TO MY SURPRISE, L. Diana Davis was petite, maybe five three, and I guessed that her close-up shots on the small screen and her reputation had made her seem larger than life.

  “Sergeant Boxer,” Davis said. “You’ve been a homicide inspector for over ten years. You’ve investigated countless homicides. You’ve interrogated innumerable suspects, and you knew that eventually you’d be sitting in a courtroom telling us what happened in the case against Junie Moon. Isn’t that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how did you get the defendant to confess, Sergeant? Tell her that accidents happen? That she wasn’t culpable?”

  I knew damned well to keep my answers short and blunt, but looking at Davis’s expression, half kindly grandma, half bulldog, I felt a need to let my mouth do the talking.

  “I may have said things like that. Interrogations aren’t one size fits all. Sometimes you’ve got to raise your voice. Sometimes you’ve got to be sympathetic. And sometimes you’ve got to lie to a subject,” I said. “There are legal boundaries for interrogations, and my partner and I stayed within those boundaries.”

  Davis smiled, turned, and walked toward the jury, turned back to face me.

  “Is that so?” she said. “Now, you’ve testified that the defendant asked you to turn off the tape during your interrogation at the police station.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So let me get this straight, Sergeant. You videotaped everyth............