Rosson had already spent forty-five minutes chatting with her, getting background information and evaluating her emotional state.
Now he was ready to begin. “Are you comfortable?” “Yes.” “Good. Let’s start.”
He pressed a button. “What’s your name?” “Ashley Patterson.”
Rosson’s eyes kept darting between Ashley and the polygraph printout. “How old are you, Miss Patterson?” “Twenty-eight.”
“Where do you live?” “10964 Via Camino Court in Cupertino.” “Are you employed?” “Yes.”
“Do you like classical music?” “Yes.” “Do you know Richard Melton?” “No.”
There was no change on the graph. “Where do you work?” “At Global Computer Graphics Corporation.”
“Do you enjoy your job?” “Yes.” “Do you work five days a week?” “Yes.”
“Have you ever met Jean Claude Parent?” “No.” Still no change on the graph.
“Did you have breakfast this morning?” “Yes.” “Did you kill Dennis Tibble?” “No.”
The questions continued for another thirty minutes and were repeated three times, in a different order.
When the session was over, Keith Rosson walked in Sam Blake's office and handed him the polygraph test.
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다음페이지
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