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Nature flexes a muscle

People have destinations, but nature has its own agenda.

One bright cloudless noon in the Western Caribbean a small aging wooden sailboat embarked with three people for a simple four-day crossing.

Two days later alone on the open water they encountered the fickleness of nature in the form of what first seemed be a passing squall.

The excerpt, The Storm Begins, details the first moments of sailing into a hurricane.


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What Would a Detective Do?


Interrogation Resistance

The job of the interrogator is to weaken the resistance of the subject and get him to respond from basic emotions, guilt, fear, anger.

The subject confined in a small room is trapped in a bottomless hole by his interrogator who dangles a rope–the question–on which the subject can climb out. Giving the right answer the suspect seems to climb up the hole closer to freedom. Saying the wrong thing drops him deeper.

El Paso homicide detective Scott Graves summarized the process this way, “What I think we all try to do when we interrogate is to get that intimate position with them where I’m your daddy.”

In sophisticated interviewing, the interrogator takes time to get to know the subject, to develop rapport, to learn where pressure can be applied. Homicide cops often begin by chatting–about the day, the ride over, anything but the murder. In the room they seek to become the suspect’s best buddy, surrogate parent, friend, or holy terror.

The patter can run from, “What church to do you go to?” to “Who arrested you on your last murder charge?” Point by point the discussion moves from the trivial, from the safe and unrelated, to topics that matter to the suspect, things that motivate him.

Looking for weak points, the detective probes for hidden emotional triggers. Then at some moment when instinct and experience tell the interrogator he’s found a trigger, he makes the first challenge. An inconsistency in the subject’s statements is confronted. Simple interviewing has ended. The interrogation is underway.

Now the interrogator will perform the strongest roles–terrorizer, father confessor, fixer, comforter, beguiler. The unraveling of the subject’s resistance has begun.

© 1993-2007

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Preview
Midnight Joe
from

South of Paradise


The Storm Begins

The ancient boat started to pitch. Suddenly the sun dimmed behind us, and we ran forward very fast into the mid afternoon twilight. We shimmied and lurched against angry waves.

For the first time I saw our captain looking very skinny as he struggled with the wheel. He steered, not like the man who moments before had been in firm control, but like an uncertain skater slipping on oily ice. The squall had taken us by surprise, before we could react. The captain’s unsteady movements made me wonder how long would it take us to pass through and out the other side.

The Fair Wind slipped and pitched on a greasy sea. A racket of rough water and wind rose all around us.

He stood holding the wheel tightly, with dangling arms loose upon it, as though he didn’t trust it. He seemed to be hesitating. She stood close to him. The two of them began shouting to each other trying to be heard over the growing din of the squall.

It was a humbling moment, the Fair Wind skittering about, the squall pressing in on us, the captain unsure of his next move, and the deepening hollow in the stomach growing as I realized how completely out of my element I now was. Fool’s hopes began forcing themselves on me. A few minutes of sliding about on the sea like this and we must surely be alright again. How long could a squall last?

Fast and wild the ill-equipped boat jockeyed about as vigorous swells surrounded us. I squinted to find the horizon through the wind and water, and saw that the swells stretched out all around us in an undulating and darkening sea.

© 1989-2007

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