Best Alibi

I am abed.

Which is a great deal better than "I am a bed," of course, of course.
(As the bad poet in me cries out, "a horse! a horse!" *)

Yes, I am high on ibuprofen.

While abed, I am watching hour after hour of Law & Order. I hope to snag a passerby who can hand me the remote so as to rectify the situation, but in the interim, in this very mean, mean time? It is Law & Order or nothing.

Okay, Detective Lennie Briscoe is questioning a suspect, trying to establish where he was at the time of a murder. It's a cold case; The murder happened way back in 1981**. Even so, the guy barely bats an eye before coming up with this, my new favorite alibi:

I was buying a recliner with my ex-wife.

Okay, maybe you had to be there. Or here.

I like it, and am filing it away for possible use the next time I am being beat with a wet noodle under a swinging, bare lightbulb. Go ahead and laugh. You won't be laughing when you get tossed in the clink, the penitentiary, the pen, the pokey, jail, slammer, clink -- all for lack of a decent alibi! In anticipation of my eventual arrest, I am also reading How Police Interrogation Works, which is chock full of helpful suggestions, insider tips, and even friendly decorating advice.

The physical layout of an interrogation room is designed to maximize a suspect's discomfort and sense of powerlessness from the moment he steps inside. The classic interrogation manual "Criminal Interrogation and Confessions" recommends a small, soundproof room with only three chairs (two for detectives, one for the suspect) and a desk, with nothing on the walls. This creates a sense of exposure, unfamiliarity and isolation, heightening the suspect's "get me out of here" sensation throughout the interrogation.

I think -- and Martha Stewart, with her wealth of life experience, backs me up --
that every home should be outfitted with a chic little interrogation room of its own. Think of the possibilities! Perfect for interviewing lying teenagers, or even the odd stray tween! Ideal for the in-laws or other unwanted guests! The only place to be for wine and cheese with a wayward spouse...

* A horse is a horse, of course, of course,
And no one can talk to a horse of course
That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mister Ed.

Go right to the source and ask the horse
He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse.
He's always on a steady course.
Talk to Mister Ed.

People yakkity yak a streak and waste your time of day
But Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say

A horse is a horse, of course, of course,
And this one'll talk 'til his voice is hoarse.
You never heard of a talking horse?

Well listen to this: "I'm Mister Ed."

**This episode, Amends [2000], was "ripped from the headlines," being a legible reference to the Martha Moxley murder, the Michael Skakel case. Skakel was recently denied a new trial, which one hopes is the final insult to Ms. Moxley. In this television version, the victim is Mary Beth Mosely and the defendant, Michael Sarno.

"What Torture Never Told Us"

By ALI H. SOUFAN
Published: September 5, 2009

PUBLIC bravado aside, the defenders of the so-called enhanced interrogation techniques are fast running out of classified documents to hide behind. The three that were released recently by the C.I.A. — the 2004 report by the inspector general and two memos from 2004 and 2005 on intelligence gained from detainees — fail to show that the techniques stopped even a single imminent threat of terrorism.

The inspector general’s report distinguishes between intelligence gained from regular interrogation and from the harsher methods, which culminate in waterboarding. While the former produces useful intelligence, according to the report, the latter “is a more subjective process and not without concern.” And the information in the two memos reinforces this differentiation.

They show that substantial intelligence was gained from pocket litter (materials found on detainees when they were captured), from playing detainees against one another and from detainees freely giving up information that they assumed their questioners already knew. A computer seized in March 2003 from a Qaeda operative for example, listed names of Qaeda members and money they were to receive.

Soon after Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, the chief planner of the 9/11 attacks, was captured in 2003, according to the 2005 memo, he “elaborated on his plan to crash commercial airlines into Heathrow Airport.” The memo speculates that he may have assumed that Ramzi bin al-Shibh, a fellow member of Al Qaeda who had been captured in 2002, had already divulged the plan. The same motivation — the assumption that another detainee had already talked — is offered to explain why Mr. Mohammed provided details about the Hambali-Southeast Asia Qaeda network.

Mr. Mohammed must have likewise assumed that his interrogators already had the details about Al Qaeda’s organizational structure that he gave them. When I testified in the trial of Salim Hamdan, who had been Osama bin Laden’s personal driver, I provided many unclassified details about Al Qaeda’s structure and operations, none of which came from Mr. Mohammed.

Some of the information that is cited in the memos — the revelation that Mr. Mohammed had been the mastermind of 9/11, for example, and the uncovering of Jose Padilla, the so-called dirty bomber — was gained from another terrorism suspect, Abu Zubaydah, by “informed interrogation,” conducted by an F.B.I. colleague and me. The arrest of Walid bin Attash, one of Osama bin Laden’s most trusted messengers, which was also cited in the 2005 C.I.A. memo, was thanks to a quick-witted foreign law enforcement officer, and had nothing to do with harsh interrogation of anyone. The examples go on and on. [....]

The author of this NYT op-ed piece served as an F.B.I. special agent from 1997 to 2005.