A Police Interrogation Room

A glimpse into the dynamics of a police interrogation room, as seen through the eyes of David Simon:

Homicide detectives in Baltimore like to imagine a small, open window at the top of a long wall in the large interrogation room. More to the point, they like to imagine their suspects imagining a small, open window at the top of the long wall. The open window is the escape hatch, the Out. It is the perfect representation of what every suspect believes when he opens his mouth during an interrogation. Every last one envisions himself parrying questions with the right combination of alibi and excuse; every last one sees himself coming up with the right words, then crawling out the window to go home to sleep in his own bed. More often than not, a guilty man is looking for the Out from his first moments in the interrogation room; in that sense, the window is as much the suspect's fantasy as the detective's mirage. 

The effect of the illusion is profound, distorting as it does the natural hostility between hunter and hunted, transforming it until it resembles a relationship more symbiotic than adversarial. This is the lie, and when the roles are perfectly performed, deceit surpasses itself, becoming manipulation on a grand scale and ultimately an act of betrayal. Because what occurs in an interrogation room is indeed little more than a carefully staged drama, a choreographed performance that allows a detective and his suspect to find common ground where none exists. There, in a carefully controlled purgatory, the guilty proclaim their malefactions, though rarely in any form that allows for contrition or resembles an unequivocal admission.

In truth, catharsis in the interrogation room occurs for only a few rare suspects, usually those in domestic murders or child abuse cases wherein the leaden mass of genuine remorse can crush anyone who is not hardened to his crime. But the greater share of men and women brought downtown take no interest in absolution. Ralph waldo Emerson rightly noted that for those responsible, the act of murder "is no such ruinous thought as poets and romancers will have it; it does not unsettle him, or frighten him from his ordinary notice of trifles." And while West Baltimore is a universe or two from Emerson's nineteenth-century Massachusetts hamlet, the observation is still useful. Murder often doesn't unsettle a man. In Baltimore, it usually doesn't even ruin his day.

The lesson being taught by Simon? If you ever find yourself sitting in an interrogation room for one reason or another, don't say a word. The other lesson? Baltimore is a scary, scary place.



To see the dynamics of an interrogation which Simon outlines in his book in action, click here, though I must warn those of you who believe in the existence of foul language that there are quite a few F-bombs and such being thrashed out. Through years of secondary school and television I have become somewhat numb to such expletives, but I understand that many have not, so let the reader be extremely warned. It's a terrific scene all the same, which highlights the dark humour of Simon's epic creation, and which paints the picture of a criminal trying but failing not to let murder ruin his day. The question of whether or not it is appropriate for me to place such a link on my largely Christian-themed blog is valid, but, you know, where sin abounds grace abounds much more. I can't quite remember what Paul says after that though...