She shook his hand. The deputy said he was going to supervise the crime scene search and headed across the street.

"Tell me what you saw, Mr. Pfister."

"Travis. Travis Brigham."

"Did you know it was him?"

A nod. "I saw his picture online when I was at lunch about a half hour ago. That's how I recognized him."

"Could you tell me exactly what you saw?" she asked. "And when?"

"Okay, it was around eleven this morning. I had a meeting in Carmel. I run an Allstate agency." He said this proudly.

Got that one right, she thought.

"I left about ten-forty and was driving back to Monterey. Took this shortcut. It'll be nice when that new highway's open, won't it?"

She smiled noncommittally, not a smile really.

"And I pulled off onto that side road"-he gestured-"to make some phone calls." He gave a broad smile. "Never drive and talk. That's my rule."

Dance's lifted eyebrow prodded him to continue.

"I looked out my windshield and I saw him walking along the shoulder. From that direction. He didn't see me. He was kind of shuffling his feet. It seemed like he was talking to himself."

"What was he wearing?"

"One of those hooded sweatshirts like the kids have."

Ah, the hoodie.

"What color was it?"

"I don't remember."

"Jacket, slacks?"

"Sorry. I wasn't paying much attention. I didn't know who he was at that point-I hadn't heard about the Roadside Cross stuff. All I knew was that he was weird and scary. He was carrying that cross, and he had a dead animal."

"An animal?"

A nod. "Yeah, a squirrel or groundhog or something. It had its throat cut." He gestured with his finger at his own neck.

Dance hated any atrocities committed against animals. Still, she kept her voice even as she asked, "Had he just killed it?"

"I don't think so. There wasn't much blood."

"Okay, then what happened?"

"Then he looks up and down the road and when he doesn't see anybody he opens his backpack and-"

"Oh, he had a backpack?"

"That's right."

"What color was it?"

"Uhm, black, I'm pretty sure. And he takes a shovel out, a little one. The sort that you'd use on a camping trip. And he opens it up and digs a hole and then puts the cross in the ground. Then…this is really weird. He goes through this ritual. He walks around the cross three times, and it looks like he's chanting."

"Chanting?"

"That's right. Muttering things. I can't hear what."

"And then?"

"He picks up the squirrel and walks around the cross again five times-I was counting. Three and five…Maybe it was a message, a clue, if somebody could figure it out."

After The Da Vinci Code, Dance had observed, a lot of witnesses tended to decrypt their observations rather than just say what they'd seen.

"Anyway, he opened his backpack again and pulled out this stone and a knife. He used the stone to sharpen the blade. Then he held the knife over the squirrel. I thought he was going to cut it up, but he didn't. I saw his lips moving again, then he wrapped the body up in some kind of weird yellow paper, like parchment, and put it in the backpack. Then it looked like he said one last thing and went up the road the way he came. Loping, you know. Like an animal."

"And what did you do then?"

"I left and went on to a few more meetings. I went back to the office. That's when I went online and saw the news about the boy. I saw his picture. I freaked out. I called nine-one-one right away."

Dance gestured Michael O'Neil over.

"Michael, this is interesting. Mr. Pfister's been real helpful."

O'Neil nodded his thanks.

"Now could you tell Deputy O'Neil here what you saw?"

"Sure." Pfister explained again about pulling over to make calls. "The boy had a dead animal of some sort. A squirrel, I think. He walked around in a circle three times without the body. Then he plants the cross and walks around it five times. He was talking to himself. It was weird. Like a different language."

"And then?"

"He wrapped the squirrel up in this parchment paper and held the knife over it. He said something else in that weird language again. Then he left."

"Interesting," O'Neil said. "You're right, Kathryn."

It was then that Dance pulled off her pale-pink-framed glasses and polished them. And subtly swapped them for a pair with severe black frames.

O'Neil caught on immediately that she was putting on her predator specs and stepped back. Dance moved closer to Pfister, well into his personal proxemic zone. Immediately, she could see, he felt a sense of threat.

Good.

"Now, Ken, I know you're lying. And I need you to tell me the truth."

"Lying?" He blinked in shock.

"That's right."

Pfister'd been pretty good at his deception, but certain comments and behaviors had tipped her off. Her suspicions arose initially because of content-based analysis: considering what he said rather than how he said it. Some of his explanations sounded too incredible to be true. Claiming he didn't know who the boy was and that he'd never heard about the Roadside Cross attack-when he seemed to go online regularly to get news. Claiming Travis was wearing a hoodie, which several of the posters to The Chilton Report had said, but not remembering the color-people tend to remember the hues of clothing far better than the garments themselves.

Pfister had also paused frequently-liars often do this as they try to craft credible deceptive lines. And he'd used at least one "illustrator" gesture-the finger at the throat; people use these subconsciously to reinforce spurious statements.

So, suspicious, Dance had then used a shorthand technique to test for deception: In determining if somebody's lying, an interviewer will ask to hear his story several times. One who's telling the truth may edit the narrative some and remember things forgotten the first time through, but the chronology of events will always be the same. A liar, though, often forgets the sequence of occurrences within his fictional narrative. This happened with Pfister in retelling the story to O'Neil; he'd mixed up when the boy had planted the cross.

Also, while honest witnesses may recall new facts during the second telling, they'll rarely contradict the first version. Initially Pfister had said that Travis was whispering and that he couldn't hear the words. The second version included the detail that he couldn't understand the words, which were "weird," implying that he had heard them.

Dance concluded without a doubt that Pfister was fabricating.

In other circumstances Dance would have handled the interrogation more subtly, tricked the witness into revealing the truth. But this was a man whose liar's personality-she assessed him as a social deceiver-and slippery personal attitude would mean a long bout of tough interviewing to get to the truth. She didn't have time. The second cross, containing today's date, meant that Travis might be planning the next attack right now.

"So, Ken, you're real close to going to jail."

"What? No!"

Dance didn't mind a bit of double teaming. She glanced at O'Neil, who said, "You sure are. And we need the truth."

"Oh, please. Look…" But he offered nothing for their examination. "I didn't lie! Really. Everything I told you is true."

This was different from assuring her that he'd actually seen what he said he had. Why did the guilty always think they were so clever? She asked, "Did you witness what you told me?"

Under her laser gaze, Pfister looked away. His shoulders slumped. "No. But it's all true. I know it!"

"How can you?" she asked.

"Because I read that somebody saw him doing what I told you. On this blog. The Chilton Report."

Her eyes slipped to O'Neil's. His expression matched hers. She asked, "Why did you lie?"