Dance examined the map of lower Manhattan, memorizing the details of the crime scene and of Ari Cobb's afterwork schedule the previous day, as Sachs and a young patrol officer, named Pulaski, pointed them out.

Finally she felt comfortable with the facts. "Okay, let's get to work. Where is he?"

"A room across the hall."

"Bring him in."

A moment later an NYPD patrol officer brought in a short, trim businessman wearing an expensive suit. Dance didn't know if they'd actually arrested him but the way he touched his wrists told her that he'd been in cuffs recently.

Dance greeted the man, who was uneasy and angry, and nodded him to a chair. She sat across from him-nothing between them-and scooted forward until she was in a neutral proxemic zone, the term referring to the physical space between a subject and an interviewer. This zone can be adjusted to make the subject more or less comfortable. She was not too close to be invasive but not so far away as to give him a sense of security. ("You push the edge of edgy," she'd say in her lectures.)

"Mr. Cobb, my name's Kathryn Dance. I'm a law enforcement agent and I'd like to talk to you about what you saw last night."

"This is ridiculous. I already told them"-a nod at Rhyme-"everything I saw."

"Well, I just arrived. I don't have the benefit of your previous answers."

Jotting responses, she asked a number of simple questions-where he lived and worked, marital status, and the like-which gave her Cobb's baseline reaction to stress. She listened carefully to his answers. ("Watching and listening are the two most important parts of the interview. Speaking comes last.")

One of the first jobs of an interviewer is to determine the personality type of the subject-whether he's an introvert or extrovert. These types aren't what most people think; they're not about being boisterous or retiring. The distinction is about how people make decisions. An introvert is governed by intuition and emotion more than logic and reason; an extrovert, the opposite. Assigning personalities helps the interviewer in framing the questions and picking the right tone and physical demeanor to adopt when asking them. For instance, taking a gruff, clipped approach with an introvert will make him withdraw into his shell.

Ari Cobb, though, was a classic extrovert and an arrogant one at that-no kid gloves were needed. This was Kathryn Dance's favorite kind of subject. She got to kick serious butt when interviewing them.

Cobb cut off a question. "You've held me way too long. I have to get to work. What happened to that man isn't my fault."

Respectful but firm, Dance said, "Oh, it's not a question of fault… Now, Ari, let's talk about last night."

"You don't believe me. You're calling me a liar. I wasn't there when the crime happened."

"I'm not suggesting you're lying. But there still might've been something you saw that could help us. Something you think isn't important. See, part of my job is helping people remember things. I'll walk you through the events of last night and maybe something'll occur to you."

"Well, there's nothing I saw. I just dropped some money. That's all. I handled the whole thing badly. And now it's a federal case. This is such bullshit."

"Let's just go back to yesterday. One step at a time. You were working in your office. Stenfeld Brothers Investments. In the Hartsfield Building."

"Yeah."

"All day?"

"Right."

"You got off work at what time?"

"Seven thirty, a little before."

"And what did you do after that?"

"I went to Hanover's for drinks."

"That's on Water Street," she said. Always keep your subjects guessing exactly how much you know.

"Yeah. It was a martini and Karaoke thing. They call it Martuney Night. Like 'tunes.'"

"Clever."

"I've got a group I meet there. We go a lot. Some friends. Close friends."

She noticed that his body language meant he was about to add something-probably he was anticipating her asking for their names. Being too ready with an alibi is an indicator of deception-the subject tends to think that offering it is good enough and the police won't bother to check it out, or won't be smart enough to figure out that having a drink at 8 P.M. doesn't exculpate you from a robbery that happened at seven thirty.

"You left when?"

"At nine or so."

"And went home?"

"Yes."

"To the Upper East Side."

A nod.

"Did you take a limo?"

"Limo, right," he said sarcastically. "No, the subway."

"From which station?"

"Wall Street."

"Did you walk?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Carefully," he said, grinning. "It was icy."

Dance smiled. "The route?"

"I walked down Water Street, cut over on Cedar to Broadway then south."

"And that's where you lost your money clip. On Cedar. How did that happen?" Her tone and the questions were completely nonthreatening. He was relaxing now. His attitude was less aggressive. Her smiles and low, calm voice were putting him at ease.

"As near as I can figure, it fell out when I was getting my subway pass."

"How much money was it again?"

"Over three hundred."

"Ouch…"

"Yeah, ouch."

She nodded at the plastic bag containing the money and clip. "Looks like you just hit the ATM too. Worst time to lose money, right? After a withdrawal."

"Yep." He offered a grimacing smile.

"When did you get to the subway?"

"Nine-thirty."

"It wasn't later, you sure?"

"I'm positive. I checked my watch when I was on the platform. It was nine thirty-five, to be exact." He glanced down at his big gold Rolex. Meaning, she supposed, that a watch this expensive was sure to tell accurate time.

"And then?"

"I went back home and had dinner in a bar near my building. My wife was out of town. She's a lawyer. Does corporate financing work. She's a partner."

"Let's go back to Cedar Street. Were there any lights on? People home in their apartments?"

"No, it's all offices and stores there. Not residential."

"No restaurants?"

"A few but they're only open for lunch."

"Any construction?"

"They're renovating a building on the south side of the street."

"Was anybody on the sidewalks?"

"No."

"Cars driving slowly, suspiciously?"

"No," Cobb said.

Dance was vaguely aware of the other officers watching her and Cobb. They were undoubtedly impatient, waiting, like most people, for the big Confession Moment. She ignored them. Nobody really existed except the agent and her subject. Kathryn Dance was in her own world-a "zone," her son, Wes, would say (he was the athlete of the family).

She looked over the notes she'd taken. Then she closed the notebook and replaced one pair of glasses with another, as if she were exchanging reading for distance glasses. The prescriptions were the same, but instead of the larger round lenses and pastel frames these were small and rectangular, with black metal frames, making her look predatory. She called them her "Terminator specs." Dance eased closer to Cobb. He crossed his legs.

In a voice much edgier, she asked, "Ari, where did that money really come from?"

"The-"

"Money? You didn't get it at an ATM." It was during his comments about the cash that she noticed an increased stress level-his eyes stayed locked on to hers, but the lids lowered slightly and his breathing altered, both major deviations from his nondeceptive baseline.

"Yes, I did," he countered.

"What bank?"

A pause. "You can't make me tell you that."

"But we can subpoena your bank records. And we'll detain you until we get them. Which could take a day or two."

"I went to the fucking ATM!"