"I'll be the one asking the questions and analyzing the results," Larson said. "Upon completion, I will give the investigators one of three possible answers: "The subject is truthful, untruthful, or the results are inconclusive."

Larson had given this prep-talk a thousand times.

"I know you will be very nervous, I am fully aware of that and expect you to be." Larson, smiled, showing baby-sized teeth. Larson made notes with an elegant fountain pen as he conducted a pretest interview, then discussed pretest questions with Doug.

About an hour later, Larson very expertly seated Doug in the most comfortable chair available, then connected Doug to the instrumentation of his machine. He made a point of sharing how he personally enjoyed the Factfinder model of polygraph.

The examination began casually with routine establishing questions. Zander, Sydowski, Thornton, Crow, and Bowman were present but sat behind Doug. Larson repeatedly went over various areas as the ink needles scratched the graph paper.

"Why have you agreed to the examination, sir?"

"So you will know what I am guilty of."

"What are you guilty of?"

"Forcing my daughter to run away, to become lost."

"Did you harm her directly in any way during this trip?"

What is happening? This examination seems to be eternal. Doug tried concentrating but was slipping into a surreal world. Only a few days ago his family was singing along to rock songs on the CD of their rented SUV as they drove to Glacier National Park. This was going to be the healing trip. The one that brought them together, closer than they had ever been. Emily was going to bury the past and they were going to help her. What happened? Sweet Jesus Fucking Christ. Help me. How did I come to be sitting here, wired to a lie-detector, with the FBI thinking I killed my own child? My only child? Something was forming his throat. Someone was repeating his name.

"Doug?"

"Did you harm her directly in any way during this trip?"

"No."

"Are you are an ex-marine?"

"Yes."

"Did you have to be tough?"

"Yes."

Larson's eyes were fixed on the graph paper.

"Are you a high school English teacher?"

"Yes."

"Do you know Cammi Walton?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever touch her in any way?"

"Yes."

"Was it appropriate?"

"Yes."

Larson made tiny indecipherable notations on the graph paper with his fountain pen.

"Did you strike her?"

"What?"

The chart needles tremored.

Maleena Crow glared at Frank Zander.

"Doug, did you strike her?"

"No."

Tears were stinging his eyes.

"Are you are a high school football coach?"

"Yes."

God, he was going round and round with the same questions.

"Do you yell?"

"Yes."

"You ever lose your temper?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever threaten physical violence at home to your wife or daughter?"

"No."

"Were police ever summoned to your home?"

"Yes."

"Was it because of a report of violence?"

"I don't know."

"Were you physically violent before police arrived at your home?"

"No."

"Did you yell at your daughter during this trip?"

"Yes."

"Have you been violent?"

"I've yelled."

"Have you been physically violent?"

"No."

"Have you ever struck anyone in anger?"

"No."

A notation.

"Did you hurt your hand chopping wood?"

"Yes."

"Did you bleed?"

"Yes."

"Are you right-handed?"

"Yes."

"Was your daughter present when you injured your hand chopping wood?"

"Yes."

"Did you harm her with the ax?"

"No."

"Was you wife present?"

"No."

More notations and a pause.

"Who harmed your daughter?"

"I don't know that she is harmed."

"Do you believe your wife could have harmed your daughter?"

Doug did not answer. Paige, running to where Emily was--the last image.

"I sent her to you."

Five seconds passed. The needles scratched. Ten seconds. Larson watching the graph, repeating.

"Do you believe your wife could have harmed your daughter?"

"No, she loves her."

"Do you know who Isaiah Hood is?"

What? Doug was puzzled. "Yes, the guy who is going to be executed."

The needles swiped the page.

"Does your wife have a sister?"

"Yes."

"Did you know her sister was dead?"

What? What did he say? Jesus. What?

The needles swayed wildly.

"Did you know her sister was dead?"

"No."

"Did you know your wife was present with Isaiah Hood when her sister was killed?"

What? The needles lurched wildly.

Doug turning white with fear and rage. Standing, he ripped the polygraph instrumentation from his body. Larson was urging, "please sit down!" Doug turned and confronted Zander. The other investigators rose defensively. Doug eyed their sidearms.

He did nothing. Stood there. Feeling the earth shifting under his feet. Heartbroken. Defeated. Unshaven. His hair wild. He looked every bit the man suspected of hacking his daughter to death with an ax.

FORTY-SIX.

Respect and revulsion were twin internal forces Tom Reed battled whenever he conducted death row interviews.