The End of Her - Shari Lapena Page 0,76
taken lightly.’ He adds, ‘In most cases, a police polygraph is not helpful, but sometimes it can be.’
There’s an uneasy silence, into which Patrick says, ‘So what are we going to do?’
‘Like I told you on the phone, we’re going to get you hooked up to the machine and do a polygraph right here,’ the attorney says. ‘Sit tight, I’ll be right back.’
Patrick hadn’t told her that they would do a polygraph at the law firm first. Stephanie sits in her chair, reeling. The attorney doesn’t seem to think Patrick will pass the polygraph. Fair enough – most of his clients are probably guilty; they probably routinely fail. But surely Patrick didn’t murder his wife. This is going to help them. It has to.
She looks at Patrick, sitting nervously in his chair; he refuses to meet her eyes. A chill creeps over her, like cold fingers running over her body.
When the attorney returns, he’s accompanied by a man carrying equipment. They quickly get everything set up on a table in the corner of the large office. Soon Patrick is sitting across from the examiner. He has two rubber straps across his chest and a clip on his index finger.
Stephanie and the attorney watch from the side. ‘Just relax,’ Lange tells Patrick. ‘Roddy here is one of the best in the business, a retired police officer. He knows what he’s doing.’ Her husband flicks a nervous glance at the examiner. ‘Roddy is going to ask you a series of questions that we have prepared. Just answer yes or no,’ the attorney says.
The examiner nods at Lange, and the attorney says, ‘Okay, let’s begin.’
The examiner, when he speaks, has a calm, measured voice.
‘Is it the month of October?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to answer all my questions truthfully?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever lied to get out of trouble?’
A slight hesitation. ‘Yes.’
‘Were you living in Creemore, Colorado, in January 2009?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before your wife, Lindsey Kilgour, died on January 10, 2009, did you know that it is dangerous for a person to be inside a running car if the exhaust pipe is blocked with snow?’
‘No.’
‘On the day that your wife died, did you tell her to wait in the car while you shovelled it out?’
‘No.’
‘Before your wife died on January 10, 2009, did you know that the exhaust pipe of your car was blocked with snow?’
‘No.’
‘Do you currently live at Seventeen Danbury Drive, Aylesford, New York?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you ever push your wife Lindsey Kilgour down the stairs?’
‘No.’
‘Did you intend for your wife Lindsey Kilgour to die by having her stay in a running car with the exhaust pipe blocked with snow?’
‘No.’
‘Before January 10, 2009, had you ever heard of an instance where a person died inside a running car because the exhaust pipe was blocked by snow?’
‘No.’
Finally, the examiner turns off the machine and looks up at Lange. He shakes his head, his mouth turned down.
Stephanie sees black spots dancing before her eyes.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
PATRICK, STUNNED, REMAINS seated in the chair, bolt upright, arms on the armrests, his heart hammering. No. This can’t be what it looks like. But Lange is standing beside the examiner, studying the results. His face is serious.
Suddenly he hears Stephanie gasping. She’s sucking in air, her hand clutching at her chest, and everyone’s attention is pulled towards her. He watches her, unable to move. Lange bends down towards Stephanie. Patrick’s still hooked up to the equipment, as if he’s already in the electric chair. He watches his wife in disbelief; she’s having one of her panic attacks.
The attorney is telling her to breathe; her head is bent forward, down to her knees. This is what she does, Patrick thinks, when things get rough. He knows about the panic attacks. She’s told him all about them, described what they feel like. He knows he has failed the polygraph – he can tell by the reaction of the examiner and his attorney.
They are all focusing on his wife. What no one seems to realize is that he’s in just as much shock as she is.
Gradually, the distressed noises coming from his wife subside and she starts to breathe more regularly. ‘That’s it,’ Lange says, his voice steady. Patrick feels the examiner’s hands on him, undoing the equipment. Patrick wants to speak, but he can’t seem to make his voice work.
The mood in the room has shifted, he can feel it. He stares at his wife. He hadn’t wanted her to come. She should have stayed home, like he told her to, he thinks, and she would have been