There are several types. Manipulators, or "High Machiavellians" (after the Italian political philosopher who, literally, wrote the book on ruthlessness), see absolutely nothing wrong with lying; they use deceit as a tool to achieve their goals in love, business, politics or crime and are very, very good at deception. Other types include social liars, who lie to entertain; adaptors, insecure people who lie to make positive impressions; and actors, who lie for control.
Dance decided Tammy was a combination of adaptor and actor. Her insecurities would make her lie to boost her fragile ego, and she would lie to get her way.
Once a kinesic analyst answers these four questions, the rest of the process is straightforward: She continues questioning the subject, noting carefully those queries that elicit stress reactions--indicators of deception. Then she keeps returning to those questions, and related ones, probing further, closing in on the lie, and noting how the subject is handling the increasing levels of stress. Is she angry, in denial, depressed or trying to bargain her way out of the situation? Each of these states requires different tools to force or trick or encourage the subject to finally tell the truth.
This is what Dance did now, sitting forward a bit to put herself in a close but not invasive "proxemic zone"--about three feet away from Tammy. This would make her uneasy, but not overly threatened. Dance kept a faint smile on her face and decided not to exchange her gray-rimmed glasses for her black frames--her "predator specs"--which she wore to intimidate High Mach subjects.
"That's very helpful, Tammy, everything you've said. I really appreciate your cooperation."
The girl smiled. But she also glanced at the door. Dance read: guilt.
"But one thing," the agent added, "we have some reports from the crime scene. Like on CSI, you know?"
"Sure. I watch it."
"Which one do you like?"
"The original. You know, Las Vegas."
"That's the best, I hear." Dance had never seen the show. "But from the evidence it doesn't seem like there were two people. Either in the parking lot or at the beach."
"Oh. Well, like I said, it was just a, like, feeling."
"And one question I had. That clanking you heard? See, we didn't find any other car wheel tread marks either. So we're real curious how he got away. Let's go back to the bicycle. I know you didn't think that was the sound in the car, the clanking, but any way it could have been, you think?"
"A bicycle?"
Repeating a question is often a sign of deception. The subject is trying to buy time to consider the implications of an answer and to make up something credible.
"No, it couldn't.
How could he get it inside?" Tammy's denial was too fast and too adamant. She'd considered a bicycle too but didn't want to admit the possibility, for some reason.
Dance lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know. One of my neighbors has a Camry. It's a pretty big car."
The girl blinked; she was surprised, it seemed, that Dance knew the make of her car. That the agent had done her homework was making Tammy uneasy. She looked at the window. Subconsciously, she was seeking a route of escape from the unpleasant anxiety. Dance was on to something. She felt her own pulse tap harder.
"Maybe. I don't know," Tammy said.
"So, he could've had a bike. That might mean he was somebody your age, a little younger. Adults ride bikes, sure, but you see teenagers with them more. Hey, what do you think about it being somebody in school with you?"
"School? No way. Nobody I know would do something like that."
"Anybody ever threaten you? Have any fights with anybody at Stevenson?"
"I mean, Brianna Crenshaw was pissed when I beat her for cheerleader. But she started going out with Davey Wilcox. Who I had a crush on. So it kind of evened out." A choked laugh.
Dance smiled too.
"No, it was this gang guy. I'm sure of it." Her eyes grew wide. "Wait, I remember now. He made a call. Probably to the gang leader. I could hear him open his phone and he said, 'Ella esta en el coche.' "
She's in the car, Dance translated to herself. She asked Tammy, "You know what that means?"
"Something like 'I've got her in the car.' "
"You're studying Spanish?"
"Yeah." This was all very breathless and told in a voice with a higher pitch than normal. Her eyes locked onto Dance's but her hand flicked her hair away and paused to scratch her lip.