The man spoke and the corner of Beto's mouth twitched. Yes, the man was definitely snooping. But his story was a little too....pat. It was an interesting fact of interviewing. Few people had a completely logical, sequential and consistant explanation to a random question.
It was something that he'd learned over interviewing hundreds of witnesses. People gave information out of sequence. They mixed things up.They said things that made no sense until further information was given. They missed details.
It seemed counterintuitive. Why wouldn't someone telling the truth begin at A and proceed in a logical progression to Z, introducing relevant facts just as they were needed? Didn't the failure mean they were lying?
The answer was simple enough. The brain did not work that way. Logic and order and consistancy meant little to how the mind stored and recalled facts. Emotional weight of a specific element was far more important than when, what or even by whom something happened. Details were colored by feeling, by familiarity, by state.
A sister, in his words, who may have gone too far down a bad road. That should have been the first thing mentioned. His worry for her well being. No contact with her. Hence the need to track someone down. It wasn't. Instead he wanted to know if the man was a douchebag.
An actual parent or brother would have said she may have gotten involved with someone who might be dangerous and was missing. Worry would have dominated everything said, would have seeped out of even the simplest of expressions.
And he definitely would not be then also casually considering a tattoo, now that he happened to be here.
The man wanted information. But he was not personally attached to any girl. It was the man he wanted. Private investigator, he guessed.
Boredom indeed. Beto was intrigued. And at the moment, had nothing better to do. Time to see how the man reacted.
He touched one piece, also tribal- Maori, he guessed. "I like this. There is something to be said about ancient designs. They are more than decorative. They tell a story. Connect you to your past."
He paused. "You?"
It was something that he'd learned over interviewing hundreds of witnesses. People gave information out of sequence. They mixed things up.They said things that made no sense until further information was given. They missed details.
It seemed counterintuitive. Why wouldn't someone telling the truth begin at A and proceed in a logical progression to Z, introducing relevant facts just as they were needed? Didn't the failure mean they were lying?
The answer was simple enough. The brain did not work that way. Logic and order and consistancy meant little to how the mind stored and recalled facts. Emotional weight of a specific element was far more important than when, what or even by whom something happened. Details were colored by feeling, by familiarity, by state.
A sister, in his words, who may have gone too far down a bad road. That should have been the first thing mentioned. His worry for her well being. No contact with her. Hence the need to track someone down. It wasn't. Instead he wanted to know if the man was a douchebag.
An actual parent or brother would have said she may have gotten involved with someone who might be dangerous and was missing. Worry would have dominated everything said, would have seeped out of even the simplest of expressions.
And he definitely would not be then also casually considering a tattoo, now that he happened to be here.
The man wanted information. But he was not personally attached to any girl. It was the man he wanted. Private investigator, he guessed.
Boredom indeed. Beto was intrigued. And at the moment, had nothing better to do. Time to see how the man reacted.
He touched one piece, also tribal- Maori, he guessed. "I like this. There is something to be said about ancient designs. They are more than decorative. They tell a story. Connect you to your past."
He paused. "You?"