The Interrogation

The only thing Detective Jon Kross hated more than the scent of cigarette smoke was a liar who believed they’d gotten away. 

Kross rested his cane against the table when he entered the room. The walls seemed to sponge the tobacco odor, letting it seep out slowly into the air. He removed his black fedora, leaned back, then groaned as he sat across from the cuffed suspect. 

Retrieving a stick of wintergreen lip balm from his slacks, he rubbed it under his nose and began to study the shifty brown eyes of Tobias Turner. Kross glanced down at the very subtle but rapid taps of Toby’s right foot then tucked the balm away and sniffed, ensuring the scent of smoke was purged.

“How well did you know the victim, Mr. Turner?” Kross asked.

“Who are you?” Toby’s voice wavered.

“My name is Detective Kross, and I would like to hear your side of the story.” 

“Like I told the others, I didn't do it.” Toby said.

“I never said you did, Mr. Turner. I simply want to hear your side of things.”

Toby sighed, his leg shaking. “We were close.”

“How close?”

Toby hesitated a moment then said, “We were lovers.”

The victim—56-year-old famous author Rebecca K.—was found murdered around midnight on the porch of her house, with signs of struggle and blunt force trauma to the head. 

“Neighbors say they saw you fleeing from the scene of the crime, wielding what looked to be a crowbar.”

“Neighbors make mistakes.” Toby rubbed his ear lobe and looked away.

“But you were there, correct? At the time of the incident.”

He shifted in his chair then licked his lips.

“Yes.”

“Why were you there, Mr. Turner?”

Toby’s left eye twitched, and was followed by a scratch of his eyebrow. “Look, Detective, I already told the other investigators what I knew.”

“Tell it to me.”

He sighed again. “I was there, yes, but not to murder her. I saw what happened. I saw that man flee from her house that night, and I chased after him before he got away.”

“You saw the man?”

“Well, I— not exactly. It was dark. I saw something, a figure. It ran away—too fast for me to catch—with a crowbar or something in his hand, and something over its head. I don’t know, it was dark.”

“But it wasn’t you?” Kross asked.

“What? No! You’re not listening to me!”

“I am listening, Mr. Turner.”

“No you’re not!” Toby slammed his chained hands on the table.

Detective Kross sat silently for a moment. He nodded, then stroked his long, white beard before responding. 

“You ever played Heads or Tails, Mr. Turner?” Kross asked, leaning forward.

Toby squinted then tilted his head. 

“You know, when you take a coin, flip it in the air, and let fate decide the outcome?”

“Yes, I’m familiar. I just don't understand the relevance here.”

Kross reached into his brown, double-breasted suit pocket and rescued a half-dollar. The coin was worn from the many uses it had experienced over the years, but it was always reliable.

“Heads or tails?” 

“What is this?”

“Heads…or tails… Mr. Turner.”

“What are you getting at, Detective? Why aren’t you out there looking for the killer?”

“The way to catch a killer, Mr. Turner, is to catch them in a lie.”

“I already told you, I didn’t kill her.” Toby’s breath was shallow. He broke eye contact, and fixed his eyes on Kross’ cane instead.

“Here’s how this is going to work. I’ll ask you a question; you’ll give me an answer. I’ll flip the coin, and whatever side it lands on will let me know if you are telling the truth.”

Toby snapped his attention back at Kross and laughed. “Let me get this straight. Your method of extracting the truth from me is by relying on luck? It doesn’t take detective skills to know this is a set up.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Turner. The coin never lies,” Kross said. His face was stone. He bore his eyes into Toby’s and abandoned all jest. “Nicholas Geiman, Sherry Murkendale, Elizabeth Teller, Michael Harris—all criminals, all liars, all exposed by the coin without a shadow of doubt.”

The names rang a bell in Toby’s mind. He was familiar with the list of perpetrators. Of course he was, each made it on the frontline newspaper for their crimes, and every last one of them was proven guilty without doubt. 

“Wait. I’ve heard of you before,” he said. “You’re the Coin Detective.”

Kross nodded.

“It's true you can determine the validity of a statement based on the flip of a coin?”

“I’ve been doing it for thirty years—the results are never erroneous.”

Toby considered Kross’ words as he bit his nail. If the coin never lies, it would reveal his truth.

“I didn’t kill Rebecca.” Toby said, beginning to tap his foot again.

“Heads or tails?” Kross asked.

Toby dropped his head.

“You have my word. If the coin reveals that you are telling the truth, all charges will be dropped immediately and you will be released from custody tonight; no strings attached. And Mr. Turner… know that I am a man of my word.” 

Toby raised his cuffed hands to his chin and scratched. His eyes shot to the ground, then back at the detective. “Fine.” He shook the detective’s hand firmly, solidifying the deal. “Heads—I’m telling the truth. Tails—I’m lying.”

“Very well,” said Detective Kross. He nestled the coin on his thumb, and between his index preparing to flip. “Let’s begin with the truth: What is your full name?” 

“Tobias Timothy Turner. But everyone calls me Toby. My mother was a lover of poetry, and obsessed with alliterations. I later fell in love with literature myself; much of Rebecca’s work actually. It’s how we met.”

Kross flicked the coin high into the air, and a metallic chink rang throughout the concrete room. Toby watched as the coin spiraled upward, then back down, slapping into the palm of the detective. Kross peeked at the half-dollar, then at Toby.

“Heads.” 

Toby grinned. 

“This time I want you to tell me a blatant lie,” Kross instructed. Toby nodded. “What color is my hat?” 

Toby looked at the fedora sitting on the table and responded, “Pink.”

With another flick of the coin, it nearly hit the ceiling light before the detective caught it. 

“Good. Now onto the real questions.” 

Toby sat erect in his chair. A bead of sweat ran away from the back of his head, down the nape of his neck. 

“Where were you on the night of the murder?” Kross asked.

“I went to see Rebecca.” 

“Why?” 

Toby cleared his throat. “To break things off with her.”

“Why were you planning on breaking up with her? Were things rocky between you two? Did you have a fight?”

“No. Things were great, until…” Toby swallowed hard. 

“Until what?”

“…Until I discovered she was married, and had put me in the middle of her affair.”

Kross leaned back in his chair.

He flipped, and the coin danced in the air again, dictating the veracity of Toby’s statements. “Heads,” said the detective. 

Toby gently tugged on his shirt collar. 

“So the moment you found out she was married, you went to break things off with her?”

“No. She told me she was going to leave him. So we stayed together for another few months. But she lied. She still loved him, and I realized she would have never chosen me.”

“So this was an act of jealousy?” Kross asked.

“I wasn’t jealous! I mean, yes, I was, but I would never hurt her! I was going to call it quits. That’s it! Swear!” Toby raised his hands, then shifted his eyes to the left and right, then back at the detective.”

Kross stroked his beard again, but said nothing. He drummed the coin on the table as he digested Toby’s words. 

“Go ahead, flip the coin,” Toby demanded. “It'll tell you.” 

Kross did, and it slapped against his hand. “Heads,” he said.

With each penetrating question, the flips of the coin became a ticking time bomb ready to explode at even the slightest misstep. Kross never took his eyes off Toby except to examine the results of the coin. He noticed the inconspicuous clenches of his jaw, the subtle adjustments in his chair, and the never-ceasing tapping of his right foot. 

After an hour of interrogation, the detective asked his final question. “Mr. Turner, I am going to ask you plainly now—did you kill Rebecca K.”

“No detective. I never laid a hand on her. I would never hurt anyone, let alone murder them.”

Kross flicked the coin into the air, and like every time before he said, “Heads.” The detective placed his fedora back on his head, grabbed his cane, and stood up. 

Toby laughted nervously. "See? I told you. I told you I was telling the truth! The coin never lies, remember!" Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he let out a relieved chuckle. "So, I’m free to go now?"

Kross sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll remain here, Mr. Turner.”

Toby’s smile vanished. “What? No, you swore…”

“I swore to release you if you were telling the truth. And yet, Mr. Turner, you have been lying to me from the moment I walked in.”

Toby jerked back in his chair, and began to stutter over his words. “Wha— what are you talking about? I told the truth about everything. You saw so yourself!”

"What if I told you that for the entire hour, the coin never once landed on heads? That for every time I told you it was heads, it was in fact, tails?”

“You lied to me?” Toby jumped up, his metal chair screeching against the floor. 

“Here’s what I believe happened on the night Rebecca K. was murdered: You weren’t planning to end things with her that night. You were still madly in love with Mrs. K. making this a classic case of ‘If I can’t have her, no one can!’ So you went to her house, and she invited you in. You tried to reason with her, pleading that she divorce her husband, but she refused. Enraged with jealousy, you grabbed a fireplace poker and struck her on the head. She tried to escape through the front door, but you pursued her and repeatedly struck her on the front porch until she was dead. You fled the scene, but unbeknownst to you, a neighbor, who was out walking his dog, saw you and reported the whole thing.”

All the blood in Toby’s body rushed to his face. “Tha– that’s all a lie!”

Kross flicked the coin in the air, but as he went to catch it, he dropped it. It bounced on the table and landed in front of Toby. 

Toby snatched it away.

“Give that back, Mr. Turner.”

“No!” Toby shouted. “You’ve been lying to me this entire time. I want to see the truth for myself.”

“Mr. Turner, I assure you…”

“I didn’t kill Rebecca!”

“The coin never lies,” Kross said. 

Tobias looked at the detective’s cane again, noticing a red speck stained on the hook of it.

Kross placed his hand over it.

“Strange.” Toby said, his mind racing. “She mentioned once that her husband was a private investigator, that he may be onto her, and would eventually find out about the affair.”

“Mr. Turner…the coin please.”

“You know she never let me smoke around her? She said her husband hated the scent, and that he would groan at even the slightest whiff.”

Kross remained silent. 

“That’s why she never divorced him. She was trying to cover it up before he found out, afraid jealousy would take over. But it was too late.”

Kross banged on the metal door and two officers stormed into the interrogation room.

“Neighbors and I saw a man wielding a crowbar, except it wasn’t. It was a cane. You!” Toby shouted, “You’re the husband, and you came here to look into the eyes of the man who took your wife! You came here to make sure I took the fall! You killed Rebecca Kross! And you’re pinning it on me!”

The officers unlocked Toby’s cuffs, and grabbed him by the arms. 

“Accusations, Mr. Turner, are like mirrors—often reflecting the accuser’s bias, but rarely the truth. Besides…if you were truly a fan of her literature, you would know that the ‘K’ in her name stood for Krosby; not Kross.”

Toby jerked away from the officers and flicked the coin in the air. It bounced on the table and spun. The officers dragged Toby out as he yelled “You’re a liar! It was you!” His screams echoed down the hall, all the way to his cell. “It was you! You killed her!”

Detective Kross licked his thumb and smeared the small red stain off his cane. The coin stopped spinning and lay flat on the table.

Kross was alone in the room. He looked to his left and to his right, then leaned over the table to examine the face of the coin. 

A bead of sweat ran away from his brow before he tucked the coin back into his pocket, and limped away.