Triple Threat
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 ten folks’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
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