Cajun Justice(23)

“I’m at Arlington,” Cain replied.

“You spend your mornings at a cemetery? That’s awkward.”

Cain started to explain but was cut off.

“No judgment from me, and no explanation necessary. Let’s just hope it’s not a sign of things to come.”

“What?” Cain asked.

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”

“I need some good news.”

“Your polygraph is today. At fourteen hundred.”

“My polygraph? You never mentioned anything about a poly.”

“Just tell the truth and you’ll be fine.”

“You know how I hate those things.”

“Everyone does.”

“If that’s the good news, what’s the bad news?”

“The examiner is Cynthia Gorst.”

Cain exhaled. “That’s not such bad news. She’s a nice lady—very professional.” Cynthia had conducted his agent applicant exam to determine his eligibility for a top secret security clearance.

“Things have changed since your last polygraph to get hired with us. Cynthia is now divorced. I heard it was a nasty split. Husband was cheating on her with her best friend.”

“Ouch,” Cain said.

“Yup. Ever since then, she’s been tougher. Good luck.”

Jill put her arm on Cain’s shoulder. “They’re putting you on the box?”

“Appears so. It’s ironic, huh? They trust me to stand next to the president with a gun, but they don’t trust my statement.”

“Cain, you’re the most honest guy I know.” She reached up and touched his face. “I like this new stubble look on you, but I’d shave before your poly. You know the Service is all about appearances, and they’ll judge your honesty on something as superficial as how you look.”





Chapter 20



The polygraph room was spartan, like an isolation cell in a psychiatric ward. The walls were bright white and devoid of any pictures. The ceiling had a small air-conditioning vent and a long rectangular fluorescent light fixture. What is with the government and their fluorescent lights? Cain wondered. The room was strategically designed that way; the focal point, after all, was the large black leather chair with straps and buckles. That looks just like Gruesome Gertie, Cain thought. I’ll never forget seeing that electric chair at Angola. Professor Foster, his criminal justice teacher, had taken the class on a field trip to the legendary penitentiary.

Cain instantly recognized the short woman with blond curly hair that stopped at her shoulders. Cynthia looked the same, he thought, with the exception of a few gray streaks in her hair and perhaps a few extra pounds that naturally came with age and a sedentary government position. She wore black suit pants and a loosely fitted red blouse, which she had covered up with a black sweater jacket.

Cynthia was a special agent like Cain but had been with the polygraph division for years. Many of Cain’s colleagues on the president’s protective detail referred to agents in the technical services division as desk jockeys or, collectively, the rubber gun squad. But Cain tried to shy away from that kind of talk about others. I have enough faults of my own, he figured.

“Hi, Cynthia. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Good afternoon, Agent Lemaire,” the examiner said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Cain shook her hand and found it to be unnaturally cold. “Wow! You must be freezing in here.”

“I keep it cold in this room so that I get better readings on my equipment. Plus, if I see you start sweating, I’ll know something is amiss.” She seemed more formal than usual, certainly more so than she’d been during Cain’s initial polygraph many years before.

“Well,” Cain said with a natural smile, “I don’t plan on sweating. But if anybody could make me sweat, it’d be you.”

His joke was lost on her. She seems to have lost her joy, he observed. Maybe the divorce? He ran a few other possibilities in his mind. Burnout from the job? Government bureaucracy could beat down almost anyone.

“Before we start,” the examiner said, “I have to hook several of these instruments to your body. They will monitor your heart rate, perspiration, and pupil dilation.”

Cain sat down, and as she connected the gadgets to his body and the cable to her laptop, he tried to break her hard exterior. “Your perfume smells nice.”

“I’m not wearing any perfume,” she replied.

“Huh,” he remarked. “Must be your natural scent, then. It’s very pleasant.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment before she answered. “I just had mixed vegetable masala from the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant near the office. Maybe you’re smelling that on my fingers.”

Without skipping a beat, Cain nodded and replied, “It’s a pleasant fragrance. I’ve always liked the smell of coriander with a hint of paprika and butter.”

“The food was good, but I must confess, I don’t have the most refined palate. I’ll eat anything. My ex-husband—”

“Ex-husband?” Cain interjected, feigning ignorance.

“It’s no secret.”

“I stay out of the gossip. But I’m sorry to hear. It’s certainly his loss.”