Yes, sorta public. Let’s say, there’ll be public access.”
He was telling the truth. All his behavior and the pitch and tempo of voice bore out his honesty. But what did he mean by public access but not quite public?
“Is it an entertainment venue?”
“Question four. Well, not really, but there will be entertainment there.”
“Christmas related?”
He scoffed. “That’s five. Are you asking questions wisely, Ms. Firecracker? You’ve used a quarter of them already. You could have combined Christmas and entertainment. Anyway, yes, Christmas is involved.”
Dance thought this curious. The Brothers of Liberty apparently had a religious side, even if they weren’t born-again fanatics. She would have thought the target might be Islamic or Jewish.
“Have the victims done anything to your organization personally?”
Thinking police or law enforcement or government.
“Six. No.”
“You’re targeting them on ideological grounds?”
“Seven. Yes.”
She asked, “Will it be in Monterey County?”
“Number eight. Yes.”
“In the city of…” No, if she followed those lines of questioning, she’d use up all the questions just asking about the many towns and unincorporated areas in Monterey County. “Will it be near the water?”