Police Interrogation I

You are in the back seat of a police cruiser being taken to their Headquarters for questioning. The two detectives start joking with you. One is fat, the other bald. Everybody’s laughing and all seems well with the world. Y’all buddies, right? Then you pass a fast food joint and they ask if you want a burger and fries. How very generous of them. You ask if you can also have a Caramel Frape and a cherry pie.

When you arrive at the destination, they quickly usher you into a small windowless room with a long wooden table and three chairs that look like they came from an elementary school. There’s a huge mirror on one side of the wall. You forget that cops are watching you on the opposite side. They ask if you’re comfortable. Do you want a cigarette? No? Are you sure? You can even have the entire pack! Gee, you think to yourself, they really care about you. So you relax and lean back in the chair. All is cool. Life is good. The detectives sit across from you straddling the little kiddie chairs.

“You’re a nice man,” Baldy says. “A good Christian. We know you didn’t want to rob that bank. It was just the stress and things got out of hand.”

Suddenly you’re alert and you sit bolt upright. What the hell? you think to yourself. What are they talking about?

“We found a set of your prints at one of the teller’s window,” Fatso continues. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and just confess.”

“You gotta be kidding me! There has to be hundreds of fingerprints at these windows!”

“There are holes in your story. Inconsistencies.”

“Really?” Now you are confused.

“Oh yes,” Baldy says. “First you said you were at the bank at 9:15. Then later you said it was between 9 and 9:30.”

“Is that being inconsistent?”

“Very much so,” Fatso says.

How did I do that, you wonder? I wasn’t confused about the time before.

”It’s a major discrepancy. There’s no way to reconcile it. You might as well confess now.”

“Confess what?”

“Oh, you know very well what.”

I do?”

“Of course! So get it off your chest. You’ll feel better, we promise.”

“Get what off my chest? I didn’t do anything!”

Fatso is getting impatient and starts to raise his voice a bit. “Look, I have been doing this for more than 25 years. I’m an expert in body language and your body movements are telling me you are guilty!

“Which body movements?

Baldy chuckles and exchanges glances with Fatso.

“Well,” says Fatso, “you’re blinking.”

“Isn’t that normal?”

“Not the way you blink.”

“How am I blinking?”

“Your eyelids go up and down.”

“Of course they do. Everybody blinks some 20,000 times a day. I heard that on the National Geographic channel.”

Fatso snorts, while Baldy scrawls something in his notepad. “Plus your arms are all red.”

You look at your arms. “I have psoriasis.”

Baldy quickly scrawls more chicken scratch in his notepad. Fatso still looks smug.

“You squint a lot. Are you nervous?”

“I’m squinting because I don’t have my glasses.”

Baldy stops writing and jams his notepad in his left breast pocket. He is flustered and nearly crying, so he excuses himself and leaves the room…

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