Investigative Interviewing

Investigative ~
Interviewing
Rights, research, regulation
Edited by
W IL L A N
PUBLISHING Tom Williamson
Investigative In te rv ie w in g
Investigative In te rvie w in g
Rights, research and regulation
E d ite d by
T o m W illia m s o n
WI L L A N
PUBLISHING
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C o n te n ts
Foreword by the Honourable Justice Peter Cory vii

Acknowledgem ents ix
Introduction xi
Notes on contributors xvii
List o f figures and tables xxi
Part I: D evelop m en ts in R igh ts 1

1 Investigative interview ing and hum an rights in
the war on terrorism 3
Tom Williamson
2 A l-Q aeda-related su b jects: a law enforcem ent perspective 23
M ichael G. Celles, Robert M cFadden, Randy Borum
and Bryan Vossekuil
3 A m erican interrogation m ethods in the war on terror 42
David Rose
4 The interrogation of terrorist suspects: the banality
of torture 64
John /. Pearse
Part II: D evelop m ents in R esearch 85

5 The psychology of rapport: five basic rules 87
M ichel St-Yves
6 C onfessions by sex offen d ers 107
M ichel St-Yves
7 The psychology o f interrogations and con fession s 123
Gisli H. Gudjonsson
Investigative Interviewing
8 T ow ards g re a te r p ro fe ssio n a lism : m in im iz in g

m isca rria g e s of ju stice 147
Tom W illiam son
9 W ill it all end in tiers? P o lice in te rv ie w s w ith
su sp e cts in B ritain 167
A n d y G riffiths an d Becky M iln e
10 T h e R eid T ech n iq u e of in te rv ie w in g and in te rro g a tio n 190
Josep h P. B u ckley
11 A critical ap p ra isa l of m o d ern p o lice in te rro g a tio n s 207
Saul M . K assin
12 In v e stig a tiv e in te rv ie w in g and the d e te ctio n of
d e ce p tio n 229
M ark G. F ran k, Joh n D. Y arbrough an d P au l Ekm an
P art III: D e v e lo p m e n ts in R e g u la tio n 257

13 R e co v e re d m e m o rie s 259
Jam es O st
14 In v e stig a tiv e in te rv ie w in g : su sp e cts' and v ictim s' righ ts
in b alan ce 292
R obert R oy
15 R e g u la tin g p o lice in te rro g a tio n 318
D avid D ixon
16 C o n clu sio n 353
Tom W illiam son
In dex 357
vi
F o re w o rd
The Honourable Justice Peter Cory
If society did not already have grave concerns for the well-being of
society, recent events have given rise to still greater concerns relating
to the administration of justice. Let us consider but a few of these
events.
To mention terrorist activity leads to thoughts of the alleged
terrorists confined at Guatanamo Bay for extended periods of time
while investigations are undertaken. For all this time they are held
in captivity without knowing the charge or charges that they may
eventually face. This seems to violate the provisions of Magna Carta,
perhaps the earliest declaration of human rights in the western
world. How does such an extended detention affect the prisoner and
his response to interrogation? W hat safeguards, if any, should be
imposed on the manner of interrogating the prisoners?
W hat of false confessions. Case studies have determined that false
confessions leading to the conviction of innocent prisoners have all too
often been made. Was it the manner of interrogation that led to these
confessions and, if so, how should an interrogation be conducted of
those who it appears are likely to make such confessions?
As well, studies have demonstrated that tunnel vision of
investigators can affect the investigation of a crime and those involved
in the interrogation of suspects. Once again, what can be done to
correct tunnel vision during the interrogation of suspects?
A great deal of the investigation of crimes and terrorist activities
will be done by means of interrogation. This excellent book deals with
methods of interrogation and aspects such as tunnel vision which
may affect the manner in which an interrogation is conducted which
in turn may result in false confessions and wrongful convictions.
This book will be helpful to all those who conduct interrogations

and to all who are interested in the manner and methods used in
questioning and the effect it may have on the subject of interrogation.
I believe this book will be frequently read and should be referred to
by all who interrogate and all who are interested in the reliability
and fairness of the interrogation.
The Honourable Peter Cory, C.C., C.D., Q.C.

A c k n o w le d g e m e n ts
This book has its origins in the presentations given at the first
International Conference on Police Interviewing, held at the Ecole
nationale de Police du Quebec, Quebec, Canada from 9 to 11 February
2004. The conference was the brainchild of Michel St-Yves, a forensic
psychologist with the Surete du Quebec, and of his colleagues Jaques
Landry and Michel Pilon who are police officers with the Surete, and
they all share a particular interest in investigative interviewing. In
pursuit of this interest they have visited several countries and closely
examined various models of teaching people skills in interviewing.
They observed that there was much in common with the various
approaches and also areas of considerable disagreement. It was their
vision to hold a conference that would allow the various interested
parties to explain and defend their respective positions. To this end
the conference can be considered a success in that, although creative
tension was built into the design of the conference and disagreements
were discussed, the atmosphere was constructive and never became
disagreeable. Those of us who were privileged to take part in the
conference owe a debt of gratitude to the Surete du Quebec for the
vision to hold the conference and for their excellent arrangements. It is
hoped that this will be the first of a continuing series of international
conferences on investigative interviewing, with others planned for
Portsmouth, England, in 2006 and Hong Kong in 2008.
In tro d u c tio n
Tom Williamson
The aim of this book is to bring together academics and practitioners

from different countries with different types of criminal justice
system to discuss the central position occupied by police questioning
in conducting investigations and eliciting information for intelligence
or prosecution purposes. The book highlights the skills deficit
frequently found in this area and it sets out a remedial framework
for investigative interviewing based on respect for human rights,
sound psychological research and effective, but positive, regulation.
P a rt I: D e ve lo p m e n ts in rig h ts
In Part I we examine developments in human rights in relation to

interrogation as a response to the war on terror. This is addressed in
Chapter 1 by Tom Williamson. Williamson argues that the growing
post-war consensus for the principle of human rights is facing serious
challenges from the response to the war on terror and especially from
the militarization of criminal justice processes. The chapter draws on
experience in the UK of military interrogation practices, which led to
the abandonment of these practices and the beginning of a process
leading to the professionalizing of investigative interviewing. He
considers the constitutional arrangements for custodial questioning
and the limited influence of judges over the processes employed
to obtain information. Two models for dealing with terrorism
are discussed but it is argued that both require investigators
to be trained so that they have a sound understanding of the
xi
psychology of custody and acquire skills in humane methods of

interviewing.
In Chapter 2, Michael G. Gelles and his colleagues commence
from the premise that the object of questioning for both criminal
justice and intelligence purposes should be to gather accurate and
reliable information. Their chapter addresses the difficulties of doing
so when interviewing suspects in the war on terrorism whose beliefs,
ideologies, cultures and life experiences differ markedly from those
of their interrogators. This chapter is based on extensive interviews
with al-Qaeda operatives and describes approaches to interrogation
that have proven to be effective.
In Chapter 3, David Rose, based on interviews with key personnel
involved in the interrogation of suspects detained at Guantanamo
Bay, Cuba, critically examines the steps taken by the US government
to put in place procedures for the detention, interrogation and trial of
suspects in the war on terror which fundamentally erode international
standards for human rights. Moreover, Rose questions whether these
interrogation methods actually resulted in the production of valuable
intelligence.
Part I concludes with Chapter 4, by John J. Pearse. Pearse addresses
the importance of gaining an understanding of terrorists and adopting
the position of 'the other' and being aware of cultural considerations.
He then goes on to examine the psychological research relating to
interrogator bias and the impact of the physical environment. This
is followed by an examination of the interrogation tactics at Abu
Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. He concludes by reflecting, as others
have done, on the banality of torture.
P a rt II: D e ve lo p m e n ts in research
Part II considers developments in investigative interviewing and

psychological research. In this part we begin to examine the research
evidence that would help in developing effective interviewing strategies
and skills. It begins with acknowledging the importance of being able
to establish a rapport between the interviewee and interviewer. In
Chapter 5, Michel St-Yves draws on extensive experience of analyzing
interviews in Canada, and he describes a model that he and his
colleagues have developed which emphasizes the importance to an
investigation of establishing a positive rapport with the interviewee.
The model is based on an analysis of psychological research and is
built around five rules: keeping an open mind; building up rapport;
Introduction
paying attention; keeping a professional attitude; and knowing how

to conclude. The chapter identifies areas for further research. A
theme that emerges in the chapter is the danger of over-reliance on
confession evidence.
In Chapter 6, again by Michel St-Yves, and this time based on
interviews with prisoners convicted of sexual offences St-Yves
examines the factors that correlate with a confession. He demonstrates
that the perception formed by the suspect of the manner in which
he or she is being addressed and questioned is a key factor in
determining the outcome of the interview. Those suspects who have
acknowledged their guilt say that an interviewing style that they
considered humane and respectful was helpful in enabling them to
disclose to the interviewer what they had done.
The psychological factors present during custodial questioning
are considered in Chapter 7, by Gisli H. Gudjonsson. This chapter
is based on Gudjonsson's extensive experience of miscarriage of
justice cases over 20 years in many countries. The chapter begins
with a critical appraisal of police interrogation training manuals.
It then addresses the special factors relating to the interrogation of
terrorist suspects. Various models of the interrogation process are
examined. Gudjonsson concludes by examining the factors that
contribute to false confessions by explaining how interrogation can
go wrong.
Tom Williamson is another contributor who points to the dangers
that arise from an over-reliance on confession evidence. In Chapter
8 he draws on research showing the correlation between the weight
of evidence in the case and the outcome of the interview with a
suspect. A set of ethical principles for investigative interviewing is
described, together with an introduction to the PEACE model of
investigative interviewing now being taught in England and many
other countries. Miscarriage of justice cases in several countries
are examined and many commonly recurring contributing factors
are identified, including 'tunnel vision'. Williamson concludes by
arguing for sound, scientifically based training programmes and
continuous professional development pathways leading to academic
qualifications and 'licence to practise' regulations, as essential steps
in professionalizing investigative interviewing.
Chapter 9, by Andrew Griffiths and Becky Milne is based on an
analysis of the performance of police officers who received training
in advanced investigative interviewing. It demonstrates that the skills
acquired on the course were maintained in the workplace. A model
of analyzing interviews, the Griffiths Question Map, is described.
xiii
Probably the most popular interviewing and interrogation training

course in the world is presented in Chapter 10 by Joseph P. Buckley
who describes the programme and discusses recent developments to
take account of concerns regarding some aspects of the methodology
He demonstrates that the model operates within the jurisprudence
currently established by the higher courts in Canada and the USA.
This method is not without its critics and, in Chapter 11, Saul M.
Kassin examines contemporary interrogation practices in the USA
and in particular provides a critical analysis of the Reid technique.
By drawing on recent case studies, he shows that the dangers of false
confessions have been underestimated.
The detection of deception is a subject that has been studied
by psychologists, and this is addressed in Chapter 12 by Mark G.
Frank, John D. Yarbrough and Paul Ekman who describe a model of
investigative interviewing and, in particular, examine the psychology
of emotion and facial micro-expressions of emotion.
P a rt III: D e ve lo p m e n ts in re g u la tio n
In Part III we consider the arrival of new phenomena that have

caused considerable controversy and concern regarding the reliability
of evidence provided by victims in cases of historical sexual abuse.
This is explored in Chapter 13 by James Ost, who examines the
controversy in many countries regarding the phenomenon of so-
called 'recovered memories' where people have been encouraged
during psychological therapy to recall sexual abuse in childhood. This
has led to a number of prosecutions and growing concern regarding
the possibility of miscarriages of justice. This chapter demonstrates
the need for constant vigilance in monitoring developments that
can have a profound effect on the reliability of evidence obtained
through questioning, and points to the need for further education
and regulation.
The issue of what is the best way to regulate custodial questioning
is considered in Chapter 14 by Robert Roy. This chapter is based
on extensive research in Canada and Switzerland of the ethical
challenges faced by investigators in trying to obtain information
through questioning. A methodology based on applied ethics is used
to consider how investigative interviewing can best be regulated.
It considers the influence of rules and concludes that they are
insufficient, as rules cannot be developed to cover every eventuality.
Instead, there is a need to develop processes that improve the exercise
xiv
Introduction
of moral judgem ent by investigators. Using custodial interviewing as

a case study, a set of ethical criteria is developed, including when and
where deception can be used. The chapter concludes that legislation
should be considered to prevent a miscarriage of justice occurring
whereby the guilty in serious cases go free if society is to achieve a
better balance between the rights of suspects and those of victims.
Chapter 15, by David Dixon, considers the possibilities and
problems in the regulation of police interrogation. Dixon draws on
a critical appraisal of the limitations of legal regulation of audio
visual records of interrogations, and he situates this analysis in
recent developments in regulatory theory. Regulation is described
as a sustained attempt to alter the behaviour of others according
to defined standards or purposes with the intention of producing a
broadly defined outcome, including mechanisms of standard setting,
information gathering and behaviour modification. This approach
is further discussed in the context of governance where regulation
should seek to foster good interviewing and not merely to sanction
bad practice. Good regulation positively encourages, shapes and
directs.
In the concluding chapter, Tom Williamson briefly pulls together
themes from the earlier discussions of rights, research and regulation
and indicates the future of investigative interviewing.
XV
N o te s on c o n trib u to rs
Randy Borum is Associate Professor, Department of Mental Health

Law and Policy, University of South Florida, and a diplomate of the
American Board of Forensic Psychology. He has a doctorate in clinical
psychology. He has published extensively in forensic and clinical
psychology journals. He has provided consultancy on a wide range
of justice matters, including terrorism, counterterrorism, violence and
threat assessment.
Joseph P. Buckley is President of John E. Reid and Associates in

Chicago. He is a forensic interviewer, detection of deception examiner,
lecturer and consultant. He has written numerous articles and papers
and is co-author of three books on interrogation and confessions. He
lectures extensively to law enforcement, government and business
groups.
David Dixon is Profesor of Law at the University of New South

Wales in Sydney, Australia. He has researched and published widely
on policing and crime control, focusing on the policing of illegal
markets, comparative crime control strategies, legal regulation of
police practices, and police interrogation in Britain and Australia.
Paul Ekman is Emeritus Professor of Psychology at the University

of California and internationally renowned for his research on
facial expressions, emotion and nonverbal communication. He has
published extensively on lying and methods for uncovering lies.
He works with police, law enforcement and intelligence agencies.
xvii
His book Telling Lies: Clues to Deceit in the Marketplace, Politics and
Marriage, first published in 1991, has been widely acclaimed.
M ark G. Frank is Professor of Communication at Rutgers University.

He has an international reputation for his research into the detection
of deception. He has published in this area and trains law enforcement
personnel in many countries.
M ichael G. G elles is the Chief Psychologist for the US Naval Criminal

Investigative Service. He holds a doctorate in psychology and is a
member of many academic societies, and he publishes regularly. He
has an international reputation for his study into the questioning of
al-Qaeda suspects.
Andy Griffiths is a detective chief inspector with Sussex Police and is

a member of the Association of Chief Police Officers' advisory board
on investigative interviewing. He has broad operational and training
experience in interviewing and is being supported by his force to
research for a PhD. He has developed a new system to analyze
question usage in interviews.
G isli H. G udjonsson is a professor of forensic psychology at the

Institute of Psychiatry, King's College London and Head of Forensic
Psychology Services, Maudsley Hospital, London. He has published
extensively in the areas of forensic psychology, including violence,
psychological vulnerability, false confession, police interviewing
and recovered memories. He pioneered the empirical measurement
of suggestibility. He has provided expert psychological testimony
in high-profile cases in many countries. He is co-editor-in-chief of
Personality and Individual Differences.
Saul M. Kassin is a professor of psychology at Williams College,

Massachusetts. He has written extensively on police interviewing in
the USA and has conducted laboratory studies on the risk of false
confessions and their influence on juries.
Robert M cFadden is a member of the Naval Criminal Investigative

Services with extensive experience in the interviewing of al-Qaeda
suspects.
Becky M ilne is a principal lecturer at the Institute of Criminal

Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth, and a chartered forensic
xviii
Notes on contributors
psychologist. She holds a doctorate for her research into investigative

interviewing and teaches police officers and is recognized for her
expertise with regard to the cognitive interview. She publishes
regularly and is the co-author of recent texts on investigative
interviewing. She is a member of the Association of Chief Police
Officers' advisory board on investigative interviewing.
Jam es Ost is a chartered psychologist and senior lecturer in the

International Centre for Research in Forensic Psychology at the
University of Portsmouth. He is a member of the scientific board of
the BFMS, a charity offering support to families and professionals in
cases of contested accusations of abuse. He has published extensively
on this subject.
John J. Pearse has recently retired as a detective superintendent at

Scotland Yard where he was actively involved in the interviewing of
terrorist suspects. He holds a doctorate in investigative interviewing
from the University of London and is a chartered forensic psychologist.
He is currently conducting research into the detection of deception
and examining the effectiveness of police interviews with terrorists in
the UK. He is a member of the Association of Chief Police Officers'
advisory board on investigative interviewing in the UK.
David Rose has been an investigative reporter for 24 years. His

latest book is Guantanamo: America's War on Human Rights (Faber
2004). Currently a contributing editor for the international magazine
Vanity Fair, and a writer for the Observer, he has also made numerous
documentaries for the BBC. He has pursued a special interest in
miscarriages of justice for many years, and among other cases, helped
to uncover new evidence which led the Court of Appeal to quash the
convictions of the Tottenham Three, the men wrongly convicted of
murdering PC Keith Blakelock in the 1987 riot at Broadwater Farm,
North London.
Robert Roy is full-time lecturer of ethics at Sherbrooke University,

Quebec, Canada, and is currently attached to the Surete du Quebec,
as part of a police reform programme. He is an expert in the
methodology of applied ethics and is a consultant to the police
department in Lausanne, Switzerland.
M ichel St-Yves is a forensic psychologist with the Behavioral

Science Unit of the Surete du Quebec, Canada, and previously
xix
worked for the Correctional Services of Canada for 13 years as a

specialist in risk assessment for adult offenders, including sexual
offenders. He has published on sexual offences, crisis negotiations
and police interviewing. He has an extensive network of contacts
in the francophone world who share his interest in investigative
interviewing.
Bryan Vossekuil is a member of the Counterintelligence Field

Activity, US Department of Defense, w'ith extensive experience in the
interviewing of al-Qaeda suspects.
Tom W illiam son is a visiting professor at the Institute of Criminal

Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth. He is a chartered forensic
psychologist and has a doctorate from the University of Kent for his
research into investigative interviewing. He is one of the founders
of the PEACE method of interviewing. He is a former police
officer who retired from the post of Deputy Chief Constable of the
Nottinghamshire Police in 2001 and was previously a commander at
New Scotland Yard.
John D. Yarbrough was a sworn peace officer for nearly 30 years,

specializing in homicide investigations for 16 years. He served as
his department's criminal profiler for eight years, and was certified
in criminal investigative profiling and crime scene analysis by the
Federal Bureau of Investigation and the International Criminal
Investigative Analysis Fellowship in 1995. In 1998, he served on a
technical working group that developed and published Crime Scene
Investigation: A Guide fo r Law Enforcement for the National Institute
of Justice in Washington, DC. In 2001, he joined Park Dietz and
Associates, an internationally recognized firm of consultants in
forensic medicine and the behavioural sciences.
XX
L is t o f fig u re s and ta b le s
F ig u re s
7.1 An interactional model of the interrogative process 138

9.1 The overall interview assessm ent 176
9.2 Assessm ent of the delivery of the caution 178
9.3 Assessm ent of explanation of the caution 179
9.4 A ssessm ent of the structure of topics in sequence 180
9.5 Assessm ent of the appropriate use of questions 181
9.6 The GQM of an interview for assault 184
9.7 The GQM for an interview with a m urder suspect 185
9.8 The GQM for an interview with a child abuse suspect 186
Ta ble s
8.1 Strength of evidence and outcom e of interview 153
xxi
Part I
Developments in Rights
C h a p te r I
Investigative interviewing and

human rights in the war on
terrorism
Tom Williamson
In tro d u c tio n
The growing post-war consensus around the principle of respect for

human rights is breaking down. Old threats are diminishing and
new threats such as international terrorism have arrived resulting
in the so-called 'war on terror'. One characteristic of this has been
a deliberate undermining of human rights and a legitimizing of
deviance through government-sanctioned and intentional abuses with
dreadful consequences, particularly for those who have been detained
and questioned as terrorist suspects. The erosion of human rights has
been exacerbated by the process of militarization of criminal justice
as a response to terrorism.
A natural experiment has been occurring in the UK which has
over 30 years of experience of dealing with terrorism, including the
use of military interrogation techniques. It is acknowledged that
there are considerable difficulties in balancing the needs of the state
for achieving security for its people and simultaneously respecting
human rights. The responses of the UK and US governments will
be considered together with the limited influence that judges have
over the constitutional arrangements for regulating the questioning
of suspects in terrorist cases. Ultimately parliaments must choose the
legal frameworks that they consider to be appropriate to the threat,
but their choice will determine whether their country develops into
a security state with restrictions on freedoms and rights or retains
the freedoms normally associated with a democracy. It is a choice for
parliaments, not just governments. The difference is constitutionally
3
important, if sustaining democracy is a primary concern. The ability

of military, intelligence and police agencies to develop effective
investigative interviewing and elicitation procedures and skills for
the war on terror is central to the question of which should be the
preferred option.
It is argued that democracies can balance the security needs of the
state with respect for human rights and that there is no need for
them to develop the apparatus of a security state with the erosion
of personal freedoms that would inevitably occur. Two models for
dealing with terrorism are in contention, one based on traditional
criminal investigation and the justice process and the other based
on new intelligence-led approaches which do not consider successful
prosecution a necessary outcome. Both models rely heavily on
investigative interviewing skills to furnish reliable information.
Ironically at a time when there is renewed interest in human, as
opposed to electronic, sources of information, military, intelligence
and police organizations are currently suffering from a lack of skilled
practitioners and investment in formal training which provides a
sound understanding of the psychology of custody and skills in
humane methods of interviewing.
H u m a n rig h ts, g lo b a liza tio n and risk
The postmodern world is changing dramatically and in complex

ways that have raised concerns about custodial questioning to
unprecedented levels. The questioning of victims, witnesses and
suspects lies at the heart of any information-gathering exercise,
investigation and criminal justice system. Two arguments against
the abuse of human rights are made in this chapter: first, the moral
argument that interviewers should demonstrate respect for individual
human rights as this is morally superior to the abuse of rights; and,
secondly, the empirical claim that the most effective way of eliciting
reliable information is through humane techniques (see Chapters 5-7,
this volume). Until recently this would have been considered an
irrefutable proposition in most democracies. That perception appears
to be changing. States' reactions to the threat of terrorism can result
in the militarization of criminal justice processes with the intentional
abuse or erosion of human rights. When states are faced with a
terrorist threat it is not unusual for them to respond by suspending or
significantly altering existing systems of justice. Primacy for dealing
with the terrorist threat is passed from the civil police to the military.
4
Investigative interviewing and human rights in the war on terrorism
Suspects are interrogated by the m ilitary in ways that w ould never

be accepted by the ordinary courts with criminal suspects. Denial
of access to legal representation, detention w ithout trial and trial by
special tribunal form part of the process of the m ilitarization of justice.
This trend should be resisted because respect for rights provides a
basis for trust and reciprocity betw een governm ents; their military,
intelligence and police agencies; and the population being policed.
Ultimately, the solutions to the causes of terrorism are political not
military. The m etaphor 'w ar on terror' is, therefore, m isleading as
there can never be a purely m ilitary solution. The m ilitarization of
justice processes is inim ical to the goal of democracy. The system atic
abuse of human rights over the long term breeds more terrorists
not fewer. It is questionable w hether any instrum ental short-term
gains believed to com e from coercive interrogation m ethods are
w orth the long-term damage to the prospects for peace and
democracy.
The end of the twentieth century was marked by the growth of
the phenom enon of globalization, a term which sociologists use to
describe those processes which are intensifying worldw ide social
relations and interdependence. The rapid connections betw een the
local and the global are quite new in hum an history and driven by ever
quicker advances in com m unications technology and transportation
(Giddens 1999, 2002: 48-76). The im pact of globalization has been
reflected in the rise of individualism and the gradual spread of
democracy, dram atically illustrated in the fall of com m unism . These
developm ents have also provided new opportunities for criminal
netw orks and cross-border crim e flows which are putting strains on
organizational structures designed in the nineteenth century (Loader
and Sparks 2002: 9 7 -8 ; W illiam son 2004).
Even prior to the events of 9 /1 1 , crim inologists were arguing that
we inhabit w hat has been characterized as the 'risk society', which
Beck considers to be a way of dealing with hazards and insecurities
brought about by the process of m odernization and globalization
(1992: 21, see also Giddens 2002: 65-8). These processes identify
'w hich risks are selected for particular attention, w hich categories of
person and which places com e to be regarded as bearers or containers
of intolerable risk' (Loader and Sparks 2002: 95). That w e all live in
a risk society can be conveyed by our sharing of an am bient sense
of risk, including the risk of victim ization. W hen is my car going to
be stolen, m y house broken into, or am I to get assaulted, robbed or
raped? This am bient sense of risk is amplified by the risk stories that
form the staple diet of the news media.
5
The elevation of perceptions of risk has led to heated debates

about crime and punishment and the state's capacity to deliver levels
of security that may once have been taken for granted. Fear of the
risk or threat is coupled with fear that the state will fail to respond
effectively and this is driving a demand for greater accountability.
Law enforcement agencies, as agents of the state, operating in
this environment find themselves facing greater pressures for
accountability and transparency. The global communications
revolution has created a mass-mediated society in which blame is
instantly attributed whenever the media identify a particular risk.
In this environment, according to Loader and Sparks (2002), 'every
failure of propriety or competence in risk management is potentially
a scandal'. In policing this can be seen through the steady growth
of independent civilian oversight bodies for policing the police,
such as Independent Police Complaints Commission in England
and Wales and the Ombudsman for the Police Service of Northern
Ireland. Such bodies vary enormously in their effectiveness, resources
and powers at their disposal but that they exist at all is evidence
of the demand for accountability for individual officers and police
organizations.
Key challenges for organizations operating in democratic states in
the twenth-first century risk society are:
• risk identification, assessment and management;

• managing propriety or ethical values;
• developing professional competence; and
• managing public perceptions.
T h e u n d e rm in in g o f hum an rig h ts law and le g itim izin g

o f deviance
These new challenges arise at a time when there is increasing public

pressure on states to react in more penal wâys to the perception
of threats from terrorism or rising crime than was the case for
democracies in the post-war period (Young 1999). This growing
penality is in conflict with other efforts aimed at extending respect
for individual human rights.
The concept of rights has been slowly developing over the last
300 years from the philosophical debates occurring during the
Enlightenment. Countries that rejected monarchies, such as France and
6
the USA, incorporated the concept of rights into their constitutions.

The Constitution of the USA speaks of certain 'inalienable rights'.
More recently, following the Second World War the countries of the
world came together under the newly constituted United Nations
and one of their first actions was to endorse at their meeting on 10
December 1948 in San Francisco the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights. The first 50 years has been spent in gaining international
acceptance of the principle of human rights and if that process
continued unhindered the next 50 years would have to be spent
achieving in every member state of the United Nations compliance
with the practice of human rights. There is much to commend
this approach, rights form a basis for the relationship of trust and
reciprocity between the state and state's parties, including intelligence
and law enforcement agencies and the individual. Respect for
citizens' rights are a solid basis for reciprocity in policing (Wright
2002: 44-6). Investigations and interviews conducted in ways that
respect these rights will strengthen reciprocity, accountability and
democracy.
History and academic research show that all too frequently military
and police investigations have been associated with a deviant culture
where the ends have been thought to justify the means (Klockars 1980;
Williamson 1990; see also Chapter 15, this volume). For example, in
an interview training course conducted in a newly democratized
European country a detective explained that torture was not a
problem in his country because they only tortured 'guilty' people.
He decided whether or not a person was guilty or innocent, and
if they were guilty and don't confess he tortures them to get their
confession (Crawshaw, pers. comm. 2003). In countries where torture
is not practised, there can be a temptation to abuse the psychological
process inherent in custodial questioning in a similar 'ends justifies
the means' way in order to obtain confession evidence (Kassin and
Wrightsman 1985; Ofshe and Leo 1997; Kassin 1998; Gudjonsson
2003; Rose 2004). Both approaches involve an abuse of human rights.
States can be complicit and culpable in condoning physical and
psychological abuse and have a responsibility to provide a regulatory
framework that encourages public confidence that people questioned
in custody will be treated professionally. There was a steady but
growing acknowledgement of these issues, and torture was both
condemned and becoming, in many countries, an increasingly rare
event. This changed after the events of 11 September 2001.
7
T h e in te rn a tio n a l legal r e g u la to ry fra m e w o rk
The events of 11 Septem ber 2001 mark a watershed in international

governance, disturbing extant legal cultures that once appeared
to vouchsafe international human rights law, and this is creating
confusion about how states should respond to the threat of terrorism.
According to a British academ ic lawyer:
International law has been revealed as feeble, constitutional law

as insecure, while hum an rights law has becom e negotiable.
L aw 's apparent stable edifice has been exposed as being as fragile
as our world order. International legal doctrines, treaties and
constitutional texts seem superseded by the political expediency
of alleged international and national security concerns in the face
of terrorist th rea ts... The actions of A1 Q a'ida and the responses
to them challenge the carefully crafted system of international
relations in the second half of the last century (Strawson 2002:
xi, xix).
Farer, an Am erican lawyer, argues that, once this international frame

of order is broken and states slip out of the norm ative restraints
on their tools for safeguarding their security: 'w e can reasonably
anticipate increasingly norm -less violence, pitiless blow s follow'ed
by m onstrous retaliation in a descending spiral of hardly im aginable
depths' (2002: 354). W hat is unfolding has been described as the
degradation of international law:
International law is no longer accepted as a legitim ate curb on

the use of force by Western pow ers, while coercive intervention
by Western powers against other States is increasingly legitimised
through the fram ew ork of 'international justice'. The gap
betw een 'justice' and what is 'legal' has led to the degradation
of international law rather than to its developm ent (Chandler
2002: 158).
The issue at stake is respect for the sovereignty, equality and legal
parity of nation-states, regardless of their wealth or power, in order
to establish the rule of 'right' over 'm ight' in regulating interstate
affairs (Chandler 2000: 55).
One result is that investigators in many countries find themselves
caught betw een the narratives of crim e and w ar (Hayward and
Morrison 2002:140-57), with military, security and police organizations

operating in the same areas. The rules of engagement may be unclear
but are likely to have changed, resulting in extension of police powers,
the sudden arrival of military and intelligence personnel, and the
militarization of criminal justice structures in what previously would
have been considered the bailiwick of criminal investigators. After
all, terrorism is a crime. This raises a fundamental question as to
whether we are fighting a war or investigating a crime. International
humanitarian law covers both: if it is a war, the Geneva Convention
applies, and if it is a crime, human rights treaties and domestic law
apply. Both forms of engagement also rely heavily on human sources
of information. If, as will subsequently be demonstrated, investigators
were not getting interviewing right before 11 September (see Chapter
8, this volume) it is even more likely that they and their military
and intelligence colleagues were likely to repeat these mistakes when
acting under legislation and policies that provide an extension of
powers and suspension of internationally guaranteed human rights
obligations, thereby legitimizing deviance.
T h e e ro sio n o f hum an rig h ts th ro u g h the m ilita riz a tio n o f

ju stice : th e U K e x p e rie n c e
Some lessons can be learnt from a natural experiment that has been
taking place in Britain which has a recent history of dealing with
terrorism. One of the first responses to terrorism is for the state to
bring in the military. Between 1966 and 1999 there were 3,636 deaths
in Northern Ireland from political violence, in a population of 1.5
million. By 1971 the scale of the violence grew beyond the capabilities
of the para-military police force, the Royal Ulster Constabulary, and
the army became the prime security force and legislation was passed
permitting internment without trial. These emergency powers also
led to the ill-treatment of detainees and lethal confrontations between
the army and civilian population which directly contributed to the
continuation of terrorist activity.
Legislation was often event driven in response to the latest terrorist
attack. In a review of the legislation in 1996 four principles were set
out against which terrorism legislation should be judged:
1. Legislation against terrorism should approximate as closely as

possible to the ordinary criminal law and procedure.
9
2. Additional statutory offences and powers may be justified, but

only if they are necessary to meet the anticipated threat. They
must then strike the right balance between the needs of security
and the rights and liberties of the individual.
3. The need for additional safeguards should be considered alongside
additional powers.
4. The law should comply with the UK's obligations in international
law (Lloyd 1996).
Emergency powers to deal with terrorism often fail to meet

these principles. The human rights problems associated with the
militarization of criminal justice through abusive interrogations and
indeterminate detention were eventually recognized and resulted in
the police regaining primacy for security in 1975. The Lloyd Review to
consider the legal procedures to deal with terrorist activities resulted
in the carefully considered Terrorism Act 2000 which provided an
extensive counter-terrorist code but with diminished rates of abuse
and complaint. In response to 11 September the UK government
hastily passed the Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act 2001 which
contains new powers, including that of indefinite detention which
has required the UK to derogate from Article 5 of the European
Convention required by its own Human Rights Act 1998 (cf. Walker
2002 for text and discussion of the legislation).
It did not follow the USA in creating military tribunals for dealing
with persons suspected of terrorism (US Presidential Order, Detention,
Treatment, and Trial o f Certain Non-citizens in the War against Terrorism,
13 November 2001 (66 Federal Register 57831) s. 4).
M ilita ry in te rro g a tio n tech n iq u e s
The purpose of investigative interviewing is to obtain evidence. In

criminal investigation there is no legal power to detain people in
custody for the purpose of obtaining intelligence. Military and security
service interviewers are different: they may want to interview purely
for intelligence to be used to disrupt the enemy or, in the case of
the US military tribunals, to obtain evidence, including confession for
use in a prosecution.
The erosion of rights is particularly prone to happen at times of
national emergencies. The use of military interrogation techniques on
suspects detained in Northern Ireland led to the government of the
10
Republic of Ireland successfully taking action against the governm ent

of the UK in the European Court of Justice in what becam e know n as
the 'hooded m en' case because of the way bags were put over the heads
of detainees. The court found that the men had not been tortured but
that they had been subjected to degrading and inhum an treatm ent
(Ireland v. United Kingdom, App. No. 5 3 1 0 /7 1 , Ser. A. 25 (1979-80)
2 EHRR 25). This court finding led to a governm ent inquiry which
brought about far-reaching changes in the detention and treatment
of suspects for custodial questioning (Bennett 1979). More recently
the link betw een rights and policing was made explicit in another
governm ent inquiry in N orthern Ireland, the Patten Com m ission, as
part of the peace process, which has led to fundam ental changes in
the police structure in N orthern Ireland with a process of change
from para-m ilitary policing to hum an rights-based civil policing: 'It
is a central proposition of this report that the fundam ental purpose
of policing should be the protection and vindication of the hum an
rights of all, policing means protecting human rights' (Patten 1999: 18,
em phasis added).
It is im portant therefore to understand certain key characteristics
that apply to rights. N otw ithstanding the earlier equivocation voiced
by law yers regarding international hum an rights law, rights are still
internationally guaranteed through binding agreem ents signed at
the governm ental level. They are legally protected. They focus on
the dignity of the hum an being. They protect both individuals and
groups. They place obligations on states and organizations such as
the police, intelligence agencies and the military. As articulated in
the Pream ble to the Universal Declaration of H um an Rights they are
the equal and inalienable rights of all m em bers of the human family
and the basis for freedom , justice and peace in the world. They are
universal. Som e, such as the right not to be tortured, are absolute
rights and cannot be subject to any qualification or derogation by
the state.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights articulated 30 rights
and these have been addressed through two conventions published
in 1976. The first convention relates to econom ic and social rights,
such as the right to work, social security, health and education.
The second convention relates to civil rights and includes the right
to life and prohibitions against arbitrary detention and torture. A
Code o f Conduct fo r Law Enforcement Officials w as published in 1979
as the basis for policing in ways that respect hum an rights. This is
a work in progress but it has given rise to additional conventions
which spell out what this means in practice - for exam ple, The Right
to Life and the Use o f Force by Law Enforcement Officials published in

1990 (see Crawshaw and H olmstrom 2001 for a com pilation of the
various relevant international instrum ents). A t present the codes
have som ething to say about custodial conditions but nothing on
how to interrogate people in ways that respect their universal rights.
There is therefore a need for international best practice in relation
to investigative interview ing to be collected and for it to acquire the
status of a convention or code of conduct. This process is likely to
take several years (Crawshaw et al. 1998).
The treatm ent of detainees at Guantanam o Bay appears to be
sim ilar to the m ilitary interrogation techniques that resulted in the
European Court finding against the governm ent of the UK in the case
of the hooded men. We still do not know sufficient about how the
660 men and boy(s) in G uantanam o Bay are being treated to know
w hether it am ounts to torture, but it certainly appears to amount
to inhum an and degrading treatment. There is som e suggestion
that all interrogations have been videotape recorded, but this has
yet to be confirmed and, if so, the tapes are not yet in the public
domain. The focus on G uantanam o Bay may have diverted attention
from other locations where suspects have been detained indefinitely
and subjected to the planned use of coercive techniques. Human
rights organizations have criticized the detention and interrogation
of detainees at Guantanam o Bay and have identified the principal
violations of international hum an rights as follows:
• The creation by the US governm ent of zones where people are

considered to be outside the law and have no legal channels to
assert their rights.
• People are being kept in indefinite detention w ithout charge or
trial.
• They are being held in conditions that may am ount to cruel,
inhum an or degrading treatm ent and that violate other m inim um
standards relating to detention.
• Those who do go on trial will be tried by m ilitary com m issions
which are not independent of the executive.
• The m ilitary com m issions will allow a lower standard of evidence
than is adm issible in courts, including hearsay evidence.
• The com m issions will have the pow er to hand down death
sentences w ithout the right of appeal to an independent and
im partial court.
12
• D etainees have only a limited right to effective defence being

restricted to US m ilitary lawyers (although this has now been
overturned by a federal court in W ashington and is being appealed
to the Suprem e Court).
• There is a concern that people in US custody may have been

transferred for interrogation in another country where there is a
likelihood of unfair trial, torture, the death penalty and inadequate
human rights protection, which is a breach of the principle of non
refoulement (Amnesty International 2002: 1).
Given those conditions and the m ilitarization of justice, it is not

clear w hat reliability, if any, can be placed on evidence obtained
through custodial questioning in these conditions (see Chapters 3
and 7, this volum e). The m ilitarization of crim inal justice has often
been associated w ith torture and extra-judicial executions rather than
the elicitation of inform ation and the subjugation of its own people
(or som e of them) by the state. The purpose w as punishm ent not
intelligence (Huggins et al. 2002). The unilateralist approach of the
US governm ent may be a serious threat to a hum an rights basis
for investigation and custodial questioning. Their new approach is
unlikely to be overturned by the US Suprem e Court, although it has
provided some limited access to legal representation for detainees.
The coercive regim e appears to have continued, notw ithstanding
its international condem nation. W hat is happening may not be a
tem porary aberration follow ing the disastrous events of 11 Septem ber
2001 (Koh 2003); we may have entered a new era which has
been criticized by Kofi Annan, Secretary General of the United
Nations:
There is no trade-off betw een effective action against terrorism

and the protection of hum an rights. O n the contrary, I believe
that in the long term we shall find that human rights, along with
dem ocracy and social justice, are one of the best prophylactics
against terrorism (statem ent at United N ations' Security Council
m eeting on counter-terrorism , 18 Janauary 2002).
A part from attracting criticism from human rights non-governm ental

bodies, the treatm ent of prisoners, including British subjects, at
G uantanam o Bay has attracted criticism from Lord Steyn, one of
the m ost senior judges who sits in the H ouse of Lords, Britain's
final court of appeal. He said (2003): 'the blanket presidential order
13
deprives them all of any rights whatever. As a lawyer brought up to

admire the ideas of Am erican dem ocracy and justice, I would have
to say that I would regard this as a m onstrous failure of justice.'
Is it a m onstrous failure of justice or has the world changed so
m uch that torture should now be perm itted? (see Chapters 14 and
15, this volum e, for further discussion of this point). N ot so long ago
this would have been considered a rhetorical question for a British
police officer. Article 5 of the Universal Declaration of Hum an Rights
expressly states that 'N o one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel,
inhum an degrading treatm ent or punishm ent'. Sim ilar w w ding is to
be found in Article 3 of the European Convention for the Prevention
of Torture and Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment.
Countries that are state parties to the European convention cannot
derogate from the requirem ent not to torture. The UK is a party to
the convention and is bound by its provisions.
A case, however, has been made by the UK governm ent to the
British Court of Appeal that the convention against torture does not
explicitly prohibit the use of inform ation obtained by torture. This
is correct in that the convention does not contain a prohibition of
torture but a range of m easures to m ake the prevention of torture
more effective. It includes such things as a definition of torture, the
requirem ents on states to take m easures to prevent torture and a
prohibition on returning people to places where they may be tortured.
Under Article 15 it does contain a provision that no statem ent
obtained as a result of torture should be invoked as evidence in any
proceedings, except against a person accused of torture.
In A ugust 2004 in a tw o-to-one ruling, the Court of Appeal
said that evidence obtained under torture in third countries may
be used in special terrorism cases, under structures established by
the Anti-terrorism , Crim e and Security Act 2001, provided that the
British governm ent has 'neither procured the torture nor connived
at it'. The Hom e Secretary can use evidence obtained under torture
outside the country when deciding to detain indefinitely foreign
terrorism suspects providing Britain was not involved in the torture
or encouraged it. Such inform ation can be considered by the Special
Immigration Appeals Com m ission that hears appeals by these
suspects against indefinite detention, allow ed under Part 4 of the
Anti-terrorism , Crim e and Security Act 2001. Such evidence is heard
in closed proceedings to which the detainees and their lawyers have
no access; instead they are represented by law yers appointed by the
governm ent. The Joint Hum an Rights Com m ittee of Parliam ent has
called for indefinite detention to be scrapped.
14
In his dissenting judgm ent, Lord Justice Neuberger made clear

that, in his view, the consequence of the Court of A ppeal's decision
w as that 'by using torture, or even adopting the fruits of torture, a
dem ocratic state is weakening its case against terrorists, by adopting
their methods, thereby losing the moral high ground an open
dem ocratic society en jo y s'.1 The case is now before the House of
Lords.
The British legislation was passed in the im m ediate afterm ath of
9 /1 1 . (For a discussion of the way the governm ent of the USA sought
to get around international hum an rights law relating to interrogation
see Rose 2004 and Chapter 3, this volum e.) In the USA the President
intended to create a legal back hole in G uantanam o where human
rights entitlem ents could apparently be suspended.
The relaxation of safeguards for hum an rights w as exacerbated
by the fact that it is now alleged that untrained interrogators were
deployed in order to obtain 'enorm ously valuable intelligence'
(Rose 2004). The officer in charge of G uantanam o had no previous
intelligence experience. Under pressure for more results he decided
to com bine the roles of gaoler and intelligence gatherer, a system that
was then adopted in Abu Ghraib. In October 2004, Staff Sergeant
Ivan Frederick, an army reservist and m ilitary policem an, pleaded
guilty to eight counts of abusing and hum iliating Iraqi detainees at
Abu Ghraib prison. He had attached wires to a detainee's hands
and told him that he would be electrocuted if he fell off a box. He
also forced prisoners to m asturbate. His only m itigation w as that
he was apparently doing what m ilitary intelligence told him to do
(see Chapter 5, this volum e, for a discussion of Zim bardo's fam ous
experim ent of abuse by prison guards).
In Britain the separation of the roles of supervision of people in
custody from that of custodial questioning w as incorporated into
the Police and Crim inal Evidence Act (PACE) 1984 which was quite
prescient in the light of the massive reform of police question practices
that has occurred follow ing the introduction of PACE. Faced with the
possibility of nuclear, biological or chem ical attack, PACE may seem to
some people to be rather like boxing to the M arquess of Q ueensberry
Rules. A num ber of pundits are now advocating the use of torture
under controlled conditions (see Chapter 15, this volum e). The fears
generated by the threat of terrorism are stoking up an increasingly
penal public reaction. It is unlikely that torture would ever be allowed
in Britain. On the other hand, if the intelligence was obtained as a
result of torture in another country, should we not use that? No one
would wish to underestim ate the enorm ous challenges that police
15
officers and the intelligence com m unity face in dealing with global
terrorism. But accepting evidence obtained through torture appears a
bit like saying you did not steal anything you only received it from
som eone who, you had reason to believe, had stolen it. Is this really
an essential part of the solution to international terrorism?
Three consequences flow from the use of torture or inform ation
obtained from other people using torture. One is that it could affect
the treatm ent of US, UK and Coalition soldiers, police officers and
civilian hostages captured in future armed conflicts. Secondly, it would
remove the restraints of hum an rights law on other states that would
be able to invoke the precedent of US policy at Guantanam o Bay and
in British tribunals. Thirdly, it would be likely to m ake m artyrs in the
m oderate M uslim world, with whom the West m ust work to ensure
peace and stability, of the prisoners treated in this way.
T h e lim ite d in flu e n c e o f th e ju d g es
The w eakness of the judges in curtailing these recent developm ents

is m ost w orrying. Even if the judges were minded to act in support
of hum an rights it is questionable w hat effect they could have.
Although the crim inal justice system s in England and parts of North
Am erica share m any sim ilarities due to their com m on law heritage
the responses will reflect the way their particular constitutions
operate. Unlike Britain's unwritten constitution that allows for
state intervention, the US Constitution confers little opportunity for
state intervention and regulation, including in the field of custodial
questioning. This is neatly sum m ed up by Lazare (1998), who argues
that, because the US constitution is alm ost im possible to rewrite, it has
been amended only 15 times since 1791, and that argum ents over civil
liberties and social progress are frozen: 'By externalising civil liberties
in the form of an untouchable Bill of Rights, US constitutionalism has
prevented their internationalisation as part of the dem ocratic political
process.'
Britain in contrast has addressed these issues through legislation
whereby the state can and has prescribed the regulatory fram ew ork
for custodial questioning in non-terrorist cases that com plies with
hum an rights standards and proscribes certain behaviours in a
code of practice. Som e states' constitutions would prevent a sim ilar
model being introduced and so the British experience is not always
transferable.
The result of these developm ents in response to the threat of
16
terrorism is to create a gap betw een those countries that have reacted
by restricting hum an rights and liberal dem ocracies which have not.
It m ay be sym ptom atic of a divergence of values betw een the USA
and Europe (Hutton 2003: 101-2).
The m ilitarization of crim inal justice is a strategy that fails on
moral, legal and utilitarian grounds, and bitter experience. The
response to the threat of terrorism and the legal fram ew orks chosen
ultim ately defines the kind of country we each live in and the means
adopted to ensure our security.
G o v e rn m e n ts ’ c h o ic e o f legal fra m e w o rk s fo r th e w a r on
t e r r o r is m : s e c u rity sta te o r d e m o cra c y?
British officers w orking within the existing anti-terrorism legislation

can find it very frustrating. It is not as though they have not had
their share of successes. Som e of the frustration that officers engaged
in com bating terrorism face include the requirem ent for terrorist
suspects to be detained for limited periods of time and that they
are entitled to a legal representative being present when they are
questioned with the result that m ost will exercise their right of silence.
The issue of who can be detained by whom purely for the purposes
of intelligence gathering as opposed to questioning for evidence to
be used in a criminal prosecution remains ambiguous.
The British governm ent incorporated the European Convention
on Human Rights into its dom estic law in the Human Rights Act
1998, which m eant that all new legislation relating to terrorism
should have successfully passed a hum an rights audit. The passing
of the Terrorism Act 2000 appears to have achieved that and the
governm ent claim ed that the law was com patible with European
convention rights and they therefore rescinded a previous derogation
relating to the detention of people suspected of terrorist offences.
No sooner was this legislation on the statute book than the events
of 9 /1 1 led the governm ent to pass the Anti-terrorism , Crim e and
Security A ct 2001. This legislation contains provisions that would
fail a hum an rights audit and in consequence the governm ent was
required yet again to derogate from its responsibilities under Article
5 of the convention, w hich guarantees the right to life, liberty and
security. If the Terrorism Act 2000 appeared to get close to achieving
a balance betw een the level of the threat and the powers to restrict
hum an rights, the more recent legislation contains powers that go
w ell beyond that. It is of interest that Britain is the only country of
17
Council of Europe m em ber states that felt it was necessary to respond

to 9/1 1 by bringing forward this kind of legislation. The governm ent
argued that Britain was more at risk than other European countries.
The Com m ittee of Privy Counsellors set up by the Anti-terrorism Act
to review its provisions argued for the rem oval of the 'internm ent
provisions' and proposed a more 'proportionate response' involving
house arrest, intensive surveillance and other measures.
A further review of the terrorism legislation is under way. The
outcom e of this w ill have serious im plications for dem ocracy in the
UK. If the war on terrorism requires that all terrorism in the world be
eradicated the war will go on for ever and therefore the em ergency
legislation will never be dismantled and we will inevitably move
towards living in a security state, a trend that crim inologists have
been predicting. This is not the only option available. There is an
alternative. The Terrorism A ct 2000, together with the Regulation
of Investigatory Powers A ct 2000 and the Human Rights A ct 1998,
dem onstrated that it was possible to have workable legislation that
enabled the police to deal with threats in an intelligence-led way
rather than resort to preventative detention. Police and security
organizations will need legislation to enable them to do their job
but the form of the legislation they are given will reflect the kind
of organization they becom e and determ ine w hether their country
becom es more like a security state than a democracy.
C o n c lu s io n
The choice betw een a security state where personal freedoms are
inevitably eroded and a dem ocracy achieving a proportionate balance
between individual rights and threats to national security is not a false
dichotomy. It may be that w e are at a watershed in term s of a new
approach to managing the threat of third-m illennium terrorism and
other international crimes. The world of law enforcem ent is rapidly
changing. Instead of the public police there is now a m ultitude
of other public and private providers. M any people em ployed as
interrogators in Iraq are private contractors. According to N ewburn
(in Jones and N ew burn 2002):
Policing has changed, as has the society being policed. The

increasing visibility of a plurality of providers of security will
m ean, one way or another, that we will be forced to consider
once again what it is we want policing in general, and the
18
police service in particular, to achieve, and in what way we feel

that it is appropriate to achieve these things.
Bayley and Shearing (1996) consider that a paradigmatic shift

is taking place. If that is the case, are we likely to see traditional
approaches of constructing a case for a prosecution based largely
on confession evidence and the shaping of the narratives provided
by victims and witnesses with some form of penal sanction as the
intended outcome being replaced? Are we witnessing instead the
emergence of an approach based on proactive risk management where
intelligence gathering and disruption of criminal networks become
more important than conviction? Is a twenty-first-century risk model
more fitted for a global 'risk society' instead of a nineteenth-century
criminal justice model designed to operate within the borders of a
nation-state?
Others have argued that concepts such as globalization and risk
have been overstated and suggest instead continuity with the past,
but do so in recognition that important shifts have been taking place
in policing arrangements that will necessitate radical, but evolutionary
reform in the near future in order to meet what are acknowledged to
be dramatic new challenges (Jones and Newburn 2002).
One important aspect for either model will be the issue of
governance. The public police face growing forms of regulation, as do
private security contractors in some jurisdictions. However, for those
engaged in the war on terrorism, especially when they are operating
outside the borders of their own nation-state, there appears to be
little in the way of formal accountability, regulation and governance.
If the trend is away from old law enforcement models to new'
intelligence-led risk models, are new oversight arrangements going
to be developed on a statutory basis or will the current democratic
deficit continue indefinitely?
W hichever model comes to dominate in the third millennium or
whether, as I believe, they will continue in some form to coexist, both
currently suffer from fundamental weaknesses in the level of skills,
knowledge and understanding of how' to elicit information from
people. Time will prove that investigative interviewing, not torture,
degrading or inhuman treatment, produces reliable information that
either model requires for their very different purposes. Interviewing
people in a humane w'ay that establishes rapport, elicits and examines
whatever account that may be given, will remain a core competence.
Recent publicity has not only revealed breaches in propriety but it
is also evidence of a shocking lack of skilled interviewers. W hat is
19
strik in g , in m y e xp erien ce, is th at this can be ap p lied g en erally across

m ilitary, in tellig en ce and p o lice ag en cies. In terv iew in g is n o t valued
as an im p o rtan t sk ill and there h a s b ee n a ch ro n ic u n d erin v e stm e n t in
train in g and research. T h ere are ob v io u sly som e e xcep tio n a lly gifted
in terv iew ers and there is m u ch th at w e can learn from each oth er b u t
this is n o t to g ain say the v alu e o f a cq u irin g th rou g h fo rm al training
a g reater u n d ersta n d in g of the p sy ch o lo g y o f cu sto d y and sk ills in
m eth o d s o f e licitin g in fo rm a tio n th rou g h h u m a n e in terv iew in g (cf.
P h ilip s 1981: 195).
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22
C h a p te r 2
Al-Qaeda-related subjects: a law

enforcement perspective
Michael G. Gelles, Robert McFadden,

Randy Borum and Bryan Vossekuil
In tro d u c tio n
National security and public safety are primary concerns for all
professionals who investigate terrorism (White 2003; Borum 2004).
These investigations frequently involve questioning subjects, either
for purposes of intelligence gathering or for investigations that may
lead to criminal prosecution. The objective of these interview s/
interrogations is to gather accurate and reliable information that
furthers security, safety, intelligence and investigative interests. The
current threat environment, however, poses some particular challenges
for law enforcement professionals investigating terrorism (Hoffman
1999; Laqueur 1999; Simon 2003; Borum et al. 2004).
Many 'adversaries' in the global war on terrorism have beliefs,
ideologies, cultures and life experiences that differ markedly from
those of their interrogators - and often differ from those of criminals
with whom law enforcement professionals more typically interact.
Terrorist groups and networks affiliated with al-Qaeda, in particular,
pose ominous threats and present enormous challenges to the
investigative and intelligence personnel who pursue them. Al-Qaeda
and related operatives are committed to a cause: not just to their
own personal interests, but to the interests of the 'brothers' (group)
of Islam. They may be trained to withstand questioning and to utilize
counter-interrogation techniques (Gunaratna 2001).
Various interrogation strategies have been employed with success
against al-Qaeda-affiliated subjects since the first attack on the
World Trade Center in 1993. These approaches were refined over the
23
ensuing decade, incorporating lessons learnt along the way. They

have proven effective in the interrogation a n d /o r prosecutions of
al-Qaeda terrorists associated with the Africa Embassy bombings in
1998, the attack on the USS Cole in 2000 and the 11 September 2001
attacks.
To date, the most extensive interviews with al-Qaeda operatives
have been conducted with Sunni extremists from Middle Eastern Arab
societies who are held in detainee status. Just as there are differences,
however, in how one might approach a custodial versus a non
custodial interview, there may be features and effects of the detainee
situation that are unique and may not generalize well to other kinds
of law enforcement interviews with people of investigative concern.
Nevertheless, the collective experience of professionals involved
in detainee interviews and interrogations may offer insights into the
thinking and behaviours of al-Qaeda-related individuals, especially
those who are from, or have roots in, Middle Eastern Arab countries.
Knowledge about the expectations, communications and behaviours
of these persons may aid other investigators to improve interrogation
efforts. In addition, what has been learnt about gathering information
from these people may inform the efforts of law enforcement and
intelligence professionals who work with other al-Qaeda-related
people (Einesman 1999).
To state immediately the central theme of this paper: a relationship/
rapport-based approach with Middle Eastern Arab subjects who may
be affiliated with al-Qaeda networks will generally result in more
truthful and reliable information than will an aggressive approach.
This is an approach that is advocated in almost all interrogations,
not just with Middle Eastern subjects. The following guidelines are
offered as an interrogation approach that works well with national
security cases and criminal cases. In all instances where interrogation
is conducted for the purpose of eliciting reliable and non-coerced
confessions, a rapport-based approach is recommended. In the
specific case of terrorism, in the opinion of the authors aggressive
strategies have been ineffective and, whilst yielding information, the
information is often not reliable or actionable. Aggressive and forceful
interrogation of a subject who may be trained to anticipate torture
and to resist questioning is likely to be counterproductive to the goal
of eliciting accurate, reliable and useful information (Arrigo 2003).
Clearly differences exist between subjects of al-Qaeda-related
terrorist investigations and subjects of other investigations more
commonly conducted by law enforcement (Navarro 2002). This
chapter seeks to highlight some of these differences and to provide
24
Al-Qaeda-related subjects: a law enforcement perspective
some suggestions, based on experience, about how best to deal

with them. The chapter offers background information and context
for interrogating Middle Eastern Arab al-Qaeda-affiliated detainees
and subjects of investigation. It also suggests what has been learnt
about general interview approaches during detention. The chapter
recommends ways to navigate interviews: preparation, development
of rapport, development of themes, management of resistance, and
detection of deception.
This is not a 'how to' chapter. There is much to be learnt about
interrogation, especially with regard to strategies that take cognizance
of the culture, background and expectations of the subject being
interviewed (Gudjonnsson 2003). The goal of this chapter is to outline
some themes and ideas that may result in more effective and useful
interrogation strategies and practices.
U n d e rs ta n d in g c o n te x ts fo r in te rro g a tin g subjects o f

a l-Q a e d a -re la te d in ve stig a tio n s
Successful strategies recognize that Arab culture is one that is built

on relationships, oriented towards a larger collective, and focused on
impression management (Nydell 2002). Within much Arab culture is
an acceptance of conspiracy theories as a means of explaining the
reasons behind certain events. Osama Bin Laden has reinforced these
long-standing beliefs that Americans and Jews and their Western
allies are seeking to control and dominate the Middle East and attack
the faith of Islam. In accepting these theories, it could be said that
al-Qaeda supporters and sympathizers have suspended critical
thinking. They might have done so in order to find meaning,
direction and structure through a strong affiliation with a radical
Islamist view of the West and a commitment to the jihad (Borum
and Gelles 2004).
Knowledge of these underlining factors may help an investigator
to assess deception during an interrogation and to elicit accurate and
useful information from al-Qaeda operatives and supporters. For
example, many Middle Eastern Arab males think associatively. From a
Western point of view, their thinking may appear to jump from point
to point and from place to place in a discussion. Associative thinking
differs from Western 'lin ear' thinking (Nydell 2002). Linear thinking
is goal oriented, with one point following the next in logical order.
Understanding the manner in which information is communicated
25
is critical in analyzing the reliability and usefulness of information

offered during an interview or interrogation.
U n d e rs ta n d in g m o tiv a tio n and th e im p o rta n c e

o f re la tio n s h ip
In our exploration of the m otivation of al-Qaeda-affiliated extrem ists,

we m ust rely heavily on our own observations, assessm ents and
experiences with subjects who have been captured, detained and
interrogated. At the time of writing, there has been no system atic study
of personal pathw ays to m ilitant Islam ist ideology or of recruitm ent
into its terrorist factions. The existing social science literature and
our own appraisals, however, do suggest several vulnerabilities
that frequently appear in these subjects. Understanding these
vulnerabilities may inform an exam ination of what may m otivate
these men to com m it to an extrem ist view of Islam and to w aging
jihad against the West.
Perhaps we first should clarify that the constellation of these
m otivational them es does not com prise a 'profile' of the Islam ic
extrem ist. In fact, there is no such profile that can reliably be based
on dem ographic, psychological or social characteristics (Borum et
al. 2003). The extrem ists of whom we have know ledge com e from
a range of social classes and possess varying levels of intellect and
education. Instead, the thematic consistency we have observed is that
many of these men, prior to their involvem ent with m ilitant Islam ist
ideas, were actively seeking m eaning, direction, structure and
connection in their lives. This pursuit often appeared to be related to
their radicalization (Borum and Gelles 2004).
It is not uncom m on to hear stories am ongst al-Q aeda-affiliated
detainees of how they were drawn into a jihadist group through
others in their social network. Marc Sagem an (2004) estim ates that
more than two thirds of his sample of al-Q aeda-associated extrem ists
had already formed into a social collective (in W estern term s 'a
bunch of guys') before they com m itted their terrorist acts. Social
networks and relationships are particularly pow erful in collectivist
societies - such as in Asian and M iddle Eastern cultures - where
Islam and the presence of al-Q aeda also tend to be m ost prevalent.
People raised w ith collectivist values quite naturally and norm atively
see them selves (and other individuals) as being part of a larger
meaningful cause. The identities and perceptions of self-worth
am ongst m any in the M iddle East - and to som e extent in Asia -
26
are influenced strongly by the idea that 'w ho I am is part of whom

I am w ith'. Seeking connections is critical in a world where one's
value is defined by w hom you know and who is in your network
(in Arabic, Wasta; Cunningham and Sarayrah 1993). These priorities
are distinctly different from traditional W estern values that tend to
em phasize individual achievem ent and self-w orth (Nydell 2002).
Thus, in his quest for personal m eaning, direction and structure
(particularly in an environm ent where extrem ist sects and ideologies
are prevalent), a m an will often suspend critical thinking, com m it to
a particular m osque, leader or collective that advocates m ilitant jihad
and then, by m aking that com m itm ent, develop the capabilities and
connections to participate in potential terrorist attacks against Western
interests (Borum and Gelles 2004). The extrem ist mosque is generally
sm all, private and, in many cases, found just by happenstance. For
exam ple, one extrem ist told an interview er that it just happened to be
in his 'patch.' Once connected, however, they are powerful vehicles
of jihadist ideology. Sagem an (2004) found that nearly half of the 400
al-Qaeda extrem ists he studied cam e from ju st 10 mosques.
The mosque may provide a refuge from the turm oil of inner
psychological conflicts and crisis. For all people, participating
with a group meets an initial need for affiliation and belonging,
particularly for those who have failed to affiliate and be validated
elsewhere or who have not lived up to the expectations of their
fam ilies (Luckabaugh et al. 1997). Islam - and jihadist ideology -
provides structure, meaning and identity (M onroe and Kreidie 1997).
Sharia (Islam ic law) and the teachings of the imam im part a needed
structure, and the unequivocal rules are defined by the Koran and
Hadith. Status is achieved through m em orization of the Koran, not by
analysis of am biguities and nuances.
The radical collective fosters and m aintains an unquestioning
adherence to its tenets and to one another as 'brothers'. These
individuals learn quickly that questioning beliefs leads to rejection,
w hilst em bracing them reinforces the prim ary motive of affiliation
and connectivity (M arsella 2003). Those who question may be
m arginalized or even shunned by others.
U n d e rs ta n d in g jih a d and th e h is to ry o f S u n n i e x tre m is m :

th e p a th to c o m m itm e n t
The Arabic language root of jihad (the verb j-h-d) is defined as

'to endeavor, strive, labor, take great pains' (Dictionary o f Modern
27
Written Arabic). The noun form is som etim es - depending on one's

perspective - defined as a great effort in the struggle to m aintain the
straight path of Islam. Bernard Lewis (2003), an em inent historian of
Islam and the M iddle East, notes the concept of jihad in the great
m ajority of topics in the Arabic language, and the context of Islam ic
issues refers to a religious duty to wage holy war against infidels or
non-believers, for the sake of God Alm ighty (Allah). Understandably,
in the current context of radical Islam , som e m oderate M uslim s have
claim ed that jihad is m isunderstood in the West, and that the word
and concept are intended to characterize the effort a M uslim must
exert to live a good life. A fair reading, though, of orthodox Sunni
and Shia teachings - even setting aside extrem ist variants - supports
Lew is's contention that jihad alm ost alw ays refers to the duty to
fight against 'the enem ies of Islam '. M odern-day extrem ists such as
Osama Bin Laden have been profoundly influenced by the notion
of this 'neglected duty' - i.e. jihad (al-farida al-gha'iba) - as were the
Egyptian Islam ist philosophers of the 1950s and 1960s, Sayyad Qutb
and M uhammad al-Farraj. Qutb and al-Farraj averred that after faith
in God (iman) and the belief in only one true God (taw hid), there
is no more im portant duty for all M uslims than jihad against the
unbelievers (Lewis 2003).
Within US governm ent security and intelligence circles, discussions
of Islam ic extrem ism usually distinguish betw een the two m ajor
branches of the religion, Sunni and Shia. M ilitant extrem ism am ongst
Shia M uslim s is m ost often associated in the Western public's mind
with the Iranian US em bassy hostage crisis of 1979, and with terrorist
acts of the Lebanese Hizballah. In contrast to the current form of
Sunni extrem ism , Shia terrorism has been m otivated prim arily by
nationalist objectives, not by strivings for a w orldw ide Islam ic utopia
(Ridell and Cotterell 2003).
In the current security environm ent, however, there is consensus
am ongst counterterrorism experts and policy-m akers, at least in
Am erica, that Sunni extrem ism currently poses the greatest threat to
Western interests. The voice of these jihadists is m ost aptly represented
in the words and deeds of al-Qaeda and its associated groups, and
of men such as Osama Bin Laden, Ayman al-Zawahiri and a num ber
of lesser know n shaykhs. These jihadist groups and the m en behind
them have a rigid view of Islam and have little tolerance for those
whose beliefs diverge from them. They oppose Jew s, Christians
and less devout M uslim s (Borum and Gelles 2004). Their world is
divided betw een 'u s' and 'them '. The proponents of this ideology,
including Sayyad Qutb, M uham m ad 'Abd al-Salam al-Farraj and
28
'A bdallah Azzam , as w ell as their contem porary counterparts such

as Bin Laden, believe two com peting forces seek to dom inate the
condition of the world. Since the time the Koran was revealed to the
Prophet M uham m ad, the states of Dar al-Islam (the abode of Islam)
and Dar al-Harb (abode of war or conflict) have been in conflict and
will remain so until the end of time (Lewis 2003).
In the current state of Dar al-Harb, true believers of Islam are
impelled to wage defensive jihad in order to reclaim lands once under
the control of pious M uslims. These territories include parts of Spain
and other areas of Europe 'up to the gates of Rom e' and, of course,
Israel. Once M uslim s reclaim the land, then the struggle (jihad)
moves to an offensive m ode of conquest to ensure the rem ainder of
the w orld is safe for Islam . In recent times, the USA has been viewed
as the prim ary opponent in the Dar al-Harb because al-Qaeda and
recognized Sunni religious leaders believe it has sided and conspired
'against M uslim s' in num erous conflicts around the world (e.g. Israel,
East Timor, Serbia, the South Philippines, etc.) (Lewis 2003).
Sunni extrem ism , however, is not a m onolithic movem ent. It
includes a num ber of different groups w ith varying philosophies.
For exam ple, the Salafiun or the Salafi (an affiliation claimed by
many in al-Q aeda), are part of a m odern reform m ovem ent of
Islam , founded by the Egyptian M uham m ad 'A bduh (1849-1905).
Salafism was preceded by the doctrine of M uham m ad Ibn 'A bd al-
Wahhab (currently referred to as 'W ahhabism ' or Unitarians), another
fundam ental ideology.1
The severity and exclusiveness of the Salafiun and the earlier
extrem ist W ahhabiun are arguably surpassed by m ovem ents such
as Takfir wal-Hijra and Takfir wal-Hikm a. The principal adherents
to this highly m ilitant brand of extrem ism tend to be concentrated
in Algeria, M orocco and Tunisia. The 'takfiris' believe that the pre
em inent jihad calls for the death, first and forem ost, of M uslims born
of the faith but who reject their narrowly literal application of the
Koran and the Hadith. This has been referred to as a sort of m odern-
day 'outing' m ovem ent in the sense that takfiris have a duty to
identify and accuse non-takfiri M uslim s of being non-M uslim . From
Egyptian president Husni M ubarrak to the entirety of Shia Islam, all
have been designated by takfiris as deserving nothing less than death
for their un-Islam ic ways (Elliott 2004).
It is im portant to em phasize that to conduct an interrogation of a
subject with an extrem ist ideology and a com m itm ent to jihad, the
interview er m ust have some understanding of the subject's ideology
and the history associated with his thinking, com m itm ents and
29
beliefs if he or she is to manage an interview better. In a rapport-

based approach it is critical to demonstrate respect for the subject.
Without a knowledge of the subject's ideology it is difficult to
interpret and manage the subject during the interview. The content
of his communications will reflect where he stands, when he is being
co-operative and when he is using his beliefs to engage in a personal
jihad during the course of the interrogation. For some subjects,
resisting the interrogator is a continuance of his personal jihad. During
the course of an interrogation, adherence to his beliefs reinforces
the subject's expectations about the interrogator that influence his
perceptions of the interrogator. He may use his beliefs to provoke
the interrogator to react in a manner that confirms his established
or preconceived expectation of the interrogator as an apostate and
infidel. We have found that, by understanding his beliefs, we are
better able to anticipate his communications and provocations, to
react neutrally with a degree of respect and, eventually, to erode his
expectations and perceptions through a rapport-based approach.
A final caveat before moving on to more direct interrogation
strategies is to address the issue of competing identities. Competing
identities is a concept that is applied to individuals who are born,
and to some degree raised, in a country that is different from where
they reside and where they have been detained. Many people from
the Middle East immigrate to Western and first-world industrialized
nations. These people are different from people who have lived their
whole lives in their native country and who therefore reflect more
strongly that country's ethnic and cultural behaviours and attitudes.
An individual who has lived in the West and, in particular has
lived most of his life in the West will have assimilated some of the
characteristics of his new-found homeland. This will, of course, vary
based on the length of time he has lived in a Western country, the
community he has lived in and the manner in which he has been
raised. In many cases the degree of assimilation can be assessed by
where people live, the peer group they have interacted with and
the diversity of their experiences beyond the more ethnic or cultural
activities indigenous to their native country. For example, we have
found during the course of an interrogation that people who have
lived in the West for a considerable period of time have a more in-
depth understanding of Westerners and therefore a different set of
expectations. Additionally, depending on the degree of assimilation to
Western thought and activities, immigrants from the Middle East who
become subjects of terrorist investigations and interrogations tend to
be more linear in their thinking. In some cases, the interrogations are
30
easier if the subject has lived in the West for a considerable period of
time; in other cases, more difficult, based on the subject's expectation
of what will occur and his knowledge of the laws.
Fo u n d a tio n s o f th e ra p p o rt-b a s e d in te rv ie w approa ch
The cornerstone of an interrogation that will yield the most reliable

information is an effective, ongoing assessment of the subject. Before
and during the interviews, the interview team should evaluate
factors that are unique to the subject, or at least that distinguish him
from other individuals who may be the subject of al-Qaeda-related
investigations.
A rapport-building (or relationship-based) approach will yield the
best results in an interview /interrogation that occurs over d ay s/
w eeks/m onths. Rapport building is designed to develop a common
understanding and respect between the interviewer and subject. The
interviewer works to build a bond between the two of them based
on commonalities and shared experiences in the interview room.
Although sometimes difficult to do, the interviewer should exhibit
at least an apparent empathy for the subject's beliefs, motivations and
circumstances. Such an approach facilitates the information gathering
process for two reasons. First, people tend to share their experiences
with someone who is empathic, who values them and who, they
feel, can understand them (Schafer and Navarro 2004). Secondly, the
importance of relationships is fundamental to many people raised
or with roots in the Middle East (Nydell 2002) - relationships are
a vital part of a subject's developmental and cultural experience.
The relationship that develops during hours spent together
between interviewer and subject may, in certain cases, approach
or approximate a friendship. That friendship may be genuine or
contrived, but the interview er's goal is always to elicit truthful and
reliable information.
W hilst a relationship-based approach has generally been most
effective with al-Qaeda-related subjects, individual cases may require
a different strategy. No single interrogation or debriefing technique
will be successful in all situations. Interrogators tailor their approach
to an interview and interrogation based on the current context and
the background of the witness or subject. Ongoing assessment of
continuously collected information about a subject's behaviour and
ideology will assist in identifying or creating moments of vulnerability
for optimal elicitation. Each interviewee requires an individualized
31
approach that is dynam ic and modified according to behavioural

data collected from different sources (Schafer and N avarro 2004). The
interview er should build flexibility into any interview plan. Changes
in interview strategies and techniques should be guided by data from
the ongoing assessment.
Preparing for the interview
The attributes generally seen as desirable for a law enforcem ent

interrogator (e.g. good intelligence, an understanding of hum an
nature, an ability to get along well with others, patience and
persistence) apply equally to interrogations of al-Qaeda detainees.
There are some other specific considerations, however, that can affect
the 'fit' betw een interview er and a M iddle Eastern Arab al-Q aeda-
related subject. For exam ple, age should be a consideration when
m atching or assigning an interview er to a subject because of Arabic
respect for elders and seniority (Nydell 2002). (The more experienced
interview ers should sim ilarly be assigned to those subjects who, it
is believed, have the m ost im portant inform ation). In general, care
should be given to selecting an interview er who can relate to the
subject. If possible, the interview er should speak the subject's native
language (or at least know some key term s of the language).
Interrogations are m ost productive when the interrogator and
subject can be paired consistently. Arabic people tend to respond
best when interview ed by the sam e interrogator rather than with
a round robin or 'w hoever is available' assignm ent process (Nydell
2002). Consistency allow s the interrogator to becom e fam iliar with
the subject's history and to see how he responds to various questions
and approaches. The subjects of investigations are not m echanical
objects who can be turned on to pump out information. They require
constant care and understanding if they are to respond.
M em bers of the interview team should read all the available
background inform ation and be aware of all evidence seized with or
associated with the subject. Som etim es 'pocket litter' in the subject's
possession at the time of apprehension, evidence seized during
searches and statem ents from others can be helpful in assessing who
the subject is (if his identity is in doubt) or what he has been doing.
Pocket litter may also help to corroborate or disconfirm the subject's
statem ents and to help the interview er assess w hether the subject is
being deceptive.
Collateral inform ants can also be a valuable source of information.
Arresting officers, guards, corrections officers or other law enforcem ent
32
professionals who have observed the subject's behaviour can assist

the interview er/interrogator to understand the subject. Correctional
or detention staff, in particular, can provide information about how
the subject behaves in detention and can help measure the impact
of the prison environment on an interrogation plan. In a custodial
environment, guards see and spend more time with a subject than
does an interviewer. Therefore, they may be in an excellent position
to monitor a subject's behaviour and to observe comments and
activities. Observations by the guards about whether a subject keeps
to himself, gets support and counsel from others, about how and
what he communicates to others, what he likes to eat, whether he
exercises, etc., can greatly assist the interviewers in formulating
interview strategies and building relationships with the subject
(Walters 2002).
The interrogator should not impose a time limit on an interview
or an expectation of the frequency of interviews. The length of
the interviews should vary. Having a set, routine block of time for
interviews allows a subject to anticipate events better and thus to
attempt to manipulate the interrogator and the process. For example,
if in a confined setting interviewing takes place for a specified amount
of time for each subject, the remaining detainees can anticipate how
long they will need to defend themselves and can practise steeling
themselves to outlast the interviewer.
Operating with a translator
If a translator is needed, the translator's role must be clearly defined

and continually reinforced so that he or she does not slide into
the role of a surrogate interrogator. The interviewers must control
the interrogation, not the interpreters. The interpreter must appear
subordinate to the interviewer - someone working with and for the
interviewer. As a practical matter, some have found it helpful to have
the translator sit behind the subject.
Developing rapport
Developing rapport involves more than simply 'being nice' to a

subject or giving him what he wants just to gain information. It
requires a series of give-and-take interactions, under circumstances
controlled by the interviewer. The interrogator needs to engage the
subject in an extended conversation and to develop a relationship
that helps to provide insight into the subject's motivations and,
33
perhaps, deceptive practices or resistance techniques if he or she is

to elicit accurate information (Walters 2002).
To build rapport, the interviewer engages in dialogue with the
subject, during which he or she identifies and assesses potential
motivations, interests and vulnerabilities. Rapport is founded on a
quid pro quo basis (the perceived ability of an interviewer to help
the subject), on commonalities (family, wife, education, adversity),
personality and mutual respect. Often, rapport-based approaches
include adversarial arguments, disagreements, admonishments,
criticism and challenging questions. These are always tempered with
the fact that the subject knows that the interviewer is concerned
about his future and is fair to him (Schafer and Navarro 2004).
In a rapport-based interview process, the interviewer shapes
the relationship, using a variety of interpersonal, cognitive and
emotional strategies and techniques, to gain critical information - or
a confession - from the subject. The subject shares critical information
with the interviewer because this collaborative relationship with
the interrogator leads him to value the relationship more than the
information he is perhaps trying to withhold.
At the beginning of the relationship, questions of an investigative
nature are purposely avoided. This is done to allow the subject
and the interviewer to develop a bond on matters unrelated to the
investigation. News unrelated to terrorism that may be of interest
to the subject has served as a good ice-breaker - for example, news
about the World Cup. Offers of food and beverages may be used
to build goodwill and, later, to be used as an incentive. Another
productive line of inquiry involves having the subject talk about his
country of origin and the interviewer showing an interest in learning
about his country. In some cases, subjects have seemed particularly
interested in maps and graphics (such as National Geographic maps).
These might be used to point out significant cities/tow ns/villages
and paths of travel.
Regardless of an interview er's own style, it is important to
remember that a major goal of relationship building is for the subject
to see the interviewer as a person (a 'Rob' rather than as an enemy).
If a subject sees an interviewer as a person rather than an instrument
of an 'enem y' government, when the subject refuses to talk, lies or
is deceitful, he is offending that personal relationship. Because the
relationship may matter more to the subject at the time than 'doing
his duty against the enem y' (as he may have been trained to do),
he may choose to share accurate information with the interview
team.
34
Gathering information
The interview team should approach each interview with positive

expectations. The interrogator - and team - should enter every
interview session with confidence that, over time, they will m ake a
breakthrough with the subject. As noted above, rapport is probably
the single m ost im portant elem ent in creating a clim ate for eliciting
information. The interview er should not engage in a sensitive or
probing inquiry at the beginning of the interview process or at the
beginning of an individual session. This should only be done once
rapport has been established or re-established. W hen getting to the
essence of the interrogation, the interview er should focus on the
general and work towards the specific, all the while em phasizing
the relationship - that is, the interview er should concentrate on the
relationship before m ining for facts.
Once initial rapport has been established, a technique that has
worked well for some investigators is to listen to the subject's story
with what appears to be an open mind. The interview er should listen
carefully both for content and for em otional and m otivational cues.
With such active listening, the interview er can learn about the subject's
prim ary m otivations (Walters 2002) (e.g. concerns about family, a son,
a daughter, wife, money, com ing to the West in the future, spreading
the word of Islam or fatigue with the 'jihad life', etc.).
D uring the initial storytelling phase, the interview er does not
interrupt or criticize as the subject lays out what may, in reality, be
his cover story. Once he has laid out his full story, the interview er
can go back and ask him to go over it again in more detail and in
a system atic manner, perhaps alternating queries from the general to
the specific (Walters 2002).
In reviewing the story, the interview er should ask detailed questions
about every element. It may be that the subject will attem pt to give as
little inform ation as possible to satisfy the interviewer. The challenge,
then, is to identify m eaningful, im portant or inconsistent details and
sequences from the subject's outline or story. The greater the level
of the detail queried, the greater the likelihood that the subject will
eventually 'stum ble' over errors or inconsistencies in his cover story.
Q uestions need to be very specific to guard against om ission. This
process may seem tedious - asking ten questions when it should
only take two - but it is an im portant part of gathering reliable and
accurate information.
In the detailed inquiry phase, the interview er should insert or
suggest some type of context or tim e-line reference, possibly using as
35
markers, seasons and Islam ic holidays rather than W estern calendar

dates if the subject has not lived in the West or is not fam iliar
w ith W estern conventions about dates and time. W hen establishing
locations with som e subjects, the interview er m ight use geographic
descriptors: direction of prayer, geographic landm arks, valleys, rivers,
m ountains, lakes, etc. (e.g. along the road, across a bridge over a
river, then along the riverbank).
W hen a tim eline has been established, the interview er should have
the subject explain all the details provided across the timeline. As
noted earlier, a M iddle Eastern Arab m ale's usual way of thinking
is associative rather than linear. Holding him to a 'com m on sense'
timeline of when various events happened may increase the conflict
he experiences if he is giving a cover story. The subject m ay not be
able to m aintain consistency in the details of a fabricated timeline.
Recognizing the subject's inconsistencies and confronting him with
these in the context of a relationship that has developed betw een the
subject and the interview er may force the subject to recognize that
the interview er know s he is not telling the truth.
Finally, the interview team should develop skills in assessing non
verbal cues (Knapp and Hall 1997). There should be a mechanism
for m em bers of the team to report significant observations to the
interrogator. Some reactions, such as 'cotton m outh' (i.e. the white
foamy saliva that collects at the corners of the m outh), are autonom ic
or physiological responses and may be regarded as stress reactions
com m on to all peoples. O ther non-verbal behaviours, such as
crossing one's arms or glancing away, may have particular cultural
m eanings.
D eveloping themes
M uch interrogation theory and practice relies heavily on the strategy

of 'them e developm ent'. In the West, a 'them e' is an excuse or
justification for behaviour that the subject can acknow ledge to save
face. Them e developm ent in W estern crim inal interrogation often
involves m itigating the subject's fear a n d /o r guilt by helping the
subject to justify the behaviour in his or her own mind or by diverting
blam e (e.g. to another person or to uncontrollable circum stances)
(Inbau et cil. 2001). These them es m ay require substantial m odification
for use with subjects of M iddle Eastern Arab al-Qaeda-related
investigations.
Al-Qaeda operatives, m em bers and supporters may not feel shame
or guilt in the Western sense for w hat they believe or for w hat they
36
have done. If they experience shame, it may be out of concern for

what parents, family or others they respect are thinking about them.
Other than this, Middle Eastern Arab subjects of al-Qaeda-related
investigations are unlikely to feel shame as it is conceived in the
West. Instead, they may feel honoured for what they have done
or not done (for example, co-operated with the interrogators). The
interviewer should understand and at least acknowledge a subject's
sense of honour.
It is generally not productive for the interviewer to try to manipulate
Western feelings of shame. If appropriate, however, the interviewer
may express concern for the 'trouble' caused to the family at home
or to others in the subject's relationship world.
Other modifications of traditional interrogation practices may be
required to develop themes of 'justification' or themes not based on
the subject's anxiety or negative emotions. For example, one common
interrogation strategy is to confront the subject with information that
is inconsistent with what he has said. It is believed, however, that
people affiliated with al-Qaeda often suspend critical thinking. They
ignore information that contradicts their beliefs. Thus confronting a
subject who has justified his actions by referring to the Koran with
opposing viewpoints similarly based upon a study of the Koran may
be ineffective. In general, it is not helpful or productive to argue with
the subject about religion or to engage in a battle of wits (or quotes)
regarding Islam. Instead, the interviewer can emphasize that he or
she is determined to understand fully the matters at hand and is
prepared to spend the time to do so. These matters - will and time
- are squarely in the interview er's domain.
Other traditional Western interrogation strategies involve the
condemnation of accomplices or playing subjects off against their
co-offenders (Leo 1996). Amongst members of al-Qaeda, however,
loyalty to the brotherhood is paramount. Confronting a subject with
the statements of another co-operating subject is not likely to be
effective, especially in the early stages of an interrogation.
The strength of the relationship between interviewer and subject
is critical as the interview team develops themes that may facilitate
disclosure of concealed information. At this point, the interview may
assume some characteristics common to a negotiation. Two points
are central. First, when the relationship has developed effectively, the
subject becomes dependent on the interviewer. The interviewer is in
control of w'hat happens, and the subject is aware of this. Secondly,
because the interviewer maintains the real power, he or she is in a
37
position to do favours or to grant requests. Accordingly, the subject's

disclosure of information often evolves on a quid pro quo basis.
Favours, privileges or honoured requests should be contingent
upon the subject's co-operation. By granting/attem pting to grant a
request, the interviewer makes the subject feel obligated to 'repay
the favour' (e.g. to co-operate with the interrogation process). The
interviewer should expect and ask for a quid pro quo, whereby the
subject demonstrates an appropriately co-operative response.
M anaging resistance
The interview team needs to prepare for resistance. The team should
have a plan for dealing with subjects who refuse to answer questions.
For example, a subject who is supported by his network in a detention
facility is likely to be prepared and to have several strategies that he
plans to employ as resistance in the initial phases of the interview.
The interviewer and support team need to be prepared to work
through these resistances.
Recognizing and managing deception
Subjects of al-Qaeda-related investigations may lie or may try to

conceal information at some point in the interview, particularly at the
beginning when given the open-ended opportunity to tell their story.
It is critical, whenever possible, to recognize and address possibly
deceptive communications.
False information provided by a subject may lead to significant
fiscal and personnel resources being wasted. Time and energy are
expended on attempts to corroborate inaccurate reports or to deal
with non-existing threats. Disinformation may also obscure potentially
real threats by creating a confusing intelligence picture.
Moreover, if a subject lies successfully to the interviewer, the
interviewer will lose credibility and the subject's respect. Subsequent
information provided by the subject will be less and less valuable.
The subject learns that that he can deceive without any consequences
and will be motivated to continue to manipulate and lie.
The interviewer must recognize the lie (if possible) and not tolerate
it. The key objective is to condition the subject to tell the truth.
When the subject attempts deception, omission or other straying, the
interviewer should discuss the fact that what the subject is saying is
illogical or does not make sense, and should work to get the subject
38
to acknowledge this. If the subject digresses or attempts to obfuscate

(an anti-interrogation technique), the interrogator should firmly and
immediately redirect him. When confronted with generalities or
inconsistencies, the interviewer can attempt to force the content into a
timeline, offering facts that refute what a subject is saying and slowly
and incrementally backing him into a corner of admission. In the
context of the relationship that has been developed, the interviewer
may exhibit disappointment or express a sense of feeling disrespected
for being provided with false information.
C o n clu s io n
In this chapter we have outlined an approach for interviewing subjects

of al-Qaeda-related investigations. The rapport-based approach
described here appears to be the best and most effective approach
to elicit reliable and accurate strategic information. Whilst there is
debate regarding the use of more aggressive tactics in the face of
critical intelligence that might impact on a nation's security and
safety, it is our opinion such techniques are morally and strategically
inappropriate. Moreover, how' we choose to treat suspects may affect
how Westerner suspects are treated. Even in the popular 'ticking time
bomb' scenario (Dershowitz 2002), aggressive tactics that humiliate,
intimidate and cause physical pain and suffering, in our opinion,
are unlikely to be effective. Such mistreatment merely reinforces the
jihadists' expectations of Western abuses. Of course, some subjects
may provide information in response to aggressive tactics, but the
information may be unreliable and misleading. Nevertheless, such
tactics may at times be employed in ticking-bomb scenarios in a
desperate attempt to do something rather than nothing.
W hen possible, it is held in this chapter that the use of a
relationship-based approach is more likely to yield accurate and
useful information. The essence of this approach is to lever the
relationship between the subject and interrogator. Its tone typically
is not sympathetic and supportive but, rather, direct and at times
confrontational. The interrogator begins strategic inquiry only after
rapport and a relationship have been established. This general
approach has been effective in many terrorism investigations and
has often produced reliable and actionable information that could be
corroborated, validated and subsequently used at trial.
39
Investigative Interview ing
N o te
1. See Dore G old's Hatred's Kingdom for the accounts of the plundering
of and killing in Shia cities of N ajaf and Karbala c. 1799-1803 by the
descendents of the Muhammad Ibn 'Abd al-Wahhab and the Muhammad
Ibn Sa'ud alliance. This early period of 'W ahhabism ' was characterized
by death and destruction in the name of God, and not just for the worst
of the apostates. According to this belief system , those deserving of death
included Shia and Sunni 'brothers' in Mecca and Medina who would
challenge the Wahhabi brand of Islam.
R e fe r e n c e s
Arrigo, J. (2003) 'A consequentialist argument against torture interrogation of

terrorists.' Paper presented at the Joint Services Conference on Professional
Ethics, 30-31 January, Springfield, VA (retrieved online 23 Septem ber 2004
at http ://w w w .u safa.af.m il/jsco p e/JS C O P E 03/A rrig o03.h tm l).
Borum, R. (2004) 'Counterterrorism training p o st-9/11', in R. Gunaratna (ed.)
The Changing Face o f Terrorism. Singapore: Eastern Universities Press.
Borum, R., Fein, R., Vossekuil, B. and Gelles, M. (2003) 'Profiling hazards:
profiling in counterterrorism and hom eland security', Counterterrorism and
Homeland Security Reports, 10:12-13.
Borum, R., Fein, R., Vossekuil, B., Gelles, M. and Shum ate, S. (2004) T h e
role of operational research in counterterrorism ', International Journal o f
Intelligence and Counterintelligence, 17: 420-34.
Borum, R. and Gelles, M. (2004) 'A l-Q aeda's organizational and operational
evolution' (m anuscript under review).
Cunningham , R. and Sarayrah, Y. (1993) Wasta: The Hidden Force in M iddle
Eastern Society. Wesport, CT: Praeger.
Dershowitz, A. (2002) 'Torture o f terrorists: is it necessary to do and to lie
about it?', in Shouting Fire: Civil Liberties in a Turbulent Age. Boston, MA:
Little, Brown.
Einesman, F. (1999) 'Confessions and culture: the interaction of M iranda and
diversity', Journal o f Criminal Laiv and Criminology, 90.
Gudjonnsson, G. (2003) The Psychology o f Interrogations and Confessions: A
Handbook. New York, NY: Wiley.
Inbau, F., Reid, J., Buckley, J. and Jayne, B. (2001) Criminal Interrogation and
Confessions (4th edn). Gaithersburg, MD: Aspen.
Knapp, M. and Hall, J. (1997) Nonverbal Communication in Human Interaction
(4th edn). Orlando, FL: Harcourt Brace.
Leo, R. (1996) 'Inside the interrogation room ', journal o f Criminal Law and
Criminology, 86: 266.
Lew is, B. (2003) The Crisis o f Islam: Holy War and Unholy Terror. New York,
NY: M odern Library.
40
A l-Q a e d a -re la te d subjects: a law enforcem ent perspective
Navarro, J. (2002) 'Interacting with Arabs and M uslim s', FBI Law Enforcement
Bulletin, 71: 20.
Nydell, M. (2002) Understanding Arabs: A Guide fo r Westerners (3rd edn).
Yarmouth, MA: Intercultural Press.
Riddell, P. and Cotterell, P. (2003) Islam in Context: Past, Present, and Future.
Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.
Schafer, J. and Navarro, J. (2004) A dvanced Interviewing Techniques: Proven
Strategies fo r Law Enforcement. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas.
Walters, S. (2002) Principles o f Kinesic Interviezv and Interrogation (2nd edn).
Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press.
W hite, J. (2003) Defending the Homeland: Domestic Intelligence, Law Enforcement,
and Security. New York, NY: Wadsworth.
41
C h a p te r 3
American interrogation methods

in the war on te rro r
David Rose
This chapter is based on my work as an investigative reporter who

has specialized in the coverage of criminal justice, intelligence and
human rights for many years. In October 2003, I visited the US
detention camp at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, where I interviewed
guards, doctors and other officials, including Major-General Geoffrey
Miller, then Guantanamo's commandant. I followed this up with
further interviews with intelligence officials in America and with a
study of formerly classified memoranda on interrogation from the
White House, Defense Department and Justice Department. These
were published by the administration in May 2004, in the wake of
the disclosure of the abuse of detainees at Abu Ghraib, Iraq.1 Finally,
I was able to conduct long interviews with four British Guantanamo
detainees who were released in March 2004 - Shafiq Rasul, Asif Iqbal,
Rhuhel Ahmed and Tarek Dergoul. This chapter argues that, since
2001, during the so-called 'Global War on Terror', US interrogators
have used a variety of coercive techniques which had previously
been abandoned by most democratic societies. These techniques, it
suggests, contravene both the international law of war and the laws
and Constitution of the USA. However, they have not produced (to
use Major-General M iller's phrase) 'enormously valuable intelligence'.
In practical terms, they can be considered to have been a failure.
As they reeled from the shock of the terrorist attacks on New York
and Washington of 11 September 2001, it was swiftly apparent both
to America's political leadership and its intelligence chiefs that they
were ill-equipped to deal with their enemy. Although some clues to the
impending blow had crossed the intelligence radar screen, and there
42
American interrogation methods in the war on terror
was a vague and generalized awareness that the Islamist network

known as al-Qaeda sought to attack American targets, 9/11 took the
USA by surprise (National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon
the United States 2004). Moreover, its intelligence agencies were both
structurally and operationally deficient to deal with further threats of
this type. Since the end of the Vietnam War, the HUMINT (human
intelligence) skills of agent recruitment, debriefing and prisoner
interrogation had been neglected in favour of SIGINT (intelligence
derived from electronic interception) and what American military
intelligence termed CEWI (combat electronic warfare intelligence).
As the British had learnt long before in Northern Ireland, these
techniques are, by definition, of limited use against well organized
terrorist conspiracies. 'We became over-enamoured with technology,
and failed to teach people skills,' Lieutenant-Colonel Anthony
Christino, a 20-year-old intelligence officer who worked at the heart
of the Pentagon's intelligence effort in the war on terror, told me
in an interview. According to Christino, by mid-2004 (after his own
retirement) there were simply no military intelligence personnel of
officer rank in the US army who specialized in interrogation. A
similar neglect was also apparent within the CIA.
Against this background, American intelligence found itself
handicapped more specifically in attempting to penetrate terrorist
networks based in the wilder parts of rural Asia. Just a month before
the attacks, the former CIA officer Reuel Marc Gerecht warned that
US intelligence was dangerously reliant on agents who worked under
the comfortable cover of day jobs in embassies, and that its staff had
long been reluctant to accept assignments where dysentery was likely
to be an operational hazard (Gerecht 2001). At the same time, as a
senior German official later told me, 'you cannot recruit a convinced
and fanatical jihadi,' and attempts to do so might easily result in
the death of the would-be recruiter. In the wounded, shocked and
vengeful climate which enveloped the USA in the wake of 9 /11,
these handicaps drove policy-makers to seek to fill intelligence gaps
using all available means. One of their principal methods rapidly
became coercive interrogations of prisoners. At every location in the
global war on terror, from Washington, DC to Afghanistan, previous
restraints on the treatment of prisoners were reconsidered, and in
significant ways abandoned.
During the late spring of 2004, a series of leaks to the US media
persuaded the administration to publish much of the internal legal
paper trail which preceded and endorsed the introduction of such
methods. Its first important milestone was a memo dated 9 January
43
2002, by the then Deputy Assistant Attorney-G eneral John Yoo to

the Pentagon's general counsel, W illiam J. Haynes. 'Restricting the
President's plenary pow er over m ilitary operations (including the
treatm ent of prisoners) would be constitutionally dubious,' Yoo
wrote. Even at this early stage, the adm inistration w as prepared to
consider disregarding the hitherto sacrosanct provisions of the Third
Geneva Convention of 1949, whose Article 17 states:
No physical or m ental torture, nor any other form of coercion,

m ay be inflicted on prisoners of war to secure from them
inform ation of any kind whatever. Prisoners of war who refuse
to answ er may not be threatened, insulted, or exposed to
unpleasant or disadvantageous treatm ent of any kind.
Two days after Yoo wrote his m em o, G uantanam o accepted its first
prisoner transport from Afghanistan, where the Taliban regim e had
recently been crushed. O ver the follow ing three weeks, an intense
debate raged within the adm inistration. Eventually, the Pentagon and
Justice D epartm ent were able to defeat the argum ents m ade by Colin
Powell and his colleagues at the State Departm ent, who said that to
abandon Geneva w ould place captured US troops at risk in future
conflicts. On 7 February 2002, President Bush formally announced
that Am erica did not consider itself bound by Geneva in respect
o f detainees at G uantanam o, nor in its treatm ent of Taliban and al-
Qaeda detainees elsewhere. H aving been 'captured on the battlefield'
of the war on terror, these prisoners were to be designated 'unlaw ful
com batants',2 and therefore did not deserve the convention's shield.
The USA would, Bush said, respect the 'spirit' of the convention,
but even this w as qualified - this indefinable quality would only
be observed 'so far as m ilitary necessity allow s'. There would be no
tribunals to determ ine w hether detainees really had been terrorists
or unlaw ful com batants, as G eneva's Article 5 appears to require in
the case of irregular fighters of all kinds. At the stroke of a pen, the
international law of war had effectively been cast aside.
The im plications of this decision, and of Yoo's doctrine of
unrestricted presidential power, were developed over the next few
m onths by a broad interagency group chaired by Jay S. Bybee,
then Assistant Attorney-General. Its classified report was issued on
1 A ugust 2002. W hen this w as leaked alm ost two years later, and
its frank readiness to countenance torture revealed, the W hite
House claim ed the docum ent was 'irrelevant', saying it would now
be 'rew ritten'. No rewritten version has, at the time of writing in
44
American interrogation methods in the war on te rror
Decem ber 2004, emerged. Large parts of its text and analysis were
to be reproduced verbatim in subsequent memos drawn up at the
Pentagon.
Bybee and his colleagues appear not to have questioned the
prem ise that torture and coercion w ill be more effective at finding
out what a prisoner know s than other forms of interrogation.
Having accepted this, the m em orandum sought to establish an
extrem ely narrow view of what torture meant. If the pain inflicted
were physical, it 'm ust rise to the level of death, organ failure, or
the perm anent im pairm ent of a significant bodily function'. If it were
m ental, 'it m ust result in significant psychological harm of significant
duration, e.g., lasting for m onths or even years'. According to the
m emo, A m erica's dom estic law against torture, a Congressional Act
of 1994 and the UN Convention against Torture to which the USA
w as a signatory 'prohibit only the m ost extrem e forms of physical
or mental harm '. Anything less would be merely 'cruel, inhum an or
degrading treatm ent'. W hilst this too was banned by the convention,
those responsible for such treatm ent would not be liable to criminal
penalties.
Bybee and his colleagues based this definition - which was
reproduced in m any subsequent docum ents - on the fact that both
the Am erican statute and the UN convention described torture
as the infliction of 'severe' pain, but did not specify what 'severe'
m eant. They went on to adopt a curious reading of the definition
in W ebster's dictionary, which lists the m eanings of 'severe' pain as
'hard to endure; sharp; afflictive; distressing; violent; extrem e'. They
were clearly being highly selective, for pain m ight well be sharp,
afflictive and hard to endure without rising to the level of organ
failure or death - indeed, there would be little point in adm inistering
any coercive technique if it were easy to endure. Bybee's team
therefore tried to buttress their definition from a strange source: US
laws governing the paym ent of health insurance benefits. These laws,
the m em o stated, 'treat severe pain as an indicator of ailm ents that
are likely to result in perm anent and serious physical damage in the
absence of im m ediate m edical treatm ent'. If insurance com panies had
to pay out in cases where patients were at risk of organ failure or
death, their logic ran, then to count as torture the m ethods used by
interrogators 'm ust rise to a sim ilarly high level'.
Echoing the argum ent m ade by Yoo, the memo w ent on to state
that it w ould be im proper to rule any interrogation method out,
because any attem pt to apply the law in a way which would interfere
with the President's right to determ ine the conduct of a war would
45
be unconstitutional: 'As Commander-in-Chief, the President has the

constitutional authority to order interrogations of enemy combatants
to gain intelligence information about the plans of the enemy.' These
powers were:
especially pronounced in the middle of a war in which the

nation has already suffered a direct a ttack ... it may be that only
successful interrogations can provide the information necessary
to prevent the success of covert terrorist attacks on the United
States and its citizens. Congress can no more interfere with the
President's conduct of interrogations of enemy combatants than
it can dictate strategy or tactical decisions on the battlefield.
Moreover, if an interrogator were later to be accused of torture, he or

she would have two lines of defence: that it was 'necessary' to prevent
a terrorist attack or that it had been performed in self-defence.
Against this background, from October 2002 until April 2003, the
Pentagon and its lawyers developed a menu of coercive techniques
for Guantanamo and other detention camps in response to requests
for guidance as to what might be permissible. 'We'd been at this
for a year-plus and got nothing out of them,' one official told the
Wall Street Journal. 'We need[ed] to have a less-cramped view of
what torture is and is not.' Before the official menu was developed,
'people were trying like hell to ratchet up the pressure', and had used
methods which included placing women's underwear on prisoners'
heads. On 11 October 2002, the interrogators' frustration at their lack
of success was set down in a memo passed up the chain of command
from Guantanamo's Lieutenant Colonel Jerald Phifer. 'PROBLEM ,' he
wrote. 'The current guidelines for interrogation procedures at GTMO
limit the ability of interrogators to counter advanced resistance.'
Their difficulties stemmed from the standard rulebook for
American military interrogators, a document known as Field M anual
34-52, which begins with a clear prohibition against the use of
coercive techniques: 'The use of force, mental torture, threats, insults,
or exposure to unpleasant and inhumane treatment of any kind is
prohibited by law and is neither authorized nor condoned by the
US Government.' Not only is this unnecessary, the manual states,
it is ineffective: 'The use of force is a poor technique, as it yields
unreliable results, may damage subsequent collection efforts, and can
induce the source to say whatever he thinks the interrogator wants to
hear.' The manual does authorize psychological techniques, including
deception and inducing fear. But in the war on terror, wrote Phifer,
46
American interrogation methods in the war on terror
they were not enough to break resistance. He sought authorization

for a range of 'category tw o' techniques, including prolonged solitary
confinement, to be given in successive doses of 30 days at a time; the
use of painful 'stress positions,' in which prisoners would be forced to
stand or sit chained doubled up for hours; continuous interrogations
for periods of up to 20 hours; the removal of clothing; and 'forced
grooming' (shaving of facial hair, etc.). He also asked for permission
to 'use detainees' individual phobias (such as fear of dogs) to induce
stress'.
Even these methods would not always be sufficient, Phifer
wrote. He also sought permission for still tougher 'category three'
techniques, which were 'required for a very small percentage of the
most uncooperative detainees' and 'm ay be utilized in a carefully
coordinated manner to help interrogate exceptionally resistant
detainees'. They included convincing a detainee that 'death or
severely painful consequences are imminent for him an d /o r his
fam ily', exposure to both water and extreme cold and, perhaps most
horrifying of all, 'use of a wet towel and dripping water to induce
the misperception of suffocation'. The CIA calls this technique 'water-
boarding,' and has reportedly deployed it against 'high value' terrorist
prisoners in places other than Guantanamo. In China, Pinochet's
Chile, Robert M ugabe's Zimbaw'e and elsewhere it has more usually
been termed 'the submarine'.
Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld issued his response to Phifer's
request on 27 November 2002. Having discussed it with his deputy,
Paul Wolfowitz, Under Secretary Douglas Feith and General Richard
Myers, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he was prepared to
authorize all the 'category two' techniques, including forcible shaving,
dogs, the replacement of hot meals with cold military rations, the
removal of all 'comfort item s', even copies of the Koran, and stress
positions. 'I stand for 8-10 hours,' Rumsfeld scrawled at the bottom
of his order. 'W hy is standing limited to four hours?' For the time
being, he would not permit the 'submarine'. The only category-three
method he would allow' would be 'use of mild non-injurious physical
contact,' such as 'grabbing, poking in the chest, and pushing'.
Six weeks later, after concerns were raised by some of the
Pentagon's military lawyers, Rumsfeld unexpectedly rescinded this
order, and set up another legal 'working group' to reconsider what
techniques were appropriate. Chaired by the Defence Department's
general counsel, and comprising representatives of the armed services,
the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the CIA, this produced at least two long
memoranda. The first, dated 6 March 2003, drew heavily on the
47
earlier Bybee document, and echoed both its definition of torture and
the claim that the President had a free hand in wartime. It suggested
that torture could be justified as a form of self-defence:
The nation's right to self-defense has been triggered by the

events of September 11. If a government defendant were to
harm an enemy combatant during an interrogation in a manner
that might arguably violate criminal prohibition, he would be
doing so in order to prevent further terrorist attacks on the
United States by the al-Qaeda netw ork... He could argue that
the executive branch's constitutional authority to protect the
nation from attack justified his actions.
The m em o's authors were w'ell aware of the dark territory into w'hich
their arguments led: the w'ar criminal's claim that he w'as 'only
following orders', and thus could not be held accountable. They even
quoted the charter of the Nuremburg Nazi War Crimes Tribunal:
'The fact that the defendant acted pursuant to the order of his
government or of a superior shall not free him from responsibility.'
But an interrogator accused of torture could argue that his or her
orders 'm ay be inferred to be lawful', they suggested, and wrould
have been 'disobeyed at the peril of the subordinate'. In other words,
an interrogator ordered to inflict torture could justify his or her
actions by saying he or she was frightened of the consequences of
disobedience.
The group's last memorandum on interrogation methods at
Guantanamo emerged six w'eeks later. It took a pragmatic approach,
arguing that the 'choice of interrogation techniques involves a risk
benefit analysis in each case'. When assessing wfhether 'exceptional'
methods were appropriate, 'consideration should be given to the
possible adverse effects on US armed forces culture and self-image,
which at times past may have suffered due to perceived law of war
violations'. There was also a risk that extracting a confession by
harsher means 'may produce a statement that might be argued to be
involuntary for purposes of criminal proceedings... the more coercive
the method, the greater the likelihood that the method will be met
writh significant domestic and international resistance'.
On 16 April 2003, Rumsfeld issued his revised menu of 'counter
resistance techniques' for interrogators. In addition to psychological
methods, detainees could be placed in 'less comfortable' settings
and deprived of proper meals for long periods. All comfort items,
including the Koran, could be confiscated. The use of 'sleep adjustment'
48
was perm itted - this m eant 'adjusting the sleeping times of the
detainee [e.g. reversing sleep cycles from night to day]'. Rumsfeld
claimed: 'This technique is N OT sleep deprivation.' Also included
was 'environm ental m anipulation: altering the environm ent to create
m oderate discom fort [e.g. adjusting the tem perature or introducing
an unpleasant sm ell].' This, Rum sfeld acknow ledged, would be
regarded by some nations as 'inhum ane'.
Finally, and perhaps m ost im portant, came isolation in solitary
confinem ent. Rum sfeld placed no lim it on the length of time prisoners
might have to endure this. 'Those nations that believe detainees
are subject to POW protections may view use of this technique as
inconsistent with the requirem ents of Geneva III,' he admitted. But
since 'the provisions of Geneva are not applicable to the interrogation
of unlaw ful com batants', this w as no obstacle.
Before exam ining what have been the operational consequences
of this official lead, it is worth considering the radical nature of
this policy's fracture with the recent past. In Europe, a sense that
torture is both m orally abhorrent and ineffective dates back to the
Enlightenm ent and beyond. Friedrich Spee, a Jesuit academ ic from
Trier, issued his polem ic against the use of torture in witch hunts, the
Cautio Criminalis, in 1631. The point at which different individuals will
break will vary, he wrote: the end of endurance to pressure and pain
is a subjective, not an objective phenom enon. Eventually, however,
all would: 'It is incredible what people say under the com pulsion of
torture, and how m any lies they w ill tell about them selves and about
others; in the end whatever the torturers want to be true, is true.' If
he were an inquisitor, Spee wrote, he could exact confessions from
priests and bishops. He had met an inquisitor who boasted that he
could w ring a confession to devil-w orship out of the Pope himself.
Cesare Beccaria also knew that torture is not only repugnant,
it doesn't 'w ork', in the sense of providing discernibly accurate
information. 'The only difference betw een torture and trials by fire
and boiling water is, that the event of the first depends on the will
of the accused, and of the second on a fact entirely physical and
external: but this difference is apparent only, not re a l/ he wrote in
his On Crimes and Punishments in 1764. 'A man on the rack, in the
convulsions of torture, has it as little in his power to declare the
truth, as, in form er tim es, to prevent w ithout fraud the effects of
fire or boiling water.' The greater the pressure, the less reliable the
testim ony: 'The very means em ployed to distinguish the innocent
from the guilty will m ost effectually destroy all difference between
them .' Frederick the G reat of Prussia had banned torture even before
49
Beccaria's book, in 1754. Its publication is generally held responsible

for abolition in Baden (1767), by Gustavus II of Sweden (1772), Louis
XIV of France (1780), Joseph II of Austria (1781) and Leopold of
Tuscany (1786). By the end of the nineteenth century, torture was
extinct both in Europe and N orth Am erica. (In Germany, Russia and
elsewhere, it was, of course, about to m ake a terrible com eback.)
Before 9 /1 1 , there seem s to have been a consensus shared by
Western practitioners, both psychologists and intelligence staff,
that even when the use of torture and coercive interrogation did
provoke testimony, there was no reliable way of telling truth from
fiction. Britain learnt these lessons the hardest way possible, w ith the
international condem nation heaped on the Castlereagh interrogation
centre in Belfast in the 1970s, the failure of internm ent and, above all,
the collapse of terrorist convictions derived from confessions obtained
by coercive questioning in 1989-92. Sim ilar insights lay behind the
Israeli Suprem e C ourt's 1999 rejection of w hat had been the licensed
coercion of Palestinian suspects in the occupied territories. However,
like the inquisitors of pre-Enlightenm ent Europe, Theodore S. Bybee
and his colleagues seem to have believed that confessions produced
by torture and coercion would be the 'queen of proofs'.
They also shared a delusion com m on am ongst advocates of torture
in order to com bat terrorism - the legend of the 'ticking bom b', the
hypothetical case where a terrorist has been captured after planting
an explosive device, but before its detonation. Alan Dershow itz of
H arvard University anticipated even Bybee, advocating torture in
such instances in articles in the Los Angeles Times and elsewhere
as early as N ovem ber 2001. With estim able respect for the rule of
law, D ershow itz's only proviso was that such torture should not be
adm inistered in secret, but by judicial warrant.
'A l-Q aeda plans apparently include efforts to develop and deploy
chem ical, biological and nuclear weapons of mass destruction,' wrote
Bybee:
Under these circum stances, a detainee m ay possess inform ation

that could enable the United States to prevent attacks that
potentially could equal or surpass the Septem ber 11 attacks in
their magnitude. Clearly, any harm that m ight occur during an
interrogation would pale into insignificance com pared to the
harm avoided by preventing such an attack.
Bybee accepted that applying this argum ent would depend on

circum stances: the more certain interrogators were that a suspect
50
did possess such know ledge, the stronger such a defence to claims
of torture would be. But like others who have explored this moral
swam p, he did not pause to exam ine the case which corresponds
more closely with reality: the captive who might know som ething
about terrorism, even a deadly and im m inent attack - but equally,
m ight not.
As the adm inistration's lawyers developed their thinking in
2002-3, the effects of their approach were rapidly apparent on the
ground. The full truth may not emerge for years to come. But it is
evident that physical and psychological coercion in varying degrees
becam e the norm in num erous locations. As the Taliban collapsed
in Afghanistan in the autumn of 2002, interrogators began to use
coercive techniques at the US bases at Bagram and Kandahar. Human
Rights Watch has reported:5
M any of those arrested by US forces are detained for indefinite

periods at US m ilitary bases or outposts. W hile held, these
detainees have no contact with relatives or o th e rs... Detainees
have no opportunity to challenge the basis for their detention,
and are som etim es subjected to m istreatm ent or torture.
A ccording to Hum an Rights Watch, m ethods included being forced to

stand in painful positions, being doused with cold water, prolonged
exposure to heat and cold, and sleep deprivation. Its report quoted
a US m ilitary spokesm an in Afghanistan, Roger King. Denying
detainees had been abused, he admitted:
We do force people to stand for an extended period of

tim e ... D isruption of sleep has been reported as an effective way
of reducing people's inhibition about talking or their resistance
to q u estio n in g ... They are not allow ed to speak to each other.
If they do, they can plan together or rely on the com fort of
one another. If they're caught speaking out of turn, they can be
forced to do things, like stand for a period of time - as paym ent
for speaking out.
King added that a 'com m on technique' for disrupting sleep was to

keep the lights on constantly or to wake detainees every 15 minutes
(Rose 2004).
Two hom icides of suspects under interrogation in Afghanistan
have been recorded by the US m ilitary coroner, both caused by 'blunt
force traum a'. Freed Guantanam o detainees who passed through
51
these bases have described to me a regime of casual beatings, sleep

deprivation and sexual humiliation through the use of repeated body-
cavity searches, which, they said, were photographed.
In the spring of 2004, the treatment of prisoners at Abu Ghraib, the
US-managed jail in Iraq, became an international scandal, with the
publication of photographs depicting forced sex acts, the attachment
of electrodes to a hooded prisoner and a grinning American looming
over a distressingly youthful corpse. (The overall number of deaths
in US custody in Iraq is as yet unknown. In May 2004 the Pentagon
confirmed there had been at least 25, 10 of which were being
investigated as criminal homicides.)
Finally, there is the secret network of CIA facilities which is said
to run across the globe, in places thought to include Jordan, Thailand
and, possibly, the British Indian Ocean base of Diego Garcia. It is
inside this network that the alleged senior terrorist 'players' captured
since 9 /1 1 , such as the attacks' planners Ramzi Binalshibh and Khalid
Shaikh Mohammed, have always been held and, according to media
leaks, tortured (Bowden 2003; Rehl and Johnstone 2004).
However, it is from Guantanamo that the most detailed information
about American interrogation methods in the war on terror comes.
About 200 Guantanamo prisoners have to date been released, whilst
increasing numbers of former guards and interrogators have felt able
to 'go public' with their concerns (Lewis 2004). The evidence suggests
that at Gitmo, as it is often termed, America has managed a human
rights disaster of historic proportions.
According to the freed British detainees Shafiq Rasul, Asif Iqbal,
Rhuhel Ahmed and Tarek Dergoul, for most of their first year at
Gitmo during 2002, their interrogations remained both relatively
infrequent and low key. In January 2003, following the appointment
of Major General Miller, there was a distinct change. The frequency
and length of interrogations increased beyond recognition: in the
following 15 months, Asif Iqbal and Shafiq Rasul estimated that
they were questioned almost 200 times. Meanwhile, the methods the
interrogators were prepared to use had been transformed.
From the moment Miller was assigned to Guantanamo in
November 2002, increasing the cam p's intelligence yield became his
highest priority. His predecessor, Brigadier General Rick Baccus, was
accused on departure by Pentagon officials of 'coddling' the detainees;
certainly the evidence from the minutes of his meetings with the Red
Cross suggests that he took their welfare seriously. (It was Baccus,
for example, who ordered Camp Delta's first books.) Under Baccus's
command, the intelligence from Guantanamo was no more than a
52
trickle. O f course, there were two possible reasons for this: either the
prisoners may have know n very little about terrorism and al-Qaeda,
or they were not being questioned with sufficient skill. But Baccus
told the task force's interrogators not to scream at detainees, and in
other w ays did his best to prevent abuse.
By the time of my visit in O ctober 2003, M ajor General M iller had
been in post for alm ost a year. For him, intelligence was a m atter of
volum e, of productivity, much like the w ork of the artillery corps
w here he had spent m ost of his career: 'Since the beginning of 2003,
the am ount of intelligence extracted from detainees each m onth has
increased by 600 per cent,' he told me. N or did this consist of mere
tidbits:
W e're talking about high-value intelligence, distributed around

the w o rld ... We are developing inform ation of enorm ous value
to the nation, enorm ously valuable intelligence. We have an
enorm ously thorough process that has very high resolution and
clarity. We think w e're fighting not only to save and protect our
fam ilies, but your fam ilies also. I think of G uantanam o as the
interrogation battle lab in the war against terror.
M iller had managed to impress the Pentagon with his self-assured,

can-do approach. Unbeknow n to me at the time of my visit, he was
new ly returned from Iraq, where he and a team from Guantanam o
had been asked by Donald Rum sfeld to review intelligence operations
at the main terrorist detention facility there - Abu Ghraib. According
to M ajor G eneral Janis Karp inski, who w as running Abu Ghraib
at the time, he was sent to 'G itm o-ize' it; in the dryer language of
Major General Antonio Taguba's report on prisoner abuse there,
M iller's m ission in the sum m er of 2003 was 'to review current Iraqi
theater ability to rapidly exploit internees for actionable intelligence'.4
In other words: to m ake them talk. As of Decem ber 2004, M iller is at
Abu Ghraib once again, having been reassigned from Gitm o to take
charge of m ilitary prisons throughout Iraq, despite the occupying
coalition's handover to a transitional Iraqi government.
The key to this achievement, Miller told me, was a graduated
system of incentives and rewards which he had introduced in early
2003. The detainee who co-operated with his interrogators would
be given an accumulating number of up to 29 extra 'com fort item s',
from 'som ething as small as an added water cup, to an increased
number of letters from home and books to keep in his cell, to added
exercise periods and showers, up to a maximum of seven each week'.
53
Sometimes, Miller averred, interrogators might have to become

'aggressive' with a non-co-operative subject. But his descriptions of
his innovations were all about the judicious use of carrots; about
exploiting the incentives 'to establish a rapport'. He was, it now
seems evident, telling only part of the story. Behind the carrot lurked
a menacing and painful stick.
Lieutenant-Commander Charles Swift, a frequent visitor to Gitmo
as one of the military defence attorneys assigned to act in the planned
tribunals there, told me something of what M iller's system meant for
unco-operative prisoners:
The interrogators were now to be in effective control of the

camp, and they would have the final word. You can be a model
prisoner, your behaviour can be impeccable, but if you're not
co-operating with the interrogators, you're going to be treated
like the very worst inmate - the guy who ends up in a stripped-
down cell for spitting at the guards or throwing excrement. The
interrogators decide whether you're the first to eat or the last,
and whether your laundry gets done, and who watches you in
the shower. Or they might ask for a cell search, and confiscate
everything. Then it'll be the interrogator who brings it all back.
General Antonio Taguba's report on abuse at Abu Ghraib sheds

further light on M iller's approach. During his visit in 2003, Miller
had demanded a 'unified strategy', in which guards would 'set
the conditions for the successful interrogation and exploitation of
internees/detainees'.5 Taguba related what the consequences were in
Iraq: beatings of prisoners and sexual abuse. Sergeant Javal Davies
told Taguba that interrogators had asked him: 'Loosen this guy
up for us. Make sure he has a bad night. Make sure he gets the
treatment.' The interrogators had thanked him and his colleague
Corporal Charles Granier afterwards, saying: 'Good job, they're
breaking down real fast. They answer every question. They're giving
out good information.' It was Granier who had forced prisoners to
strip naked and simulate sex with each other, sometimes arranged in
grotesque piles. Taguba asked specialist Sabrina Harman how it was
that a detainee came to be photographed whilst placed on a box with
wires attached to his fingers, toes and penis. She stated that 'her job
was to keep detainees awake. She stated that M ilitary] Intelligence]
was talking to Corporal Grainer. She stated: "M I wanted to get them
to talk. It is G rainer's job to do things for M I...to get these people
to talk."'
54
There is as yet no evidence that the brutally sexualized abuse

which stained A m erica's reputation at Abu Ghraib also took place
at Guantanam o. Nevertheless, the system instituted there on M iller's
watch was also harshly coercive.
As the pace of interrogations intensified in early 2003, Tarek
Dergoul told me, the guards who came to fetch the prisoners began
to use a new phrase: 'You have a reservation.' This did not always
m ean a prisoner would actually be questioned. For one period of
about a month in 2003, he said, every day guards would take him to
an interrogation booth in chains, seat him, chain him to the ring in
the floor and then leave him alone, for eight hours at a time:
The air conditioning would really be blow ing, it w as freezing,

which was incredibly painful on my am putation stumps.
Eventually I'd need to urinate, and in the end I would try to tilt
my chair and go on the floor. Inevitably I'd soil myself. It was
hum iliating. They were w atching through a tw o-w ay mirror.
As soon as I wet m yself, a woman MP would com e in yelling,
'Look w hat you've done! You're disgusting'.
A fterwards, he would be taken back to his cell for about three hours.
Then, he said, the guards would reappear, and the process begin
again.
Som etim es, Dergoul said, the interrogators also used heat: 'The air
conditioning control would be turned so it was blow ing out air even
hotter than w hat was outside. And som etim es, if you budged from
your position, they'd take the chair away, so you'd keel over, tipped
in agony on to the floor.' In periods of especially heavy interrogation,
he would be given no clean clothes or bedding, or garm ents which
were too small. Another technique was to refuse toilet paper, 'so you
can't clean yourself after using the toilet. Or they'd give you like
four sheets - not enough to blow your nose'.
A sif Iqbal w as also left chained in a booth for m any hours, and
like Dergoul, was eventually com pelled to soil himself. Prisoners were
forced to urinate in the booths so often, he said, that it becam e norm al
for the interrogators to have their plastic chairs hosed down after
each session. Som etim es, music was played at a deafening volume:
he rem em bered having to listen to Em inem , Bruce Springsteen and
'techno' dance m usic, accom panied by flashing strobe lights. Once,
he said, an interrogator showed him explicit pornography, saying:
'Look at that, it's the last time you'll ever see pussy again.' Raised
in Britain, he was relatively immune to sexual taunts of this kind: 'I
55
just laughed.' But Arab detainees told him and Dergoul of being left
chained in the booths with their underpants around their ankles, a
cause of profound hum iliation.
Dergoul also described the use of what w'as known as the 'short
shackle,' in which the bonds of the three-piece suit were pulled tight
to keep the subject bunched up, whilst chained to the floor. 'A fter a
w hile, it was agony. You could hear the guards behind the mirror,
m aking jokes, eating and drinking, knocking on the walls. It w asn't
about trying to get inform ation. It was ju st about trying to break you.'
Sleep deprivation was also deployed regularly. Rhuhel Ahmed told
how the detainees came to speak of 'frequent flyers' - prisoners who
were forced to don their chains and m ove cells, day and night, every
two hours. The freed detainees said G itm o's interrogators also used
psychological methods. Am ongst the m ost com m on was a claim by
an interrogator that he had proof of the suspect's 'gu ilt', a technique
w hich Shafiq Rasul encountered time and again. For exam ple, he was
told that photographs of him on an 'al-Q aeda m em bership form ' had
been found in a raid on an Afghan cave:
Actually I'd left my passport in Pakistan. Then the interrogator

told me that next to m y file they'd found my brother H abib's
al-Qaeda file. The interrogator said he w asn't lying, and that
next time he'd bring it with him. W hen it came to next time, he
claimed he'd m ade a mistake.
General M iller's 'ca rro t/ the incentives available in return for co
operation, som etim es provoked false allegations by one prisoner
against another, w'hich would then becom e the subject of further
intensive interrogation. Shafiq Rasul told me:
They kept taking us and taking us, show ing us photos saying:
'This guy says you've done this, this guy says you've done that'
- w'hat they m eant was that other detainees desperate to get
out of there were m aking allegations, m aking stuff up that they
thought would help them get out of the camp.
His own interrogators told him: '" I f you w ant extra com fort items,
get us some info on the people on the block." I refused.' After this
session, Rasul said, he was placed on the lowest-level regime as a
punishm ent: 'You only got a thin m at instead of a m attress, and a
blanket only betw een 11 pm and 5 am. During the days in the cell
you had ju st your clothes and the Koran.'
56
R asul's interrogators repeatedly asked him where they could

purchase surface-to-air m issiles in his hom e town of Tipton, apparently
because another prisoner had claimed he had m ade such a purchase.
As anyone who has visited the quiet British Midland town of Tipton
would know, it was an absurd suggestion.
In June 2003, the situation of the British prisoners Iqbal, Ahmed
and Rasul, which had apparently been improving, took a serious
turn for the worse. For the previous two weeks, Rasul had been
in the relatively com fortable conditions of Camp Four. Now, his
interrogators told him, Am erican intelligence had acquired a video
of a m eeting in 2000 betw een Osama Bin Laden and M oham m ed
Atta, the leader of the 9 /11 hijackers. Behind Bin Laden were three
unidentified m en, and som eone - presum ably another detainee - had
alleged they were none other than Iqbal, Rasul and Ahmed.
All three were moved to solitary confinem ent in Camp Delta's
isolation block for three m onths, where the cell walls are made of
solid m etal instead of mesh, and the only hum an contact detainees
have is w ith their interrogators. They were to endure this for the
next three m onths, whilst their interview ers turned on them with a
new-found aggression. Rasul said:
I told them that in 2000, I didn't leave the country, that I

was w orking at the W ednesbury branch of Currys [a British
electronic chain store] who would have my em ploym ent records,
and attending the University of Central England. They told me
I could have falsified those records - that I could have had
som eone working w ith me at Currys who could have altered
the data the com pany held, and travelled on a false passport.
Finally, as his isolation continued and the interrogators deployed their

full range of techniques, Rasul said, he cracked. In a final session, a
senior official had com e dow n from Washington:
My heart is beating, beating, I'm saying it's not me, it's not
me, but I'm thinking, 'I'm going to be screwed, I'm on an
island in the middle of now here, there's nothing I can do'. This
w om an had com e down and she plays me the video. I say, 'Are
you blind? That doesn't look anything like m e'. But it makes
no difference. I'd got to the point where I just couldn't take
anymore. 'D o what you have to do,' I told them. I'd been sitting
there for three m onths in isolation so I says 'yes, it's me. Go
ahead and put me on trial'.
57
At around the sam e time, Ahm ed and Iqbal made sim ilar confessions.
But the three men from Tipton were lucky. Som e time in Septem ber
2003, British officials from MI5 cam e to G uantanam o, arm ed w ith the
docum entary evidence which showed they could not have been in
A fghanistan in 2000 after all. W ithin a few days, they were being
held in the ordinary cages again, and being given special privileges,
including w eekly movies in a building know n as the 'love shack' and
ham burgers from the Gitm o M cD onald's; a few weeks after that, the
Am erican governm ent began to talk to their British counterparts about
the m en's release. 'In the end, we could prove our alibis,' Rasul said.
'But w hat about other people, especially from countries where travel
records may not be available? W hat if they confess to som ething they
didn't do and then can't prove it w asn't true?'
The fate of M oazzem Begg, one of the British detainees who was
not released in March 2004, may well be an exam ple. Intelligence
officials have briefed the Am erican media that after being interrogated
at Bagram in Afghanistan for a year, he confessed to planning to
drop anthrax spores on the House of Com m ons from a 'drone',
an unm anned aerial vehicle. Accurate UAVs are part of the latest
generation of Am erican weaponry, and cost millions of dollars each.
Yet in previous reporting of his case, the absurdity of Begg's alleged
confession - he supposedly claim ed to be plotting to launch his
deadly flight from Suffolk - has not been addressed. It does not seem
im plausible to suggest that his 'UAV plot' may have been a fantasy,
induced by sheer desperation.
However, according to my interview s with senior US intelligence
officials, the m anifestly unreliable nature of 'confessions' such
as those m ade by Rasul and Begg is not the only shortcom ing of
the 'enorm ously valuable intelligence' supposedly gathered at
Guantanam o. Quite separately, four such officials have told me that
such claim s are m isleading and exaggerated, and that the value of
inform ation obtained by coercion at Gitm o is relatively low.
The first problem , they have said, is that m any of the Guantanam o
prisoners should not have been there at all, and knew nothing
im portant about terrorism in the first place. According to Lieutenant-
Colonel Christino, who spent much of 2003 as the senior watch
officer in the Pentagon's Joint Intelligence Task Force on Terrorism,
and previously provided 'intelligence support' for the operation
w hich moved prisoners to Guantanam o, the detainees w’ere victims
o f a woefully inadequate m ilitary intelligence screening process in
Afghnanistan. This was 'flaw ed from the get-go', and conducted
m ainly by very young and inexperienced reservist soldiers who had
58
undergone only a single 16-week course before being thrust into the
intelligence frontline in the war on terror. In large measure, this was
the result of the historic over-concentration on electronic intelligence
discussed above. But the consequences were serious:
These kids - as bright and as dedicated to their m ission as they

may be - lack meaningful life, let alone professional, experiences.
Contrast them with their law enforcem ent counterparts: a police
officer w ill typically have an associates or bachelors degree in
criminal justice and spend three to five years doing routine police
w ork before he or she can even apply to becom e a detective.
The army should require a sim ilar degree of seasoning before
a M ilitary intelligence soldier becom es a H U M IN T specialist
responsible for screening or interrogation.
Worse, they were dealing w ith prisoners from the far side of a deep
cultural gulf, and were alm ost entirely reliant on interpreters, most
of them contracted by private corporations. Their quality was often
abysm al. A 2003 Pentagon report by Colonel Lawrence H. Saul,
director of a m ilitary evaluation unit called the Center for Army
Lessons Learned, supports that view. In both Iraq and Afghanistan,
it states:
the lack of com petent interpreters throughout the theater impeded

o p eration s... Bottom line, the US Army does not have a fraction
of the linguists req u ired ... We have to rely on contract linguists
for Dari, Pashtun and the num erous dialects of A ra b ic... laugh
if you will, but many of the linguists with which I conversed
were convenience store w orkers and cab drivers. N one had any
previous m ilitary experience. M ost m ilitary linguists w orking in
Iraq and Afghanistan only possess, on the average, a 2 / 2 Forces
Com m and rating - which basically gives them the ability to tell
the difference betw een a burro and a burrito.6
Christino said the screeners' inexperience and difficulty in

understanding what their prisoners were saying were exacerbated
by another factor in Afghanistan. As m any freed detainees have
claimed:
initially very few detainees were captured as a result of com bat

with US troops on the battlefield. Alm ost all of them were
turned over by the N orthern Alliance, Pakistani troops or others
59
who perceived they m ight get some benefit from doing so. In a
generic sense, they were selling their captives to the US Army,
and they came with w hat amounted to a sales pitch - a story to
convince our troops that these people were valuable. Their story
could be true; it could be fiction, or a com bination of the two.
The problem was that with inadequate training, little experience
and poor translation, our Ml soldiers were largely incapable of
discerning the difference.
M ost m ilitary intelligence soldiers were, Christino said, motivated

by an honest desire to do the right thing, to 'm ake a contribution'
after 9 /1 1 . But for an innocent detainee, this m ight have disastrous
consequences:
Imagine: A Northern Alliance leader tells you this man is an

Arab who was in a terrorist training camp - you want to believe
it, and you don't w ant to take the risk of letting som eone
dangerous g o ... Erring on the side of caution you m ight well
write in a report, 'this individual w as involved with activities
at a m osque known to be connected to al-Q aeda'.
At Guantanam o, Christino and the other officials said, m ost of the

interrogators were equally inexperienced, and equally dependent
on poor-quality translators. (In early 2003, a group of Pentagon
intelligence staff becam e so concerned about G itm o interpreters that
they subm itted a m em orandum to their civilian bosses, recom m ending
that interrogations should be taped and spot-checked as a m eans of
verifying their work. It was rejected.) At the same time, interrogators
were highly m otivated, w hilst they had the freedom to deploy the full
m enu of incentives and coercion. The result m ight alm ost be described
as an ideal method of acquiring m isleading or false intelligence.
Before the arrival of M ajor General Miller, said Christino:
Interrogators at G uantanam o obtained inform ation of only

minim al to m oderate intelligence value. Certainly, they gained
useful knowledge about recruitm ent and training, and perhaps
some limited insight concerning financing and logistics, but not
much about operations. Then along com es M ajor General M iller
and all of a sudden they are producing 'enorm ously valuable
intelligence'. That phrase could only justifiably be applied
to detailed inform ation concerning terrorist capabilities and
intentions. I doubt that anyone detained at G uantanam o ever
60
had access to that type of inform ation; if some claim that they
did, they probably did so to either earn the incentives or avoid
the m altreatm ent that General M iller instituted.
Another official, a seasoned form er FBI man, said that to prepare

an im portant interrogation would norm ally take him at least three
months. 'I certainly know of no one at Gitm o having the opportunity
or the luxury to be able to prepare an interview for three months.
Generally, the new hires apprentice in the booths with more
experienced guys right from the start. They are rookies.'
'Som e good inform ation has com e out of G itm o,' one senior
Pentagon analyst said. 'But it doesn't seem m uch in relation to the
various costs of keeping 600-plus detainees.' Christino w as more
specific. 'M ost of the inform ation derived from interrogations at
Guantanam o appears to be very general in nature; so general that it
is not very useful,' he said:
How much help is it to know that during a class on improvised

explosives at a camp in A fghanistan som eone discussed bom bing
apartm ent com plexes or shopping malls in the United States?
Chechen terrorists have been bom bing apartm ent com plexes
in Russia for years and anyone even vaguely fam iliar with
Am erican consum er culture knows that shopping malls would
be a good target.
In the time he spent at the Pentagon in 2003, Christino said he had

seen 'nothing that indicated a dram atic im provem ent in the quality
of intelligence com ing from Guantanam o. W hat I did observe was a
major effort at increasing the quantity of intelligence produced and
improving the way it was packaged'. In Christino's view, Guantanam o
had not helped to prevent a single terrorist attack.
The broader costs of this aspect of the war on terror may be
frighteningly high. Gitm o, Kandahar and Abu Ghraib have absorbed
enorm ous resources which would have been better used elsewhere,
whilst producing little valuable intelligence. But using coercion to make
detainees talk has not m erely been expensive, illegal and ineffective,
it has also been counterproductive, inspiring terrorism instead of
defeating it. 'The guy with the crewcut, the club and the crucifix,
standing over the detainee in goggles and chains sym bolizes not only
Am erican oppression of the Third World, but also the oppression by
governm ents friendly to Am erica inside M uslim countries,' Dr Tim
Winter, lecturer in Islam ic studies at Pem broke College, Cam bridge,
61
told me. 'People's instinct is to em pathize with the guy in the

goggles, because that's how they see the w orld.' According to Winter,
a frequent visitor to the M iddle East and a fluent Arabic speaker,
'G uantanam o is right up there with the Palestinian conflict as a focal
point for anger and political action'.
In the words of one Pentagon intelligence official: 'I'd guess that for
every prisoner who goes into Guantanam o, you create ten terrorists
or supporters of terrorism .' In Iraq and Saudi Arabia in 2004, we
saw the grisly results: Western captives of Islam ist groups dressed
in orange jum psuits in sim ulated G uantanam o cells, caught on video
begging for their lives, then beheaded.
In its initial assum ptions set out in the m em os of Yoo, Bybee and
the Pentagon working group cited above, the Bush adm inistration
set up a dichotom y: betw een respect for the law and hum an rights
on the one hand, and practical effectiveness in fighting terrorism. In
those barbaric taped executions is the evidence of its falsity.
N o te s
1. T h e d o cu m e n ts ca n be fou n d a t w w w .g lo b a ls e c u r ity .o r g /s e c u r ity /lib r a r y /

n e w s / 2 0 0 4 / 0 6 / s e c -0 4 0 6 2 3 -u s ia 0 4 .h tm .
2. T h e te rm 'e n e m y c o m b a ta n t' la te r c a m e to be u sed w idely, an d h a s the
s a m e m e a n in g .
3. Enduring Freedom: Abuses by US Forces in Afghanistan, H u m a n R igh ts
W a tch , N e w Y ork, M a rch 2 0 0 4 , a v ailab le a t w w w .h r w .o r g /r e p o r ts /2 0 0 4 /
a f g h a n is ta n 0 3 0 4 /in d e x .h tm .
4 . G en eral A n to n io T agu b a, A rticle 1 5 -6 In v e stig a tio n of the 8 0 0 th M ilitary
P o lice B rig a d e (w w w .a g o n is t.o r g /a n n e x /ta g u b a .h tm ).
5 . T agu b a, see n o te 4.
6. C A L L N e w sle tte r: O p e ra tio n O u tre a ch , C e n te r for A rm y L esso n s L ea rn e d
O ct 0 3 , N o . 0 3 -2 7 , a vailab le a t w w w .g lo b a ls e c u r ity .o r g /m ilita r y /o p s /o if -
le sso n s-le a rn e d .htm
R e fe re n ce s
B e cca ria , C . (1 7 6 4 ) Of Crimes and Punishments. P a d u a , Italy, (o n lin e a t h t t p : / /

w w w .c r im e th e o r y .c o m /A r c h iv e /B e c c a r ia /B e c c a r ia l6 .h tm ).
B o w d e n , M . (2 0 0 3 ) 'U n b o u n d , the tru th a b o u t to rtu re ', The Atlantic,
S ep tem ber.
G ere ch t, R .M . (2 0 0 1 ) 'T h e c o u n te rte rro ris t m y th ', The Atlantic, A u g u st.
Jehl, D. an d Jo h n sto n e , D. (2 0 0 4 ) 'C IA e x p a n d s its in q u iry in to in terro g atio n
ta c tic s ', The Nezv York Times, 2 9 A u g u st.
Am erican interrogation m ethods in the w a r on te rro r
Lewis, N.A. (2004) 'Broad use of harsh tactics is described at Cuba base', The
New York Times, 17 October.
National Com m ission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States (2004) The
9/11 Commission Report. New York, NY: W.W. Norton.
Rose, D. (2004) Guantanamo: A m erica’s War on Human Rights. London: Faber
& Faber.
Spee, F. von Lagenfield (trans. Hellyer, M.) (2003) Cautio Criminalis: A Book on
Witch Trials. Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press.
63
C h a p te r 4
The interrogation of te rro rist

suspects: the banality of tortu re
John J. Pearse
In tro d u c tio n
It would be difficult to discuss the interrogation of terrorist suspects

at this period in time w ithout reference to the allegations of torture
at the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq and at the Am erican detention
centre in G uantanam o Bay that have m ade headline news across the
world. These revelations dom inate the field and deserve particular
attention and com m ent. In this chapter, therefore, I propose to
explore a num ber of key areas of interest to psychologists and
practitioners working in law enforcem ent that I believe are relevant
to the events unfolding across the world. To start with, and in an
attem pt to provide a credible baseline to develop m atters, I will draw
on psychological research to challenge the pervasive m yth that all
terrorists are crazed psychopaths and that only a psycho-pathological
condition can account for their actions.
I then propose to exam ine what takes place 'on the road' to the
interrogation room - that is, what are the psychological and external
issues that are relevant to interrogating officers that may influence their
subsequent attitude and behaviour within the interrogation arena?
This will exam ine the need for interrogators to adopt the perspective
of the person they are about to question, to put them selves in his or
her shoes and to ask searching and perhaps challenging questions
from this perspective. For the purpose of this chapter I will adopt
the use of the term interrogation (rather than interview ) given that
the area under discussion relates to interaction with suspects and not
witnesses or victim s, and to remain consistent with other authors.
64
The interrogation of terrorist suspects: the banality of torture
I will then attem pt to explain, with reference to a key psychological

study, the reports of violence and abusive behaviour attributed to the
guards at Abu Ghraib and G uantanam o Bay. Is it possible to account
for the apparent change over time in their behaviour? I then propose
to try to m ake sense of the m any sensational claim s and accounts
of individual tactics that have been published in the international
media or released by official and unofficial sources. That is, I will
impose som e order and refram e the num erous techniques within a
more m anageable num ber of categories. Such a com partm entalization
process will assist with a more user-friendly assessm ent of their
com ponent parts and psychological impact.
Finally, as the subtitle to this chapter suggests, I will attem pt to
place this whole am azing series of events within a different context.
Is it possible to m ake sense of the moral and ethical decline into the
wide-scale use of torture within the interrogation environm ent?
T e rro ris ts : p s yc h o p a th s and c ra z e d fanatics?
The first plane loads of detainees started to arrive at Guantanam o

Bay (or Gitm o, its more popular US m ilitary term) at the beginning
of 2002, only a few m onths after the 11 Septem ber terrorist attacks in
New York. Indeed, there is an enduring m edia image of the prisoners
arriving dressed in orange jum p suits, w earing blacked-out goggles,
surgical masks, headphones and shackled hand and foot. This was,
according to the chairm an of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Richard
E. M yers, because they were considered so dangerous and bent on
destruction that they were crazy enough to 'gnaw through hydraulic
lines in the back of a C-17 to bring it dow n' (Rose 2004: 2). Further
insight into relevant psychological characteristics of the detainees
was provided by another authoritative source, Donald Rum sfeld, the
US Defense Secretary, who on an early visit to the detention camp
labelled them 'am ong the m ost dangerous, best trained, vicious killers
on the face of the earth' (Rose 2004: 8). The result, according to Carol
Rosenberg of the M iam i Herald, was that the guards were concerned
that 'they were rabid terrorists, who could rip their throats out' (Rose
2004: 50). In this particular instance therefore the question of their
m ental state and level of dangerousness appears not to be an issue
- the assessm ent has already been m ade, very publicly, as extreme.
Let us exam ine the suggestion that terrorists are crazed fanatics. It
is clear that very senior US personnel are content for this m essage to
65
be publicized and, according to Rosenberg (above), the guards believe

this state of affairs, but it is also one of the m ost w idely travelled
m yths in the terrorist arena. Since the early 1970s a num ber of
academ ics and scientists have also promoted such a view despite the
absence of credible evidence to support this claim and in contradiction
to four decades of research and clinical studies that refutes a psycho-
pathological hypothesis (Silke 1998, 2003). A penchant that continued
to be fuelled in the afterm ath of the New York terrorist attacks in
Septem ber 2001.
An exam ination of some of the early research in this field is very
illum inating and reveals a disturbing trend of analysis and diagnosis,
by som e authors, solely from media and secondary sources. A classic
exam ple is the research undertaken on the infam ous Baader-M ainhoff
Gang that was responsible for a num ber of terrorist acts in West
Germ any in the 1970s. The leader, Andreas Baader, was according
to one psychologist a 'sociopath' and 'extrem ely m anipulative ...A
pathological lia r ... Baader displays characteristics of a marked
psychopathic order' (Cooper 1977: 31). A subsequent psychiatric
report, however, states 'nothing was found which could justify their
classification as psychotics, neurotics or psychopaths' (Rasch 1979).
The im portant distinction was that Rasch, a professor of psychiatry,
had met w ith and assessed the gang m em bers in prison, whilst
Cooper had never actually m et Andreas Baader, and was content
to form ulate his diagnosis from the media and other second hand
accounts.
Regrettably, this is not an isolated exam ple, and sim ilar evidence
of 'norm ality' from actual studies of terrorist groups (e.g. the IRA,
Italian Red Brigade or the Front de Liberation du Quebec) is often
sacrificed to appease the dem and for sensational headlines (for a
review, see Silke 1998, 2003). The relevance of the need to understand
the norm alization debate takes on a rather sad and ironic hue in the
light of reports that began to emerge in N ovem ber 2003 that US
personnel had arrested m any people whose identity was not known
to them and who turned out to be civilians unconnected with any
terrorist activity. Rose (2004) reports a guard who estim ated that at
least 200 of those held in the m axim um -security cell blocks were
harm less, and a senior Pentagon official is quoted as saying that 'at
least two thirds of the 600 detainees held as of M ay 2004 could, he
said, be released without hesitation im m ediately' (Rose 2004: 42). This
now leads us to question the im pact of the m essages em anating from
senior US politicians on the guards and interrogators at Gitmo.
66
T h e interrogation o f te rro ris t suspects: the banality o f to rture
A d o p tin g th e p e rs p e ctive o f th e ‘o th e r ’
One of the core requirements for an effective interrogator is

the ability to understand the perspective of the other, that core
psychological process inherent in, but not practised by, all humans
(Farr 1982; Pearse 1997). I will utilize this technique, the ability to
empathize with another, as the single thread that permeates through
so many of the key issues in interrogation. It is, I will argue, the
critical component that separates successful interactions capable of
providing a rich yield of credible information from those that can,
as we shall see, only be measured in meaningless quantitative terms.
Those who regularly engage in this cognitive process, within law
enforcement and the legal profession, for example, will appreciate
that under some circumstances it may bring with it a heavy moral
and legal responsibility. W hat would happen, for example, if the
guards or interrogators challenged the view of the detainees as crazed
psychopaths? Such a cognitive imbalance, thought processes at odds
with external information or a previously held belief system, places
the individual under stress and the immediate desire is to recreate a
sense of cognitive balance, perhaps by 'convincing' oneself that such
senior politicians or military officers must be right. The opposite and
more confrontational view is likely to lead to the heavy moral or
legal standpoint that I referred to above (for information, Heider's
balance theory (1958; Hewstone 1988) and Festinger's concept of
dissonance (1957) provide the relevant psychological theories and
research in this area). In philosophical terms this is how Arendt (1970)
characterized the concept of thinking, which for her was the intense
and inescapable experience of plurality, an inner dialogue between
two internal thinking partners.
Maintaining an open mind and being able to move seamlessly
amongst different perspectives represent a valuable and ubiquitous
skill that is so important for interrogation personnel. A simple
example of the value of shifting perspectives may help to reinforce
this view. Whenever I am asked to address an audience, I take every
opportunity to sample their views on this subject by prompting them
with a simple 'sentence-completion task' (Oppenheim 1968). So, for
example, whether I am speaking to the business community in the
City of London in relation to counterterrorist measures and prevention
advice, to police officers on a terrorist senior investigators' course or
addressing a crosssection of delegates at law enforcement or legal
conferences I ask them to complete the sentence: 'To me, terrorism
67
m e a n s...?' It would prove helpful if the reader could briefly reflect

on this question.
The answers from the law enforcement and legal groups tend to
reflect their knowledge of the legal definitions, and references are
often made to acts demonstrating extreme levels of violence, loss of
life and attempts to influence the political debate by violent means.
A more personal dimension is apparent from members of the public
who consider their own safety (or lack of it) and the levels of fear
engendered by terrorist acts and terrorist groups. The notion of the
mad terrorist or suicide bomber sometimes permeates the debate. It
is not long before the audience reaches some consensus and that is
the time to ask them to change their perspective: to that of a terrorist.
Again, I would encourage the reader to reflect on this momentarily.
As a terrorist, what does 'terrorism' mean?
Interestingly, there is much less variability determined by the identity
of each group. Often the thorny issue of the dual (or bidirectional)
nature of violence perpetrated by a soldier and that perpetrated by a
'freedom fighter' emerges (for a lively and provocative oversight of
this general debate, see 'Truisms and terror', Chomsky 2003: 188ff.).
Terrorist acts are now seen (by the same audience) as a form of
communication, albeit communication in extremis and the layers of
emotion that previously accompanied terrorist issues tend to dissipate.
The removal of these emotional shrouds is so very important as it
provides a less cluttered thinking (and therefore decision-making)
environment. A shift towards normalization is beginning to emerge
and, from the group of men and women in the City of London, the
discussion focused on the concept of terrorist activity as a business.
Such perspectives are revealing, informative and often so very
practical. I can think of a number of highly successful sting operations
mounted against terrorist groups launched and driven on business
principles. A recent example would be the downfall of the leaders
of the Real IRA sentenced in London and Dublin to 30 years and
20 years imprisonment, respectively (Tendler (London) 2002; Walsh
(Dublin) 2003).
The central point is that when faced with the prospect of
interrogating a suspected terrorist, in the pre-interrogation planning
stage, those responsible must not allow emotions or extreme views
to cloud their thought processes or to affect adversely their own
behaviour and attitudes. The business model, generated from within
the audience, is a particularly valuable contribution as it focuses on
68
the terrorist groups' need for supplies, finance, technical equipm ent,
and training and organizational details. It is in effect a sterile (emotion
free) tem plate that can be used to im prove understanding and, for
interrogators, to direct questioning in a m anner that reduces the
likelihood that the interaction w ill degenerate into a highly charged,
poorly focused and possibly violent exchange.
C u lt u r a l c o n s id e ra tio n s
In the special environm ent of interrogation, other benefits will

accrue by thinking about issues from more than one perspective.
One area relates to understanding as m uch as possible about exactly
'w ho' it is that is to be interview ed: their strengths, weaknesses and
cultural needs and expectations. A second area concerns the need
to think about exactly what it is that the interrogator brings into
the interaction: his or her preconceptions, biases, beliefs, etc. If we
exam ine the former, understanding as m uch as possible about the
'w ho' is param ount in the peculiar circum stances of Gitm o where
the detainees have allegedly been removed from a war zone and
represent num erous nationalities and diverse cultures.
M ichael Gelles and his colleagues (Chapter 2, this volume) reinforce
exactly this point in providing a whole chapter dedicated to the very
different beliefs, ideologies and life experiences of persons subject to
al-Qaeda investigations, such as the Gitm o detainees. This includes
the likelihood that such operatives m ay well have suspended critical
thinking and m ay tend to engage in associative thinking patterns
rather than the Western preference for linear construction. For
practitioners this translates into the likelihood that, in answer to a
sim ple question - 'w here does your brother live? - a detainee may
not be able to provide the address in a straightforward manner. In
W estern culture m ost people are able to m ake reference to a road
nam e, number, code, etc., but this may not be the case for M iddle-
Eastern males who would indulge in less specific linkages that may
never achieve the original goal of identifying the actual location.
Failure to understand such fundam ental differences can lead to an
increase in tension and anxiety within the interrogation environm ent
and raise the frustration levels of those concerned.
69
In t e r r o g a to r bias
Just as it is important to understand as much as possible about

the person to be interviewed, it is also crucial that the interrogator
understands some of the internal psychological processes that may
be influencing his or her own thought patterns. Research has shown
that interrogators bring with them attitudes and beliefs that are
likely to influence their behaviour and interrogation techniques. For
example, they may have antecedent information and knowledge of
any previous convictions; such information is likely to affect their
impressions, attitudes and behaviour (Moston et al. 1992). There are
many reports of prisoners handed over to US forces in Afghanistan
with accompanying (unsupported) stories of the prisoners' alleged
association with al-Qaeda, or their attendance at terrorist training
camps (Rose 2004). Such information secured the $5,000 reward for
the mercenary group disposing of the prisoner, but what impact did
this information have on the receiving US forces and during the
interrogation process?
For law enforcement personnel it is important to appreciate that a
person's previous convictions may actually increase an interrogator's
belief in the suspect's guilt, which is reflected in a longer and more
rigorous interrogation (Firth 1975), and Trankel (1972) has identified
a particular bias in interrogation when compared with ordinary
conversation. The latter is often a mutual exchange of information
whilst the former can be seen as generally one-way, with the suspect
answering the interrogator's questions. Such a bias can exert a
strong influence on the outcome of the interview. For example, other
American research has identified that interrogators 'too frequently
become so zealously committed to a preconceived belief in a
suspect's guilt or so reliant on their interrogation methods that they
mistakenly extract an uncorroborated, inconsistent, and manifestly
untrue confession' (Ofshe and Leo 1997: 193).
Whilst it is not possible, within the constraints of this one chapter,
to do justice to all the powerful psychological forces inherent in the
concepts of bias, peer pressure and group conflict, especially when
exacerbated during an armed conflict, I am sure the reader will
appreciate how such universal processes can be manipulated with
malevolent and dire consequences. In the next section I will attempt
to identify some of the psychological factors that might begin to
account for the aggressive activity carried out by the guards at both
camps and now the subject of internal US military investigation.
70
T h e S ta m fo rd U n iv e r s ity p ris o n e x p e rim e n t
Any discussion of the allegations that have surfaced in relation to

the two detention centres needs to contain the caveat that what has
taken place has done so within the confines of an armed conflict or
war zone; circum stances and an environm ent of survival that tend to
deviate considerably from, shall w e say, the law enforcem ent norm.
N evertheless such engagem ents in the tw enty-first century remain
subject to international rules and regulations (see Chapter 8, this
volum e, for a more detailed review of this area). The purpose of the
caveat in this chapter is to em phasize the fact that such powerful
situational forces tend not to be at play in the norm al law enforcem ent
environm ent but, despite this, it is interesting to note that many of
the psychological issues under discussion remain wholly relevant
and can be stim ulated in an artificial environm ent far rem oved from
the conflict zone.
Perhaps the m ost relevant psychological research that addressed
the drastic change in hum an behaviour in a prison environm ent was
that carried out by Philip Zim bardo, at Stamford University in 1971.
Zim bardo created a mock prison in the basem ent of his psychology
building and selected 24 m ature, em otionally stable, intelligent
young men (out of 70) for the study. With the flip of a coin some
were designated as 'prisoners' and the rest served as 'guards'. The
prisoners were stripped, given a uniform and number, and placed in
a cell with two other inmates. They were told the cell would be their
hom e for the next two weeks. The guards were informed that they
had the authority to make up their own rules for m aintaining law
and order and respect in the prison, and were free to im provise new
rules at any time during their eight-hour shifts on duty.
The experim ent was supposed to last for two weeks but had to be
stopped after only six days because, according to Zim bardo:
it was no longer apparent to m ost of the subjects where reality

ended and their roles began. The majority had indeed becom e
prisoners or guards, no longer able to clearly differentiate
betw een role playing and s e lf... In less than a w eek the
experience of im prisonm ent undid (tem porarily) a lifetime of
learning; hum an values were suspended, self-concepts were
challenged and the u g liest... side of hum an nature surfaced.
We were horrified because we saw som e guards treat others
as if they were despicable anim als, taking pleasure in cruelty,
while the prisoners b e ca m e ... dehum anized robots who thought
71
only of escape, of their own individual survival and of their

mounting hatred for the guards (1971: 4).
Some of the prisoners became severely depressed, confused or

hysterical and had to be released after only a few days. Many of the
guards became tyrants, arbitrarily using their power and enjoying
the control they had over others. Other guards were not as brutal,
but they never intervened on behalf of the prisoners and never told
the other guards to 'ease off'. This landmark research unequivocally
demonstrated that individual behaviour can be controlled by
social forces and that, given specific environmental circumstances,
individuals can create the very social forces that come to shape their
behaviour. It was the subjects themselves who created the reality of
their roles and therefore defined the power that the prison structure
exerted over them (Zimbardo 1971; Haney et al. 1973). W hilst the study
had a number of limitations (it could be argued that the guards were
role playing what they thought was typical prison officers' behaviour
- given the declared influence of the then recent Paul Newman film
Cool Hand Luke), these findings do not appear out of place when set
against the circumstances currently under discussion.
P sycho lo g ica l research on th e im p a c t o f th e physical

e n v iro n m e n t
The power of the situation and the ability to create their own
social forces were clearly evident in relation to the behaviour of
the subjects in the Stamford experiment, and the psychological
literature also provides some insight into the debilitating impact of
oppressive prison regimes such as those believed to be practised
at Gitmo and Abu Ghraib. Gudjonsson (1992, 2003), for example,
discusses the ways in which the physical environment can affect the
psychological state and well-being of detainees. It is recognized that
all forms of sensory deprivation, fatigue, social isolation, hunger,
sleep deprivation and physical and emotional pain or the threat
of such pain can exert a very powerful influence on the decision
making of detainees. According to Forrest (1999), confessions can be
extracted very effectively, without any special equipment, by using
sleep deprivation, prolonged wall standing, solitary confinement in
cold or cramped conditions, and such practices tend to leave no
physical after-effects (see also Hinkle 1961; Shallice 1974). It is also
known that there is considerable evidence that lack of sleep impairs
72
mental functioning, especially if it is m aintained for more than two

or three days. The sym ptom s include lack of m otivation, attention
problem s, cognitive confusion and slow ness of thought. Research in
this area concluded that betw een 4 am and 8 am is recognized as the
optim um period for these problem s to occur (M ikulincer et al. 1989).
Up to now I have discussed some of the psychological influences
that may im pact on an interrogating officer as he or she prepares
to engage with a detainee, and I have briefly outlined the powerful
situational influences that can dictate and change the behaviour of
prison 'guards'. In norm al circum stances there is a clear dem arcation
betw een the role and responsibilities of these two groups. However,
this distinction disappeared at both Guantanam o and Abu Ghraib.
C o m b in in g th e ro le s o f g u a rd and in te r ro g a t o r
This link is em bodied in one man, M ajor General Geoffrey D. Miller,

who assumed com m and at Gitmo in N ovem ber 2002 with the
express objective of increasing the allegedly poor intelligence yield
produced by the previous regim e (Rose 2004). According to Miller, a
form er artillery officer, by July of the follow ing year the am ount of
intelligence extracted from detainees each month had increased by
600 per cent (Rose 2004: 84) - in quantitative terms.
His efforts were recognized by his superiors who sent him , in the
sum m er of 2003, to the Abu Ghraib prison to review operations there
with a view to producing the same rapid increase in intelligence
reports. He recom m ended adopting the system that was w orking
so well for him at Gitm o, where he had merged the functions of
two previously distinct sections, the guards and the interrogators,
allow ing the guards to 'prepare' the detainee for the interrogation
process. In effect the guards becam e subordinate to the interrogation
officers. The pow erful environm ental forces had now been set; it was
just that this was not an experim ent and it could not be stopped after
a few days.
As the attention and voracious appetite of the w orld's press
descended on Abu Ghraib and Gitm o the product of this unification
strategy becam e all too clear. To a num ber of com m entators the
revelations, although deeply shocking, bore all the hallm arks of
fam iliar and well reported techniques that had been practised by
oppressive regim es for centuries. Those charged with caring for torture
victim s, such as the M edical Foundation for the Care of Victims of
Torture (London), confirm that 'W hilst torturers have been refining
73
torture techniques throughout human h istory ... some methods have

survived for millennia' (Forrest 1999: 5).
So whilst the emerging allegations of assault and personal abuse
shocked many around the world, they were clearly not new techniques,
so the next issues to address are what, if any, is the relationship to
the conventional law enforcement environment? And is it possible
to improve our understanding of the psychological impact of this
considerable repertoire of interrogation tactics?
In te rro g a tio n ta ctics at A b u G h ra ib and G u a n ta n a m o Bay:

th e b rid g e to law e n fo rce m e n t
As I see it there are at least two relevant factors linking interrogation

in the police environment and that taking place at Gitmo or Abu
Ghraib. The first is the shared objectives of attempting to elicit a
confession, obtain evidence or intelligence, or just getting a reluctant
detainee to talk. But, secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it is
the psychological principles underpinning this elicitation process that
I would say represent the strongest connection. Gisli Gudjonsson
has discussed the interrogation techniques recommended by Inbau
et al. (2001) involving the 'nine steps' approach to a successful
interrogation. This quite extensive package has also been broken
down into a more manageable dual format by Kassin and McNall
(1991), who characterized this approach in terms of 'maximization'
and 'm inimization' (dealt with in Chapter 7, this volume). I would
wish to cover the underlying psychological principles, because if
one understands the psychological dynamics inherent in the Reid
Technique then the impact and consequences of the activity in Abu
Ghraib and Gitmo are more apparent and meaningful. The Reid
techniques are in common use in the USA and have been resorted to
by officers in the UK in serious criminal cases (Pearse and Gudjonsson
1999).
The psychological characteristics associated with the Inbau-Reid
model have been articulated by Bryan Jayne (1986), a director at Reid
Associates. He starts with the premise that people will want to avoid
the consequences of their actions. They will be motivated to deceive,
in order to avoid consequences that are 'real' or 'personal'. The former
involves loss of freedom, the latter reduced self-esteem or loss of
integrity. Therefore, interrogation can be thought of as the undoing of
deception by psychological means. Lying increases a person's internal
anxiety and, as this level of anxiety increases, so the individual
74
invokes two main defence mechanisms: 'rationalization' (the offender

justifies his or her actions) or 'projection' (where he or she attributes
blame elsewhere). The optimum scenario to achieve a confession or
to get someone to talk, therefore, would be to decrease a person's
perception of the (real or personal) consequences of confession -
'm inimization' and, at the same time, increase the (internal) anxiety
associated with continued deception - 'maximization'. In layperson's
terms, therefore, it is important to consider the psychological impact
of brute force, flagrant examples of abuse and the debilitating effect
of a coercive physical environment on what the detainee is thinking.
To take it a step further it is necessary to consider the psychological
impact of individual tactics and the cumulative effect of different
groups of tactics that have been employed against a detainee. For
the purpose of this chapter I would seek to explain the many
reported interrogation techniques within a five-category typology -
namely, delivery, maximization, deprivation, manipulation and
degradation.
U n d e rs ta n d in g and c a te g o riz in g in te rro g a tio n te ch n iq u e s at

A b u G h ra ib and G u a n ta n a m o Bay
Interrogation techniques practised in a war zone or armed conflict

tend to involve techniques carried out at the extremes of human
behaviour, such as the extreme levels of coercion and fear that are
applied (Forrest 1999; Mackey and Miller 2004), and this distinction
is accepted as we seek to compartmentalize these techniques. The
five categories are not intended to be mutually exclusive; it will
quickly become evident that recurring themes of religious and sexual
abuse, for example, underpin a number of techniques in a number of
the categories. There are a number of reasons to extend Kassin and
McNall's (1991) earlier work. The first is to emphasize the role and
importance of the context within which an interrogation takes place
- we are, after all, heavily influenced by the situation we are in, as
Zimbardo clearly showed. Another reason is that it will provide a
more appropriate vehicle to understand the power and influence of
psychologically manipulative techniques.
Delivery
This is very much an overarching category, present throughout

the remaining four groups, and it is intended to capture the wider
75
influences at play in an interrogation environment beyond the dual

categorization model of Kassin and McNall. In the narrow sense this
category concerns the type of questions asked and 'how ' the questions
are put (i.e. the manner in which they are delivered). For example, for
open, closed and leading questions, dialogue may take place in hushed
or lowered tones or, at the other end of the spectrum, questioning
may take place in a hostile and intimidating environment (Mackey
and Miller 2004; Rose 2004). For law enforcement personnel this
might extend to officers using raised or aggressive tones, continually
interrupting the suspect and refusing to listen to his or her answers,
and perhaps shouting and swearing at the suspect. In the broader
sense this category also includes 'w here' such questioning make take
place. Here, one is reminded once more of the early press coverage
of detainees at Gitmo who, shackled and clad in orange jump-suits,
were bound to small carts and wheeled to the interrogation centre.
And at Abu Ghraib where detainees have allegedly been subjected to
a range of unacceptable regimes including the use of ferocious dogs
as part of the 'warming up' process by the guards on behalf of the
interrogation team.
M axim ization
According to Kassin and McNall (1991: 234), maximization represents

'a hard sell technique in which the interrogator tries to scare and
intimidate the suspect into confessing by making false claims about
evidence and exaggerating the seriousness and the magnitude of
the charges'. This term has been extended to include any technique
which would tend to increase a suspect's internal anxiety and any
form of intimidation or challenge directed at the suspect. This will
include assault and the threat of assault or continued detention
(Pearse 1997; Pearse and Gudjonsson 1999). In purely descriptive
terms, during a period of war or armed conflict we would expect
to see an increase in the intensity of this physical and psychological
regime that would effectively replace Kassin and McNall's scaring
and intimidation of the suspect, with an extensive panoply of tactics
designed to terrorize and place a suspect in fear for his or her life.
(Given the earlier discussion on the bidirectional nature of violence,
the reader will note the deliberate inclusion of the use of the verb
terror.) Maximization is therefore the category designed to capture
the harshest of physical and psychological activity.
In relation to Gitmo and Abu Ghraib this will include the shackling
of detainees in irons, their 'three-piece suits' (Rose 2004), forcing them
76
to undergo interrogation w hilst chained to the floor in the foetal

position, and being made to stand for hours, hooded, subjected to
intense heat and cold, and loud music.
Having said that such violent acts tend to be confined to war
zones, it needs to be rem em bered that such activity can be carried
out by law enforcem ent officers. G raef (2000) reports the incident of
a Haitian man who was sodom ized with a plunger handle by several
officers in a police station in Brooklyn, USA, and Forrest (1999)
provides num erous exam ples of torture techniques regularly applied
by Indian police officers.
Deprivation
This category is in effect a subset of m axim ization and is included

because of the prevailing circum stances often peculiar to war zones
and armed conflict where denials of basic hum an needs tend to be
more com m onplace. Included within this category will therefore
be the denial of sufficient food and water, sleep and rest, suitable
accom m odation and toilet facilities and other basic rights specified
within the Geneva Convention (Convention III: Relative to the
Treatment of Prisoners of War 1949).
Taken together these two categories are designed to capture the
m ost basic and brutal attempts by one hum an being to exercise control
and suborn the will of another. This may seem far removed from
understanding and applying the various psychological techniques
recom m ended by Inbau et al. (2001) but the blunt truth is likely to
be that in war zones, interrogators will take shortcuts, they will not
have time for 'nine steps'. In the next category we will move away
from trying to im agine the effect of physical brutality on a detainee
to exam ine more subtle tactics.
M anipulation
The debilitating effect on a detainee's resolve of physical isolation,

depravation and confinem ent may not, on their own, be sufficient
to break a person down. In the UK it was recognized by Lord Chief
Justice Taylor (the m ost senior judge in the country), in R. v. Paris
and others ([1993] 97 Cr. App. R. 99), that despite the presence of
aggressive and intim idating interview ing tactics and the inherently
coercive nature of police detention, it was the m anipulative and
'insidious questioning' (p. 104) that succeed in eliciting a confession.
This can include reducing a detainee's perception of the crime
or the consequences of his or her actions, but it will also include
77
manipulating significant details, introducing themes and attacking

a person's self-esteem, his or her emotional well-being or stature.
Other tactics include embellishment, the manipulative use of
important third parties, inducements and offers of leniency or
favourable terms.
This powerful combination of psychological manoeuvres often
occupies a more latent profile and tends not to grab the headlines to
the same extent as the manifestly aggressive maximization methods,
but there is no doubt that undermining a detainee's perception
of reality is a key feature in any interrogation regime designed to
break a person down. Perhaps the most effective example of the
use of manipulation that I have been exposed to recently was that
practised by the Israeli Security Agency (ISA - formerly Shin Bet).
In 2004, I interviewed an unsuccessful suicide bomber at an Israeli
detention centre, located near the West Bank. The reason that the 19-
year-old youth had failed was because he had become detached from
his guide, an 'experienced' 15-year-old responsible for taking the
bomber to the intended target. Once in the hands of the ISA (having
been originally detained by the Israeli army), the bomber entered
an environment that was effectively a complete deception. So, for
example, according to his interrogating officer, there was no need to
apply any maximization techniques; instead he was befriended and
made welcome in the traditional Arab custom.
The interrogating officer spoke excellent Arabic, immediately
alleviating the problem of truncated and distorted dialogue through
any third party. In his interaction with the youth he was able to
draw' heavily on the fact that he understood the perspective of the
youngster. In this instance, the detainee was a recent recruit plucked
from the 'production line' of willing and available candidates in that
area of the West Bank. His training amounted to little more than
being showm the completed explosive device in a shoulder bag and
instructions how to detonate the switch mechanism (although he did
spend a few days in contemplation and spiritual preparation).
Accordingly, the officer went to great lengths to reassure him and
to create an informal atmosphere with coffee and fruit. He then went
on to manipulate the role of other parties (also detained) and also
the role of influential third parties - family, village contemporaries
and perhaps most important of all his religious beliefs. Aware that
the youth would feel burdened with the shame that he would have
brought on his family because he had failed in his task, and that he
would perceive that he alone would have to accept the blame for this
failure, the officer quickly moved to provide face-saving excuses and
78
other classic m anipulation tactics. Essentially, the officer was able to

convince the youngster that it 'm ust have been A llah's will that he
had rem ained alive', not that he had failed, but 'A llah in his mercy
had decided that he should be reunited with his family on earth'.
These, and sim ilar m anipulative tactics, elicited a full confession from
this 'terrorist suicide b om b er' within an hour.
Degradation
Just as depravation can be seen to represent a subcategory of

m axim ization, so this section could be subsum ed w ithin m anipulation,
except that the unique circum stances associated with a war zone
tend to propel this specific category into the lim elight. Degradation
includes all those tactics that are designed to hum iliate and degrade
a person's self-belief, a violent assault on his or her self-esteem , and
cultural or religious beliefs. W hat appears to have been prevalent
in the Abu Ghraib prison com plex is the use of sim ulated sexual
acts, carried out by groups of naked and hooded detainees under
the control of m ale and female guards and som etim es with fearsom e
guard dogs in the vicinity. Such activity clearly falls within this
category.
In his description of the allegations of abuse and torture at Gitmo
and Abu Ghraib, M eek (2005) crystallizes the essential com ponents
of four categories of this suggested typology. He starts by attributing
the upsurge in torture and hum iliation at the Abu Ghraib prison
to the visit of M ajor General Geoffrey Miller, and the subsequent
im plem entation of his policy of using the guards to soften up the
detainees. He notes that, follow ing this visit:
Prisoners were hooded, threatened with rape, threatened with

torture, had pistols held to their heads, made to strip naked,
forced to eat pork and drink alcohol, beaten till they bled
- som etim es with im plem ents, including a broom and a chair
- hung from doors by cuffed hands, deceived into thinking
they were to be electrocuted, ducked in toilet buckets, forced
to sim ulate m asturbation, forced to lie naked in a pile and be
photographed, urinated on, m enaced and, in one case, severely
bitten by dogs, sodom ized with a chem ical light, ridden like
horses, made to w ear w om en's underwear, raped, deprived
of sleep, exposed to the m id-day sum m er sun, put in stress
positions and m ade to lie naked in empty concrete cells, in
com plete darkness, for days on end (2005: 4).
79
Such a disturbing summary of the four most overt categories can be

seen as a violent precursor for what is likely to follow: the 'insidious'
and more latent category - manipulation, carried out by those in
control of the interrogation.
It is hoped that, by breaking down the many examples of
reported techniques into five main categories, the reader will more
easily recognize what it is that is taking place, and be better able
to appreciate the psychological consequences of such tactics and the
relevance of the interplay between and within all five groups.
T h e b a n a lity o f t o rt u re
The subtitle to this chapter is a direct reference to the influential

political commentary by Hannah Arendt on the Adolf Eichmann
trial in Jerusalem in 1960 (Arendt 1970). The subtitle to her work
was A Report on the Banality o f Evil. This highly provocative claim by
the German-Jewish political philosopher was widely misunderstood
at the time as an attempt to lessen the responsibility that should
be attached to Nazi war criminals, such as Eichmann, who was
responsible for 'the final solution' (his own phrase). In fact, what
Arendt was articulating had more to do with the whole philosophical
concept of evil, a challenge she had been struggling to come to terms
with as she studied the totalitarian regimes of Hitler and Stalin: what
was the root of such evil?
Her attendance at the Eichmann trial, on behalf of New Yorker
Magazine, provided her with the insight she needed to explain
what was taking place. In essence, she concluded that Eichmann
was incapable of exercising the kind of judgem ent that would have
made his victims' suffering real or apparent for him. It was not the
presence of evil that enabled Eichmann to perpetrate the genocide,
but the absence of the imaginative capacities that would have made
the human and moral dimensions of his activities tangible for him.
She described Eichmann as a buffoon, as he was unable to exercise
his capacity to think, of having an internal dialogue with himself,
of understanding the perspective of the other; that crucial ingredient
that I have sought to promote throughout this chapter as the key
psychological process underpinning an effective and acceptable
interrogation paradigm. For Arendt, therefore, such acts could not be
labelled evil as they had no root in the human consciousness. Given
the circumstances under investigation today, can acts of torture ever
be labelled banal?
80
C o n c lu s io n
In this chapter a distinction has been m ade between the extreme

levels of behaviour practised by interrogators in war zones and
areas of armed conflict com pared with the attitude and behaviour of
interrogators in the conventional law enforcem ent role. The unifying
psychological thread that links both groups is the ability to adopt the
perspective of the other. This innate quality has been cham pioned
throughout the chapter as it allow s the interrogator to consider the
detainee as som eone other than a highly dangerous psychopath, and
the sam e process can also increase the aw areness of the interrogator's
own susceptibility to bias, error and prejudice. Attention has also
been paid to the corrosive and highly influential role that the physical
environm ent can play under certain circum stances.
As international m edia coverage has highlighted an extensive
array of interrogation techniques practised at G uantanam o Bay and
the Abu Ghraib prison, a more straightforward and user-friendly
typology has been outlined that is com posed of five categories:
delivery, maxim ization, deprivation, manipulation and degradation.
This is designed to assist in prom oting a better understanding of the
psychological influences at work in these interactions.
A sim ple m easure of the im pact of this chapter would be to ask
how many different perspectives the reader may have adopted during
the course of the work. To what extent were you able to understand
the perspective of the interrogator and did your views alter as
you oscillated betw een the concepts and meaning of terrorism and
terrorist? At any time did you em pathize with the detainees and do
you now have a different perspective on the banality of torture?
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83
Part 2
Developm ents in Research

C h a p te r 5
The psychology of rapport: five

basic rules'
Michel St-Yves
In tro d u c tio n
This chapter considers the crucial importance of communication skills

for effective interviewing. It examines a model for establishing and
maintaining rapport developed as a result of research for the Surete
du Quebec,2 Quebec, Canada. It concludes by raising questions which
indicate the need for further research in this area and by identifying
possible areas for fruitful research.
Research into the conduct of investigative interviews has led to a
better understanding of the human factors involved in questioning
in a criminal justice context and, as a result, to the development
of new interview techniques that are much more reliable and
effective in eliciting information from witnesses, victims or suspects
than standard techniques. Examples include the processes for non-
suggestive interviews with children (Yuille 1989) and cognitive
interviewing (Fisher and Geiselman 1992). The knowledge gained
from research has resulted in these new techniques contributing to
a more thoroughly conducted investigation and, at the same time,
to reducing the risk of judicial errors. However, one of the most
important factors in a successful interview is the relationship created
between interviewer(s) and interviewee, yet if it is often neglected
and sometimes completely ignored in training programmes. Even the
best interview techniques depend on the quality of the relationship
established between the two parties.
In this chapter, we concern ourselves with the most basic of all
human rapports: that of establishing and maintaining a relationship.
87
From the first contact to the last, we exam ine the im portance of
com m unication skills and em phasize five basic rules derived from
our research which we consider to be essential to conducting an
investigative interview successfully:
1. Keeping an open mind and rem aining objective.

2. Building up a rapport.
3. Paying attention.
4. Keeping a professional attitude.
5. Know ing how to conclude.
Com m unication skills are rarely taught in police academ ies and
in some it is still a taboo topic, which is unfortunate given that it
has such a central place in im proving investigative interview ing
practices.
To enter a relationship one has to m ake contact and exchange
inform ation in a way designed to create m utual rapport. It is
im portant to be able to keep an open mind, to pay attention and to
have an em pathetic attitude that prom otes good com m unication. For
rapport to develop, and especially when building up a relationship
with a witness, victim or suspect, the ideal is for the relationship
to be genuine. We believe that a genuine relationship is more likely
to lead to creating trust and confidence in the interview er and to
truthful accounts being provided. Rapport is defined as 'developing
an understanding relationship or com m unication betw een people'
(Oxford Reference Dictionary). It is the invisible w ave along which
inform ation can flow from the one to the other. If there is a problem
with rapport the inform ation received may be distorted or not
received at all.
K e e p in g an o p e n m in d and re m a in in g o b je c tiv e
We now consider the five basic rules that we have identified that
contribute to good rapport in the context of the psychological
research from which they have been developed. The first contact
with the person being interview ed is often decisive. It is on this first
contact that the two parties will form their opinion of one another.
This perception will then guide their behaviour. First impressions
will be created on the initial inform ation received by the investigator
regarding the person to be interview ed (e.g. a w ritten statem ent, a
testim ony from a neighbour, a forensic report, a judicial file or even
The psychology of rapport: five basic rules
just a picture). Therefore, it is possible, if not probable, that the

interviewer will already have formed an impression of the person to be
interviewed even before the first meeting. This subjective perception,
which is often false, will have a strong influence on the unfolding
of the interview. The perceived biases are traps to watch out for.
The two most common perception errors identified in psychological
research are impression formation and the Rosenthal effect.
Impression formation
Solomon E. Asch (1907-96), a pioneer of social psychology, was the

precursor of research on the shaping of impressions. He demonstrated
that we form impressions of others based on the first elements
perceived. Asch maintained that the first information would be more
likely to determine our impression of others than the last information.
For example, if we describe a person as intelligent, hard-working,
impulsive, critical, hard-headed and envious, the impression of that
person is rather positive. If we reverse the description (envious,
hard-headed, critical, impulsive, hard-working and intelligent), the
impression is negative (Asch 1987). Asch's research demonstrated
that the shaping of impressions occurs quickly and leads to a lasting
impression. He discovered that it is very hard to get rid of a first
impression, especially when it is a false one. The natural tendency is,
rather, to try to validate our perception instead of staying receptive
and keeping an open mind regarding the other person. This is why it
is so important for interviewers to be trained to keep an open mind
and to remain objective, as this should increase the likelihood of
obtaining the truth.
The Rosenthal effect
The initial impression can have a strong effect on the perception

of others and can become a 'Pygm alion' effect that can transform
a subjective reality into an objective reality. In the 1960s, Robert
Rosenthal, an American psychologist, carried out a study that would
become one of the most revolutionary of modern psychology. Rosenthal
and Jacobson (1968) gave primary school teachers a list of potentially
talented students supposedly chosen after taking psychometrics tests.
In reality, these students had been chosen at random. The real goal of
the research was not to predict talented students but to condition the
teachers without their knowledge. The results observed by Rosenthal
exceed all expectations. At the end of the year, the students initially
identified at random as potentially talented had progressed a great
89
deal more than the others. Rosenthal and Jacobson (1968) explain this
phenomenon in the following way: the prediction of an event (or the
belief in its arrival) by individual A regarding individual B wall be
fulfilled whether it is only in the mind of A or - by a subtle and
unforeseen process - by a modification of the real behaviour of B
under pressure from the expectations of A.
The perceived biases induced by these preconceived notions
therefore condition our behaviour and can have such influence on
others that the answers observed are none other than the results
of this perceived bias. In the investigative interviewing field, our
preconceived notions can also influence our perception and therefore
influence the result. In their study of interrogation of suspects,
Moston and Stephenson (1993) have observed that investigators
were less inclined to give suspects the benefit of the doubt if they
had criminal records. Investigators were more inclined to put the
emphasis on getting a confession rather than getting to the truth,
and may have been acting in a prejudiced and stereotypical way as
predicted by Rosenthal. Mortimer (1994) states that investigators who
take for granted the fact that their suspect is guilty, even before their
meeting, have a tendency to focus more on obtaining a confession
and thus use an accusatory interviewing style.
Presumption o f innocence or o f guilt1
From the outset, the attitude of the investigator towards the suspect
will have a major impact on the unfolding of the interrogation. The
interviewer can enter into a relationship with the suspect by presuming
his or her guilt, his or her innocence or by keeping a neutral position.
All these attitudes have advantages and disadvantages.
According to Inbau et al. (2001: 68-70), the presumption of guilt
has the advantage of provoking a reaction of resentment from the
innocent person, whereas a guilty person has a tendency not to
demonstrate any resentment and to show certain non-verbal reactions.
Nevertheless, when there is little evidence, a guilty suspect who does
not confess swiftly could form the impression that the interviewer
is bluffing and therefore becomes psychologically stronger whilst
continuing to resist and deceive. If the interviewer is convinced the
suspect is guilty, he or she may be biased and may steer his or her
questions and interpret the suspect's answers in a biased way, as in
the Rosenthal effect. A problem with this approach is that an innocent
suspect can also become destabilized, disturbed and confused. There
is a risk that the interpretation of these suspicious behaviours may
90
strengthen the bias towards the suspect with potentially serious

consequences for the investigation. As for the presumption of
innocence, Inbau and his colleagues (2001) consider that this attitude
clearly favours innocent suspects and allows the investigator more
easily to prove their innocence.
We regard the neutral position as being the best approach because
it is more objective and tries to minimize the risk of bias. However,
this technique is the most difficult because it is necessary to put aside
our personal prejudices, and often those of our colleagues.
Developing rapport requires one to be flexible and to demonstrate
a great deal of personal openness (Bull and Cherryman 1995; Shaw
1998; Cherryman and Bull 2001). The quality that we describe as
open-mindedness is intended to promote disclosure, notably by
bringing down the reservations associated with the fear of being
judged negatively.
To initiate a relationship with a witness, victim or suspect the right
way, it is first necessary to avoid or reduce all forms of negative
contamination. One must break the scripts constructed from our
personal and professional experiences, erase the stereotypes and put
aside our preconceived notions. We need to protect our perceptions
just as much as our forensic colleagues do with crime scenes because,
once contaminated, it is often too late.
B u ild in g up ra p p o rt
To build rapport is to find a balance between what we desire and

what the other agrees to. The investigator will increase rapport by
being attentive both to the speech (what's said and not said) and
to the behaviour (non-verbal indicators, emotions) of his or her
interlocutor. The investigator should observe the slightest verbal and
non-verbal behaviours and interpret them correctly. The reliability
of the interpretation is a hotly disputed subject within psychology
because we are prone to make the wrong attributions (for a scientific
basis for detecting deception, see Ekman 1992; Vrij 2000). This form
of analysis allows the interviewer to judge when and how to ask
a question or to make a comment; when to say 'I see' or 'hmm,
hmm'; and when and how to confront the subject with his or her
remarks or with new evidence. It is because of the complexity of this
interrelationship of behavioural dynamics that good interviewing
is an art. It is the capacity for cognitive analysis, together with a
synchronizing of appropriate behaviours, that usually determines a
91
very good interviewer. Rapport lies at the heart of a good interview.

W hereas other techniques can be helpful, rapport can do without
these techniques, and techniques w ithout rapport are unlikely to be
effective.
All that an interview er is and does can also have a substantial
im pact on the person being interview ed. A gesture, a word, an
attitude, a posture and even one's personality can generate thoughts
and em otions in the other. For exam ple, the interview er's attitude
can remind the subject of, for exam ple, his or her father with whom
he or she is or was on bad terms. Or, either by your features or tone
of voice, you can remind the interview ee of som eone who is dear to
him or her. This inform ation may be processed subconsciously, but
the im pact (which is im possible to predict) is called in psychology
'transference' and 'counter-transference' (Freud 1910: 1912). This
phenom enon can som etim es explain why one has more success
interview ing certain people than others.
Transference and counter-transference
Certain people, either by their attitude, their personality or even

by the nature of the crim e itself, generate thoughts - positive or
negative em otions - that em anate from their past and that concern
im portant people in their lives. This transference can be positive
or negative. W hen the transference is positive, the person seem s to
be more likeable and rapport is much easier to establish. W hen the
transference is negative, not only is there no affinity but hostility
(although som etim es subtle) m ay also be present. This hostility can
be expressed by cutting remarks, im patience or an attitude which
is too authoritative. This happens frequently in regard to people
suspected of com m itting serious crimes. It can also happen when we
feel antipathy towards victim s or witnesses.
Counter-transference is the sum of the em otions (positive or hostile)
the interview er feels towards the person being interview ed. Thus a
suspect can, either by his or her behaviour, looks or the nature of
his or her crim e, instigate in the interview er reactions (internal at
first) that are expressed in a m anner that is more or less perceivable
and that may have consequences for the suspect. These reactions are
totally human and normal. The interviewer, however, has to be aware
of them and take them into account so as to m inim ize the im pact of
negative transference during the interview.
Being aware of these phenom ena can help investigators understand
why they are more or less com fortable w ith certain people, w hether
92
they are victim s, w itnesses or suspects. This realization allows them

to m inim ize the harm ful effects of negative counter-transference.
N egative transference m ay explain num erous situations when rapport
is difficult to establish with another person. The phenom enon of
'kindred spirits' m ay be the result of a positive transferential dynamic
on both the interview er and the person being interview ed. Colloquially,
this is som etim es known as being 'on the sam e w avelength'.
Initiating good contact
First contact is often visual and may be followed by a warm

w elcom e and a hand shake. In a few seconds, a link will have been
created, but it will have to be fed if it is to grow. Rapport creates
trust and builds a psychological bridge betw een the interview er and
the interview ee (Collins and M iller 1994; Lieberm an 2000; Schafer
and N avarro, 2003). According to Shepherd and Kite (1988), a warm
w elcom e is an essential ingredient of a successful interview. Shepherd
(1988) identifies two types of abilities needed to develop constructive
rapport: 1) interpersonal skills, notably the capacity to com m unicate
and to listen; and 2) the skills needed for cognitive analysis, including
an understanding of hum an psychology. It is mostly the latter that is
em phasized during police training. However, w ithout interpersonal
skills, rapport may not be possible. As Schafer and N avarro (2003:
39) say: 'A person reveals no secret w ithout rapport.'
W hen an introduction is com pleted, the investigator has to explain
to the person being interview ed the goals of their meeting. He or
she has to satisfy their im m ediate needs for inform ation and allay
any concerns so as to elim inate as much distraction as possible that
could be prejudicial to the creation of good rapport. The objective
is to create a mood that will encourage the person to talk. Contrary
to popular belief, good interview ing is more about listening than
about talking. There is nothing more effective than paying attention
to som eone to encourage him or her to talk.
P ayin g a tte n tio n
Hearing does not necessarily m ean listening. To listen m eans to be

attentive to what som eone is saying. In psychology, this is called
'active listening', a com m unication technique developed by the
Am erican psychologist, Carl Rogers (1902-87). Although at first this
may appear sim ple, this technique is difficult to m aster because it
93
goes against basic human behaviour. It is, however, indispensable to

establishing a trusting link with the others. Rogers' approach (1942)
is based upon the unconditional acceptation and valorization of the
other, and on empathy and authenticity.
Many investigators do not know how to listen: they do not
acknowledge the suspect's concerns. Often, they are only interested
in the crime and not in the person being interrogated. They are often
preoccupied by their strategies, which makes them less receptive to
the other person. Furthermore, investigators are often uncomfortable
with silences, particularly when interviews are being filmed. They
feel obliged to fill idle periods with useless questions or irrelevant
remarks they may have to rectify later (St-Yves and Lavallee 2001).
Active listening is a reading of what the other expresses. It
takes into account the words and behaviour of the person being
interviewed (the transmitter), and seeks to stimulate the expression
of the transm itter's message without interruption, and especially
without the transmitter contaminating the message with his or her
own scripts.
The major ingredients of active listening are as follows:
• Minimal encouragement: encouragements are signs given out to the

transmitter that you are really listening to what the interviewee is
expressing and without interruption. These signs can be visual (for
example, facial expressions, head nodding, posture) or auditory
('OK', 'I see', 'yes', 'Uh hum'). An absence of encouragement
can indicate a lack of interest and attention. Encouragements can
increase the amount of speech uttered by the transmitter by up to
three or four times (Wainwright 1993).
• Paraphrases: paraphrases come in many shapes. For example, there
is reformulation (reform in your own words what the transmitter
said) and reflection, commonly called the 'echo' (repeating the
subject's last words or viewpoint). Paraphrases reassure the
transmitter that his or her message has been listened to and
understood. This will facilitate discussion and rapport.
• Identification o f emotions: putting into words the emotions expressed
by the transmitter show's the depth of your empathy. It also
facilitates the awakening of insight.
• Open questions: avoid questions that only require a 'yes' or 'no'
answer. Avoid the 'w hy' and 'yes, but' because these questions
94
are pejorative and imply defeat. Open questions reduce the risk of
perceptual biases.
• The 7': using T shows you are concerned about the transm itter's
remarks. It humanizes rapport.
• Silence: if you cannot find the words to stimulate or reassure the
transmitter, it is preferable to say nothing. Silences have their place
and have often proved to be beneficial. Silences also allow time to
think.
Keeping a professional a ttitu d e : in te rv ie w in g styles
The style of interview adopted by the investigator can have a

great influence on the unfolding of the interrogation. Cassell and
Hayman (1998) observed that investigators are more likely to obtain
a confession than patrol officers. This could be explained by the fact
that investigators have more experience than patrol officers and are
more capable and self-confident in interrogation (Gudjonsson 2003).
Investigators may also have received more advanced training to
conduct investigative interviews.
Williamson (1990, 1993) identified four styles of questioning
preferred by different types of interviewers based on how friendly
or unfriendly they were towards the interviewee and whether
they saw the purpose of the interview as obtaining a confession or
securing evidence. The interviewers' responses to an extensive range
of questions designed to elicit their preferred interviewing strategies
and attitudes were then examined in a factor analysis. This analysis
revealed four distinct factors:
Factor 1 ('perceived success') indicated a positive attitude towards

the questioning of suspects. It was seen as an important task, taken
seriously and practised frequently with a significant degree of success
as measured by the number of confessions obtained; friendly styles
of questioning were preferred.
Factor 2 ('dominance') indicated a preference for unfriendly
questioning styles with the use of rapid questioning intended to keep
up the pressure on suspects. Trickery was considered necessary, and
there was evidence of a lack of sympathy for, and adaptation to, a
new legal framework for regulating custodial questioning.
95
Factor 3 ('perceived difficulty') indicated that, although there was

a preference for friendly styles of questioning, this was an area of
activity that was found to be difficult and that was not associated
with success (if success is taken as obtaining confessions). The legal
regulation of custodial questioning meant this style of questioning
was more difficult for the police, that they had much less leverage
and that their position was therefore weaker than in the past. A clue
to the underlying causes of this factor may lie in responses that
indicated a need for training.
Factor 4 ('persuasion') indicated an approach where interviewing
was seen as a process of bargaining aimed at securing a confession,
and this was best achieved through the manipulation of friendly
questioning styles. This approach was quite successful and was
particularly appropriate in cases where the evidence in the case was
weak and where an untruthful denial was expected.
It is important to note that the dominant interviewing style was not

associated with success, yet this remains the preferred style of many
law enforcement officials. It is also interesting to note that the group
of responses indicating that interviewing is an activity that some
detectives found difficult suggested need for training. None of the
detectives in this study had received any formal interview training
because no training courses had been developed in the UK at the
time. These responses accord with the finding by Sear and Stephenson
(1997) that, at the time of this research, investigators were more at
ease with an approach aimed at obtaining a confession rather than
an approach designed to collect new information.
Moston and his colleagues (Moston and Engelberg 1993; Moston and
Stephenson 1993) have observed that the two styles most frequently
used by police officers are the confrontation and the persuasive
approach. Often, investigators accused the suspect of committing the
crime, informed the suspect of the evidence they had against him or
her and then asked the suspect to confirm their allegations. When the
interviewers were faced with a denial or silence, they had a tendency
to repeat the question in a stronger and more aggressive tone of
voice (see the 'dom inance' factor above) or simply to respond by
silence or by inferring that the suspect was lying (see the 'perceived
difficulty' factor above). Faced with opposition, investigators do
not always possess the communication abilities to negotiate with
the suspect, and so the interview ends with the persistent denial of
96
responsibility (M oston and Engelberg 1993; M oston and Stephenson

1993). Baldwin (1992), in his research into videotaped interview s, puts
the em phasis on the need for professionalism and open-m indedness
from interview ers, which will allow more time for the suspect to
think and to give him or her the opportunity to express his or her
point of view.
According to Baldwin (1992), the w orst type of interview er is the
one who uses a 'm acho' style and who is unable to recognize how
this attitude is counterproductive. A hum ane attitude (including active
listening, empathy, openness, respect and a w illingness to discover the
truth instead of trying desperately to obtain a confession) is a quality
that plays an essential role in the unfolding of a good investigative
interview (Shepherd 1991; W illiam son 1993). A study by Crepault and
Boisvenue (2003) into the victim s of m ajor crimes dem onstrated that,
after attentiveness, em pathy (sensibility and warmth) is the factor
m ost associated with the satisfaction of the victims concerning police
investigations.
In Sw eden, Holmberg (2004) analyzed the responses to a
questionnaire com pleted by 83 m en convicted of m urder or sexual
offences. The results showed that, when the police interviewed
murderers and sex offenders, suspects perceive attitudes characterized
by dom inance or humanity. Logistic regression indicated that police
interview s marked by dom inance are m ainly associated with a higher
proportion of denials, w hereas an approach marked by hum anity is
associated with adm issions. Holm berg argued that, when suspects
feel they are respected and acknow ledged, they possibly gain more
confidence and m ental space that allow them to adm it to criminal
behaviour. In a related study, a group of rape or aggravated assault
victim s (consisting of 178 w om en and men) answered a questionnaire
concerning police behaviour in interview s. The results from a factor
analysis showed that these victim s perceived police attitudes to be
characterized by dom inance or humanity. Interviews characterized
by dom inance and feelings of anxiety were show n to be significantly
associated with victims who omitted to supply im portant information.
Interviews characterized by hum anity and with feelings of respect
and co-operation were significantly associated with victims who
did provide all the relevant inform ation (Holm berg 2004: 26). Given
that the use of a dom ineering style appears to be less effective, it is
im portant to understand why investigators have a tendency to adopt
such authoritarian interview ing styles.
97
The concept o f authority
Stanley Milgram made an outstanding contribution to the history

of social psychology in his famous and controversial study of the
submission to authority. Milgram (1974) recruited a number of
volunteers to participate in research he described as concerning
training. The people recruited were allocated teacher roles and they
were instructed to institute sanctions against a person who was
playing the role of a student. This person was, in fact, a member of
the research team. The sanctions meted out by the 'teachers' were
in the form of electric charges of increasing force, ranging from 0
(not severe) to 10 (extremely severe). The teachers could not see the
student but could hear the student's screams when he was receiving
the electric shocks. The electric discharges were, of course, fictitious
but, from the moment the student expressed pain, the 'teacher'
turned towards the researcher who reminded the teacher that he
or she had committed him or herself to this course of action. On
a scale of severity of sanctions ranging from 0 to 10, psychiatrists
previously consulted by Milgram had predicted that the subjects
would not exceed 3.5. In the event, more than 65 per cent of subjects
delivered sanctions equivalent to 450 volts, which corresponds to a
lethal electrical charge.
Milgram's research demonstrates that people in a situation of
authority have a great deal of influence on others. His work shows
that people have an automatic tendency to respond obediently to the
symbols of authority, whether these be a title or a uniform. It is thus
necessary to bear in mind that some people subject themselves more
readily to police authority (Gudjonsson 1992; Clare and Gudjonsson
1993). People with less than average intellectual ability may feel
intimidated when they are being interrogated by people in authority
(Gudjonsson and MacKeith 1994; Gudjonsson 1995), and are often
more willing and open to suggestion (Clare and Gudjonsson 1995).
People who easily subject themselves to authority may also be more
inclined to comply with police questioning and, therefore, to make
false confessions (Kassin 1997).
In 1971, Zimbardo undertook a study aimed to explore the
behaviour of 'norm al' people in a prison environment (see Zimbardo
et al. 1973; Zimbardo 1975; Chapter 4, this volume). The people
recruited for this experiment (which was to last two weeks) comprised
male students. On the second day of the experiment, the 'prisoners'
rebelled against the exercise of authority, and the desperate 'wardens'
responded by humiliating, bullying and even physically abusing the
98
prisoners. After only a few days, the w ardens began to behave like
sadists and the prisoners becam e stressed and depressed. Zim bardo
prem aturely ended this experim ent after six days. Zim bardo came to
two conclusions. First, when a normal person is subm itted to extreme
conditions of hum iliation and violence, he or she can crumble
psychologically, can lose all self-esteem and can becom e depressed.
On the other hand, when an individual is given power, he or she may
reveal him or herself as a monster. According to Zim bardo, violence
is not som ething innate but, rather, is closely related to power. The
recent allegations of hum iliating and sadist behaviour from Am erican
soldiers towards Iraqi prisoners detained at Abu Ghraib prison is
perhaps a good exam ple of the type of behaviour the Milgram and
Zim bardo experim ents wôuld have predicted if guards and prisoners
are not properly managed.
Because of their duties, police officers have the pow er to arrest or
to detain people. During an interview with a suspect, police officers,
in spite of them selves, will exercise the pow er of their authority.
They are in a situation of authority and, therefore, m ust be conscious
of the im pact this power has on others and m ust not abuse it. This
should prevent serious injustices occurring. The expression of anger
or hostility during an investigative interview can lead to serious
consequences. For exam ple, an angry or hostile investigator may
react im pulsively or even aggressively when faced with a stubborn
suspect. This may be m anifested in im patience or unkind com ments.
The interview may then becom e oppressive w hich, as we have seen,
will destroy rapport and may jeopardize the adm ission of guilt in
court.
Cialdini (1993) suggests that authority can also be defined by
competency. Research has show n that people take it for granted that
experts know what they're talking about. People have a tendency to
accept inform ation on the grounds of the person who proffered it
rather than on the grounds of its content (M addux and Rogers 1983).
This is the aura (or halo) effect. For an investigator to be considered
a specialist or an authority figure in a suspect's eyes, the investigator
must be perceived as com petent.
Com petency is associated with self-esteem and, by extension, with
self-confidence. Interview ers, however, often lack self-confidence
(Baldwin 1992). To perform well during an interrogation, investigators
m ust appear self-confident. A lack of confidence can be expressed
not only by nervousness but also by hesitations and other verbal
hints (tone of voice, the excessive use of euphem ism s, etc.). If the
investigator is undecided, the evidence may also look uncertain
99
(St-Yves et al. 2004: 147). This can have a considerable influence on

the result because the interviewee's perception of the weight of the
evidence is the most important factor in deciding whether to admit
to or to deny guilt during a police investigative interview (Moston
et al. 1992).
K n o w in g how to con clu d e
The end of an interrogation often creates strong emotions. This can be

the result of weariness or the suspect may have been angered by the
investigator's questions and the interviewer may feel powerless in the
presence of a persistent denial. The investigator who has a tendency
to rise easily to anger is the most susceptible to compromising his or
her professionalism. The interviewer may also feel a sense of failure
which he or she attributes to the suspect. This may explain the
tendency to vent frustrations through cutting remarks directed at the
suspect. This approach has never been successful and puts an end to
any future attempts to obtain information from the subject through
questioning. In losing control, the investigator risks hindering the
whole investigative process. A better and more strategic response
would be to pause so that the interview can be resumed later.
According to W ebster's dictionary (1983), to conclude is 'to form
a final judgment'. Knowing how to conclude means ensuring that all
the legal arguments have been covered, that the suspect has nothing
to add and that he or she has been informed of what is going to
happen next. Above all, the interviewer must remain professional,
whether a confession has been obtained or not. Even in the absence
of a confession, information obtained through questioning can be
very valuable. Interviewers should always try to leave the door open
for the possibility that the interviewee may make a confession in the
next hour, the next day or even later, to the interviewer or to someone
else. It is important to keep open the channels of communication.
This situation is analogous with crisis negotiations. First, like
interviewers, good negotiators possess communication skills and are
self-confident, energetic, creative and imaginative in their problem
resolution, and they are sensitive to others (Getty and Elam 1988;
Allen et al. 1990). These qualities are found in the profile of a typical,
good investigative interviewer. The philosophy of the Surete du
Quebec reflects this: Pax per conloquium - resolution through dialogue
(St-Yves et al. 2001). In a crisis situation, a good negotiator will
first listen carefully and then assist the communication process by
100
asking open questions that allow the other person to say w hat he
or she wants and to express his or her em otions. To understand the
individual and to decode all the m essages he or she is sending out,
the negotiator has to be attentive to a m ultitude of details: tone of
voice, em otions and changes in attitude (Wargo 1990; Divasto 1996).
This is another exam ple of having to be on the same w avelength, and
it is exactly the same thing with investigative interviews. However,
the interview er is in a better position than the negotiator because the
interview er can assess the suspect's non-verbal behaviour.
The negotiator will build rapport w hich, consequently, will serve
as a bridge to allow the person with whom the negotiation is being
conducted to resolve the crisis. Then, according to the pace at which
the crisis unfolds (and according to the model developed at the Surete
du Q uebec and known as SIN CRO 3), the negotiator will accom pany
the person throughout the various phases of the crisis until he or she
surrenders, preferably voluntarily. The negotiator will do everything
in his or her power to perm it the person to preserve or to restore
his or her dignity, often flattering him or her and then m eeting the
person again once he or she has given him or herself up to the
police. Som e negotiators will even accom pany the person to hospital
to dem onstrate the authenticity of the rapport established betw een
them. During an investigative interview, the interview er who acts in
this m anner leaves not only a lasting, favourable im pression of the
rapport in the interview ee's m em ory but also actively contributes to
the reintegrative possibilities for that person through the process of
restorative justice (Braithw aite 1998).
A re a s fo r f u r t h e r re se a rc h
This chapter has exam ined the im portance of com m unication skills
for effective interview ing, and it is the author's opinion that this
is an area that has been under-researched. It has been argued that
com m unication skills and rapport can be taught. This assertion,
however, raises some interesting questions. For exam ple, can everyone
be taught com m unication skills? It seem s som e people have better
com m unication skills than others. Is this difference the result of
som ething that has been learnt or are there innate differences in skills
betw een individuals? Perhaps w hat is needed is a rigorous study that
draws on the m ethodologies of the subdiscipline of the psychology of
personality to ascertain w hether such individual differences do indeed
exist. A battery of selected psychom etric tests, or subsets of these
101
tests, could prove fruitful here. It may even be possible to develop

a scale that could be used to select people who have an aptitude for
interview ing. The anecdotal evidence from experienced interview ers
and interview trainers is that successful interview ers seem to have
the ability to establish rapport in w hat appears to be an effortless
way. They seem able to create a situation where people trust them,
feel relaxed and are happy to talk to them. O ur experience is that
good interview ers constantly practise and hone their skills wherever
they go. In studies of interview ers, we have found that those who
are good interview ers do the m ost interview ing, whereas those who
do the m ost interview ing are generally good, but how far this applies
the other way round is uncertain. Do good interview ers do a lot of
interview ing because they have an innate ability, or does exposure to
a great deal of interview ing m ean that people becom e more skilled?
More research is needed if we are to answ er such questions as
these.
C o n c lu s io n
This chapter has described different interview ing styles and com pared
their effectiveness. Psychological research suggests that a style which
contributes to creating rapport is to be preferred, and from this five
basic com m unication rules considered essential for conducting an
effective investigative interview can be proposed:
1. Keep an open mind and remain objective. There are m any traps in
the field of interview ing. For exam ple, a lack of objectivity can
skew the investigation and can lead investigators to a fabricated
outcom e. This is called tunnel vision. On the other hand, objectivity
aims to find out the truth and does not focus solely on convicting
a suspect.
2. Build rapport. First and forem ost, welcom e the person w arm ly and
then create an atm osphere that will encourage him or her to talk
freely. This will find the balance betw een what the interview er
desires to know and w hat the suspect will agree to disclose. It is
necessary to observe and to understand if good rapport is to grow.
3. Pay attention. N ot paying attention inevitably leads to a fruitless

interview. Listening, on the other hand, prom otes an understanding
of w hat really happened and not w hat the interview er thinks
happened.
102
4. From start to finish keep a professional attitude. An unprofessional

attitude can be extrem ely prejudicial to the person being
interview ed, especially if he or she is not guilty. An attitude of
respect, em pathy and open-m indedness favours the disclosure
of inform ation and, if appropriate, a confession. It also m akes it
easier for the courts to accept any disclosure or adm ission as
evidence.
5. Know how to conclude. This ensures that everything that has

been said has been addressed. The suspect should be allowed to
preserve his or her dignity, and the conclusion should consolidate
the rapport that has been established. One day this person may
need to be interview ed again, so it is im portant to leave a positive
impression. This particular interview may be the beginning, not
the end, of a long series of events and relationships. To reach a
satisfactory conclusion, interview ers should apply these five rules
and should understand that they are the same for everyone.
N o te s
1. This chapter is an English adaptation of 'La psychologie de la relation:

cinq regies de base' (St. Yves, Tanguay and Crepault, 2004).
2. The Surete du Quebec is a national police force which is responsible
throughout Quebec for keeping the peace and maintaining public order,
safeguarding individuals' lives, security and basic rights, and protecting
their property. The Surete du Quebec co-ordinates large-scale police
operations, participates in the integrity of state institutions and provides
security for the Quebec transport networks (Mission statement, Surete du
Quebec, www.surete.qc.ca).
3. The acronym SINCRO stands for Strategie d'Intervention et de Negotiation
par Couleurs selon le Rythme Observe or, translated loosely, 'response
and negotiation strategy using colours and based on the rhythm of the
crisis' (St-Yves et al. 2001).
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106
C h a p te r 6
Confessions by sex offenders'
Michel St-Yves
In tro d u c tio n
Research into police questioning has shown that several factors

influence the outcome of an interview with a suspect, one of the
most important of which is the attitude of the investigator (Shepherd
1991; Moston and Engelberg, 1993; Williamson 1993; Stephenson
and Moston 1994; Holmberg and Christianson 2002). The interview
techniques used also have a bearing on the interview (Leo 1996;
Inbau et al. 2001). Some of the subject's characteristics - such as his
or her age and sex (Phillips and Brown 1998), ethnic group (Pearse
et al. 1998; St-Yves 2002), prior experiences with the judicial system
(Neubauer 1974; Softley 1980; Evans 1993; Leo 1996) and personality
(Gudjonnsson and Petursson 1991; Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson
1999; St-Yves 2002) - can also influence whether a subject makes a
confession or not. The nature and severity of the crime are also factors
that play an important role (Neubauer 1974; Moston et al. 1992).
This is particularly true when the crime is of a sexual crime nature
(Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson 2000; Holmberg and Christianson 2002;
St-Yves 2002, 2004b).
Until now, there have not been many studies of the factors
associated with the confessions made by sex offenders. Even the
confession rates are disputed. Some have suggested that sex offenders
confess more frequently than other types of criminal (Mitchell 1983;
Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson 2000), whereas others have observed
the contrary (Holmberg and Christianson 2002; St-Yves 2002).
107
This chapter analyzes the m ajor factors associated with confessions

and denials with regard to sex offenders. It presents a detailed portrait
of sex offenders who confess or deny their crimes and suggests some
strategies that may encourage confessions. It should be borne in mind
that confessions by sex offenders are im portant because confessions
are often the major, if not the only, evidence of guilt (St-Yves 2002,
2004b).
T h e fre q u e n c y o f con fe ssio n s m a de by sex o ffe n d e rs
In a study of 394 subjects who were not exclusively sex offenders,

M itchell (1983) found that sex offenders confessed m uch more often
to the police (89.3 per cent) than all other categories of suspect (52.5
per cent). Gudjonnsson (1992) explains this finding by the fact that
sex offenders may be less inclined to live w ith a strong sense of guilt,
which thus stim ulates their need to confess.
More recently, in a study in Iceland of 89 convicted subjects (of
which 59 were sex offenders), G udjonnsson and Sigurdsson (2000)
observed higher confession rates for child m olesters (83 per cent)
in com parison with rapists (61 per cent), but the rates were not
significantly higher than rates observed with other types of violent
offender. In an earlier study, N ugent and Kroner (1996) also observed
that child m olesters confess more frequently to the police. G udjonnsson
and Sigurdsson (2000) explained their results by suggesting that child
m olesters feel a stronger urge to confess than rapists or other types
of violent offender.
These British and Icelandic results seem to contradict those found in
Canadian research. In a recent study of 496 sex offenders sentenced to
a term of im prisonm ent of two years and more, St-Yves (2002) found
that the m ajority of the subjects (66.5 per cent) had not co-operated
with police officers at the time of their arrest, either by refusing to
answ er questions (41.2 per cent) or by denying the offence entirely
(22 per cent). O f those who made a self-incrim inating statem ent, 15.2
per cent m ade a partial confession and 18.3 per cent a statem ent
com parable with the one given by the victim. The confession rate
observed in this study (33.5 per cent) is m uch sm aller than those
rates observed by M itchell (1983) and Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson
(2000), as well as the rates found in recent studies that do not focus
exclusively on sex offenders, where the rate varies betw een 42 and
65 per cent (M oston et al. 1992; Leo 1996; Cassell and Hayman 1998;
108
Confessions by sex offenders
Pearse et al. 1998; Phillips and Brown 1998; Clarke and M ilne 2001;
St-Yves and Lavallee 2002).
Nevertheless, in line w ith the Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson study
(2000), we found that child m olesters, particularly hom osexual
paedophiles, collaborated more frequently with the police than
rapists. Child m olesters, who may have an underlying sense of guilt
and an introverted personality profile, had a confession rate of 71.8
per cent which com es close to percentages obtained by Gudjonnsson
and Sigurdsson (2000).
The low rates of confession obtained in the St-Yves (2002) study
may be explained in several ways. First and forem ost, the social
significance of the crime may be sufficient to inhibit a confession:
the subjects in the study had com m itted a crim e serious enough
to be sentenced to a term of im prisonm ent. The seriousness of the
offence may also be a significant factor. In general, sexual crim es are
judged more severely by the public than other types of crim es, even
when the latter are, objectively, more serious. Finally, proof of such a
crime is often difficult to establish, especially crimes involving young
children. These factors could explain w hy the num ber of confessions
increases dram atically once an offender is sentenced. Indeed, the
confession rate for sentenced offenders varies betw een 70 per cent
(for rapists) and 98.7 per cent (for child m olesters) (St-Yves 2002).
A factor in a study carried out by H olmberg and Christianson (2002)
could explain the reason why confession rates by sex offenders are
som etim es lower than all other types of crim inal, including those who
have com m itted more serious crimes. In an exploratory study aimed
at com paring the perception of 43 murderers and 40 sex offenders
regarding their interrogation by the police and their tendency to
confess or deny their crim es, Holm berg and Christianson (2002)
observed that the sex offenders were less likely than the murderers
to confess their crimes to the police. The percentages obtained were
28 per cent for the sex offenders and 49 per cent for the murderers.
To explain these results, the authors suggest that murderers often
regard their treatm ent by the police as being hum ane, whereas sex
offenders find this a hum iliating experience that inhibits them from
confessing.
W hilst it m ay be im possible to explain w hy these results are so
different, som e factors may account for the disparities in the results.
For exam ple, the M itchell study was undertaken more than 20 years
ago when the judicial and cultural framew'ork was different from the
four recent studies and the m ethodology em ployed also differed.
109
F a c to rs associa te d w ith con fe ssion s
Certain characteristics of the suspect, the type of crime and the context
of the interview should allow us to predict w hether the suspect will
confess or not (Moston et al. 1992). To evaluate the im pact of the
chracteristics, this section exam ines such factors as m odus operandi,
the sex of the victim , the link betw een the offender and victim , the
offender's m arital status, his or her sense of guilt and IQ, and the
investigator's attitude towards the offender.
Characteristics o f the crime
Sex offenders who used physical violence are less likely to confess
than those who did not use violence (St-Yves 2002). This finding
agrees with the work of N eubauer (1974) and M itchell (1983),
who established that suspects interrogated for violent crimes were
less likely to confess than those interrogated for crim es against
property. The significance of the crim e, therefore, seem s to influence
considerably the decision w hether or not to confess. It seems
reasonable to conclude that, the more violent the crim e, the more
suspects are afraid of the harshness of the sentence and, therefore,
the more they are likely to deny their guilt. Studies by M oston and
his colleagues, for exam ple, have show n that, the more serious the
crim e, the more suspects tend to use their right to remain silent and
to dem and the help of an attorney (M oston et al. 1992; Stephenson
and M oston 1994). Eysenck and Gudjonnsson (1989) also suggest
that, the more serious the crim e, the more harsh will be the sentence
and, therefore, the probability of obtaining a confession is slim (an
exception to this finding is the study by Holmberg and Christianson
2002). H olm berg and Christianson found that the confession rate of
murderers was twice that of sex offenders. This shows, therefore, that
the severity of the crim e does not solely account for differences in
confession rates.
In a recent study, Beauregard et al. (2005) observed that angry
sexual murderers confess more frequently to the police than sadistic
sexual m urderers (61.6 per cent as against 33.3 per cent, respectively).
Once sentenced, at the time of their induction to prison, all anger
murderers (100 per cent) had admitted their crim e, com pared with
81.3 per cent of sadistic murderers. Beauregard and his colleagues
believe these differences are due in part to the offenders' personalities
and to the severity of the crime. Having realized the seriousness of
their action, angry m urderers m ight be burdened by rem orse and
would therefore be more likely to confess their crimes to the police.
This was not the case with sadistic m urderers. Furtherm ore, subjects
motivated by anger m ight have acted impulsively, often under the
influence of intoxicating substances (m inim izing factors), whereas
the sadistic m urderers often prem editate their crimes (aggravating
factors).
M od us opera ndi
In our study of police interview s with sex offenders, we explored

certain aspects of the offenders' modus operandi to ascertain if these
could predict confession or denial. Even with an aggravating factor
that will increase the harshness of the sanction, we did not find any
significant link betw een the level of the prem editation of the crime
and the fact that a suspect confesses or not to the police. This was
also the case for the use of a weapon and the type of sexual act (coital
versus non-coital) com m itted. Finally, believing that this could have
been used by the offender to m inim ize his criminal responsibility, we
explored, in vain, alcohol or drug consum ption in the hours prior to
the offence (St-Yves 2002).
The sex o f the victim
The vast majority of victim s of sexual crim es are fem ale (Hanson
1991; Hilton 1993; St-Yves and Pellerin 2002) - about three out of
four victim s, according to Correctional Services of Canada statistics
(St-Yves et al. 1999). In the study we conducted on the interrogation
of sex offenders, offenders against m ale victim s confessed more often
to police officers than offenders against female victims (St-Yves 2002).
This could be explained by the fact that heterosexual offenders use
coercive violent m eans more often than hom osexual paedophiles
(Proulx et al. 1999) and that, as m entioned before, the more violent
the crim e, the less likely the suspect will confess. This link betw een
the sex of the victim and the confession rate could also be explained
by the victim 's age. In this study, all the male victim s were minors.
As many have observed, child m olesters confess more readily to
the police than rapists (N ugent and Kroner 1996; Gudjonnsson and
Sigurdsson 2000; St-Yves 2002).
Links between the offender and victim
G udjonnsson and Sigurdsson (2000) observed that child m olesters

offend m ost frequently in their im m ediate surroundings, w hereas
rapists' targets are usually acquaintances. In a study conducted at
the Correctional Services of Canada, we observed that, above all,

the heterosexual paedophiles tended to offend in their im mediate
surroundings (St-Yves et al. 1999).
In this study we wanted to ascertain if the link betw een the
offender and the victim had an im pact on rates of confession. In
other words, do sex offenders who have an intim ate link with their
victim s confess at the sam e rate as those who have no link w ith their
victim s? We did not know whether this link would facilitate (i.e. more
em otions are involved if the victim is close to the offender), or inhibit
(i.e. em otional detachm ent if the victim is a stranger) a confession.
Contrary to expectations, sex offenders who have an intim ate link
with their victims do not confess to the police more than those who
have sexually assaulted a stranger (St-Yves 2002).
C h a ra c te ris tic s o f th e su sp e ct
Age
M ost authors agree that the older the offender is, the less likely he
is to confess his crime to the police (Leiken 1970; N eubauer 1974;
Baldwin and M cConville 1980; Softley 1980; M itchell 1983; Richardson
et al. 1995; Pearse et al. 1998; Phillips and Brown 1998). However,
we did not observe this with sex offenders (St-Yves 2002). It should
be added, however, that the subjects in our study were on average
40 years old, which is much older than the prison population as a
whole (average age 32 years old) (St-Yves et al. 1999; Correctional
Service of Canada 2001).
Ethnic group
M any authors have observed that white people confess more

frequently than people of other races. Confession rates for white
subjects vary betw een 58 and 62 per cent, com pared w ith 4 4 -4 9 per
cent for other races (Pearse et al. 1998; Phillips and Brown 1998).
This variation seems even more pronounced for sex crimes. St-Yves
(2002) observed that w hite subjects were five times more likely (35
per cent com pared w ith 7 per cent) to confess their crimes to the
police authorities than sex offenders from other ethnic backgrounds.
Could this be related to the fact that the vast m ajority of police
officers in Quebec are w hite? It is also possible that som e non-w hite
sex offenders are, by culture or religion, less inclined to confess to a
sex crime.
M a rita l status
St-Yves (2002) found that single men are more likely to confess than
married m en (38 per cent com pared with 24 per cent, respectively). A
partner seem s to be an inhibiting factor, possibly because crim es of a
sexual nature can jeopardize a relationship. As noted by G udjonnsson
(1992), am ongst the factors that inhibit a confession are concerns
regarding hurting the fam ily and relatives or the fear of being
rejected. Single men would obviously be less concerned by this.
Crim inal background
U nlike many authors, St-Yves (2002) did not observe any link betw een
previous offending and confession rates. This was also observed by
Leiken (1970), Zander (1979) and Phillips and Brown (1998), who
found that previous offending had no influence on the incidence of
confession, even when a distinction is m ade betw een sex crim es and
non-sex crimes.
Intelligence
St-Yves et al. (1999) found that sex offenders tended not to be very
well educated and that, in 55.7 per cent of cases, the offenders were
considered to be of below -average intelligence. Using the same
sample of sex offenders, Guay (2001) observed that the intellectual
level of sex offenders sentenced to a term of im prisonm ent is largely
below that of the general population. In a more recent study, St-Yves
(2002) found that, the higher the IQ of sex offenders, the more likely
they are to confess during a police interrogation. The global average
IQ 2 for people who confessed is 85.2 per cent compared with 80.6 per
cent (the difference is m arginally significant) for those who did not
confess. This difference becom es significant when we com pare the
two groups for their verbal IQ (86.4 per cent com pared with 79.6 per
cent, respectively). This difference m ay be explained by the fact that,
the more intelligent or educated the subject, the more he understands
that collaboration can help to explain or justify his actions. They
perhaps also know that a co-operative attitude m ay be beneficial
when sentenced (Cusson 1998). Subjects who have a lower IQ may
prefer to remain quiet and to be represented by an attorney.
Sense o f guilt
Subjects who report a sense of guilt (including remorse) about their

offences are more inclined to confess than those who do not report
such feelings (Gudjonnsson and Petursson 1991). St-Yves (2002)

observed that alm ost half the sex offenders studied (47.8 per cent)
who confessed their crime during the police interrogation m ention
a sense of guilt, com pared with 32.5 per cent of those who did not
confess. As m entioned by m any authors, a sense of guilt seems to
stim ulate the need to confess (Horow itz 1956; Reik 1959; G udjonnsson
1992, 1999). However, Gudjonnsson (1992) m entions that the shame
associated with a crime can be sufficient to inhibit a confession, even
though remorse is present. This could explain the results of the study
by Holmberg and Christianson (2002), who found that sex offenders
confessed less frequently than murderers because they felt hum iliated
during the police interrogation.
T h e a ttitu d e s o f th e in v e s tig a to r
It is im portant to establish at the outset an em pathetic relationship

w ith the sex offender to encourage him to talk about his vulnerability,
suffering and pow erlessness (Langfeldt 1993). Holm berg (1996) noted
that sex offenders who confessed describe the conversation they had
w ith the police as being a very hum ane experience, full of empathy.
However, those who denied their crim e described the police interview
as being oppressive and confrontational.
Holm berg and Christianson (2002) observed that sex offenders
were alm ost twice as likely to deny their crime than were murderers.
Alm ost half the sex offenders (43 per cent) considered the interview er
as being im patient, com pared with one out of four m urderers. One
out of three sex offenders were aggressive during the interrogation,
com pared with 12 per cent of murderers. The authors, to a great
part, attributed this to the attitude of the interview ers. Subjects
who found the police officer's attitude hum ane are more inclined to
confess, com pared with those who found the police officer's attitude
dom ineering. Confession rates are three times higher for those who
found the investigator's approach humane.
The conclusions of Holm berg and Christianson (2002) are
com patible with those of many other researchers and confirm that
the interview er's attitude is a key factor w hen interview ing suspects
(Shepherd 1991; W illiam son 1993; Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson 1999;
Milne and Bull 1999; St-Yves et al. 2004).
114
T h e p e rs o n a lity p ro file o f th e o ffe n d e r w h o confesses
The study we conducted at the Correctional Services of Canada

allowed us to identify three sex-offender profiles that may have a
bearing on their attitude towards confession (St-Yves 2002). The
first group, described as 'subm issive collaborators', confessed the
m ost readily during police interrogations. The second group, called
'reluctant collaborators', rarely confessed their crimes during the
interrogation, even after being sentenced. The third group, the
'dorm ant collaborators', alm ost never co-operated with the police
authorities but, once convicted, they admitted their crim es in the
same proportion as the subm issive collaborators.
The submissive collaborator
W ithin this group m ost sex offenders, for the m ajor part (71.8 per
cent) (complete disclosure in 39.7 per cent of cases), confessed during
police interrogations. Only one subject out of five (20.5 per cent)
refused to talk a n d /o r to ask to speak to an attorney. These subjects
sexually assaulted a m inor (93.6 per cent) and dem onstrated a sense
of guilt after com m itting their crimes (78.2 per cent). Subm issive
collaborators have a dependency personality profile, as measured
by the M illon Clinical M ultiaxial Inventory (M CMI). They also
rated highly on this personality scale as being dependent, avoidant,
schizoid and schizotypic. Once convicted, alm ost all (98.7 per cent)
subm issive collaborators admitted having com m itted the crimes for
which they were found guilty. The majority of these subjects (61.5
per cent) made com plete confessions. They are also the ones who
recognize m ost often the negative consequences of their crimes for
the victim (60.3 per cent) and their responsibility for their crimes
(94.9 per cent). Two thirds (64.1 per cent) of subm issive collaborators
recognized that they had a sexual disorder.
The reluctant collaborator
These individuals alm ost never co-operated with the police authorities
(17.8 per cent). M ost refused to talk a n d /o r to ask to speak to an
attorney (47.8 per cent) or they denied everything (27.8 per cent).
W hen these subjects co-operated, only 6.7 per cent made a com plete
confession. These reluctant collaborators are alm ost all rapists (91.1
per cent) who rarely dem onstrated a sense of guilt (30 per cent).
Compared with the subm issive collaborators, they tend to have a
115
narcissistic personality disorder. Reluctant collaborators also score

more highly on personality scales as being histrionic and anti-social
than subm issive collaborators. Once convicted, reluctant collaborators
often m ade a confession (70 per cent), but not many recognized the
negative consequences of their actions (31.1 per cent), and their
responsibility for their crim es (63.3 per cent). Few recognized they
had a sexual disorder (25.6 per cent).
The dorm ant collaborator
These offenders rarely confess on their arrest (13.3 per cent). Only
10 per cent of those who co-operate made a com plete confession.
M ost refused to talk (70 per cent) or denied everything (15 per cent).
Dorm ant collaborators have offended against a m inor (100 per cent)
but, unlike the subm issive collaborators, few dem onstrated a sense of
guilt for their crimes (20 per cent). Their personality profile is sim ilar
to that of reluctant collaborators. It was in this group that we found
the m ost narcissistic personalities, according to M CM I. They are also
the subjects who scored m ost highly as being histrionic and anti-social.
O nce convicted, dorm ant collaborators admitted their crim es in a
proportion com parable (93.3 per cent) w ith subm issive collaborators.
M ost recognized their responsibility for their crim es (88.3 per cent),
one out of two (48.3 per cent) recognized the negative consequences
of their actions for their victim s and a little more than a half (56.7
per cent) admitted having a sexual disorder. These percentages lie in-
betw een the ones we found for subm issive collaborators and reluctant
collaborators.
The grouping analysis (cluster X-m eans) we conducted in this
study allowed us to identify three sex-offender profiles, each reacting
differently during police interview s. The two groups of non-co
operative subjects (reluctant collaborators and dorm ant collaborators)
differed m ostly by the age of their victim s. One w as a paedophile, the
other a rapist. These non-co-operative subjects scored the m ost highly
on personality scales as being extroverted, narcissistic, histrionic
and anti-social. This supports the observations of G udjonnsson and
Petursson (1991), who established that extroverted individuals are
stronger during police interrogations. The co-operative subjects (the
subm issive collaborators) differed from the non-co-operative subjects
by their sense of guilt and by their personality profile, which is
m ore inclined to be introverted, dependent, avoidant, schizoid and
schizotypic. Once convicted, dorm ant collaborators confessed their
crimes in proportions com parable with subm issive collaborators,
whereas reluctant collaborators tended to continue to deny their

guilt.
P ro m o tin g confessions
Even though some factors related to the crime seem to be associated

with confession rates, especially the level of violence and the age of
the victim (paedophile versus rapist), it seems that it is the subject's
personal characteristics that most have the most influence on whether
a subject confesses.
As shown in many studies, sex offenders who have an introverted
personality profile are more likely to confess than the extroverted
offenders because they are more inclined to have remorse and to
feel the need to confess. They also have a greater tendency to be
anxious and give up easily when pressurized during an interrogation
(Gudjonnsson and Petursson 1991; Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson
1999; St-Yves 2002). Eysenck and Gudjonnsson (1989) also noted that
introverted subjects are more inclined than extroverted subjects to
live with a sense of guilt. This could explain why they experience so
much anxiety when they deny or lie, and why they often feel relieved
after confessing. Even if a subject is likely to confess, Gudjonnsson
(1992) suggests that the shame linked to the crime, especially if it
is a sexual crime, can be enough to inhibit a confession. Holmberg
and Christianson (2002) observed exactly the same phenomenon. A
sense of shame could explain why many offenders have a tendency
to be reluctant to give a version of the events that conforms to the
one given by the victim (Salter 1988; Birgisson 1996). They probably
compromise by making a partial and limited confession, which
satisfies their need to confess whilst, at the same time, minimizing
their feelings of shame when they describe the offence (Gudjortnsson
2003: 154).
To prevent these inhibitors (shame and humiliation) from hindering
the confession process, we must first alleviate internal pressures
(culpability, the need to confess) so that an offender is able to confess
in full. Sex offenders who do not confess differ from co-operative
subjects by an absence of guilt and by their extroverted personality
profile (Gudjonnsson and Petursson 1991; Gudjonnsson and
Sigurdsson 1999; St-Yves 2002). Even though anti-social personality
types are generally not co-operative during police interrogations
(Gudjonnsson and Petursson 1991), it is the narcissistic who resist the
117
most. It is also the rapists who are the most resistant, and it is the
rapists who are most often diagnosed as being psychopaths, above
all if they are polymorphic (paedophiles and rapists) sex offenders
(Porter et al. 2000).
Since extroverted sex offenders experience few emotions concerning
their crimes, they have a greater tendency to give in to external
pressures (persuasive police interrogation techniques, the attitudes
of the investigator, fear of confinement). Since these individuals do
not usually live with remorse and do not feel the need to confess,
the investigator has to rely on the quality of the evidence and
on interrogation techniques to obtain a confession. According to
Gudjonnsson and Sigurdsson (2000), rapists are more sensitive to the
strength of the evidence than child molesters.
In short, the major obstacle to a confession is the offender's
personality profile. For sex offenders who have an introverted profile,
it seems that loss of self-esteem, shame and humiliation are the most
pronounced inhibiting factors, whereas for extroverted offenders it is
the personal consequences regarding their image and reputation. For
introverts, confession is a private matter whereas, for extroverts, it is
more of a public affair.
C o n c lu s io n
Until now, the research has encouraged us to believe that sex

offenders confess less often to the police than most other types
of criminals. One out of three sex offenders confess their crimes
to the police during the interrogation, at least in the Province of
Quebec. The typical portrait of the sex offender who confesses is a
single white male with a minor victim, who used no or almost no,
violence towards his victim, who expressed remorse and who has an
introverted personality profile (St-Yves 2002).
The rare incidence of confessions by sex offenders seems to be
closely linked to two major factors: 1) the personal consequences
(shame, humiliation) and 2) the attitude of the investigator. The
perpetrators of sexual crimes seem to be more sensitive to the personal
consequences than other types of criminal. For those sex offenders
who have an introverted personality profile, confession seems to
be a personal affair (self-esteem, integrity) whereas, for extroverts,
confession seems to be a public affair (image, reputation). We
have to remove these inhibiting factors if we are to obtain a
confession.
T h e in v e stig a to r's attitu d e is v ery im p o rtan t b eca u se it is closely

linked to the p erso n al co n seq u en ces. E ven if it is true th at sexu al
crim es are, w ith o u t d ou b t, the crim es th at raise the m o st p u blic
ou trag e, the in v estig a to r has to a d o p t a facilitatin g attitu d e tow ard s
the o ffen d ers. H e or she h a s to d o e v ery th in g he or she can to p rev en t
the p erso n al co n seq u en ces from h in d erin g the co n fessio n p ro cess.
T he p erson al co n seq u en ces m u st n ot b eco m e an in h ib itin g factor. T he
b est strategy, th erefore, rem ain s a h u m a n e ap p roach .
N o te s
1. This chapter is an English adaptation of 'L'aveu chez les auteurs de crimes

sexuels' (St-Yves 2004a).
2. IQ was meseared via a computerized aptitude test called TAI (Test
d'Aptitude Informatisee), an intelligence test validated on a French
Canadian population. The IQ test was given at the Regional reception
centre (RRC) via computer. The RRC's main function is to evaluate
federal inmates so that they can be directed, according to their needs in
matters of security and institutional programmes, to the most appropriate
prisons.
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122
C h a p te r 7
The psychology of interrogations

and confessions
Gisli H. Gudjonsson
In tro d u c tio n
'Investigative interviews' are an important form of evidence gathering.

The main objective is to obtain information that is detailed, complete,
comprehensible, valid (in legal settings the words 'safe' and 'reliable'
are commonly used to describe validity) and relevant to the legal
issues in the case that need to be established and proved. There are
a number of governmental and local agencies that are involved in
conducting investigative interviews, including the police, customs
and excise, the military, and the security services. The focus in this
chapter is on investigative interviews in relation to suspects for the
purpose of potential prosecution. Here confessions are often crucial
in securing a conviction. It is therefore not surprising that police
interviewers have traditionally focused on obtaining confessions
rather than merely gathering information. In this chapter I discuss
the nature of confessions in the area of criminal justice, review the
relevant theories and empirical evidence, and show how interrogation
can go wrong in terms of producing false confessions.
In te rro g a tio n
The term 'interrogation' is principally used in the literature and

in police practice to refer to the questioning of criminal suspects,
typically involving a confrontation, whereas the term 'interviewing'
is more commonly used in cases of witnesses and victims. The term
123
'investigative interviewing' has been proposed to cover both the

interviewing of witnesses and suspects (Williamson 1993). However,
for the purpose of this chapter we shall use the term 'interrogation'
as we are specifically discussing the questioning of suspects.
Traditionally, interrogation has focused primarily on obtaining a
confession, whereas during the early 1990s, particularly in England,
the focus shifted somewhat towards general evidence gathering of
'reliable' information with less emphasis on obtaining confessions per
se (Williamson 1993).
Police training manuals
The purpose of this section is to discuss briefly the tactics and

techniques advocated by practical interrogation manuals. Nearly
all published interrogation manuals originate in the USA (Leo
1992, 1994). However, in 1992 a new approach to interrogation was
developed and implemented in England, which was developed
through the collaboration between police officers, psychologists and
lawyers (Williamson 1994; see also Chapter 8, this volume). The
mnemonic 'PEACE' was used to describe the five distinct parts of
the new interview approach ('Preparation and Planning', 'Engage
and Explain', 'A ccount', 'Closure' and 'Evaluate'). An important
theory behind this new interview approach, particularly in cases of
witnesses, victims and co-operative suspects, is the work of Fisher
and Geiselman (1992) into the 'cognitive interview.' There is some
evidence for the validity of this new approach to interviewing (Clarke
and Milne 2001).
However, traditionally, practical interrogation manuals are based
on the experience of interrogators and offer techniques aimed at
breaking down suspects' resistance. The main assumptions made in
police training manuals are that many criminal cases can only be
solved by obtaining a confession and unless offenders are caught in
the commission of a crime they will be reluctant to confess and need
to be interrogated using persuasive techniques comprising trickery,
deceit and psychological manipulation. The main process involved is
breaking down denials and resistance, whilst increasing the suspect's
desire to confess (e.g. Inbau et al. 2001).
Persuasion in the context of interrogation is the process of
convincing suspects that their best interests are served by their making
a confession (Leo 1994). In order to achieve this objective the police
may engage in a range of deception strategies (e.g. exaggerating
the evidence against the suspect or presenting the suspect with
124
The psychology of interrogations and confessions
false evidence of guilt, misrepresenting the nature or seriousness

of the offence, presenting suspects with scenarios that make them
unwittingly incriminate themselves).
The authors of most police interrogation manuals ignore the
possibility that their recommended techniques could, in certain
instances, make a suspect confess to a crime that he or she had not
committed. Zimbardo (1967) argued, on the basis of his early review of
American police training manuals, that the techniques recommended
were psychologically 'coercive' and an infringement of the suspect's
dignity and fundamental rights. This was an important recognition
that psychological manipulation and deceptive interrogation
techniques have the potential to cause false confessions to occur.
Gudjonnsson (1992) illustrated by research evidence and case studies
the risk of false confessions occurring during custodial interrogation.
Subsequently American scientists have written extensively about the
potential dangers of coercive interrogation techniques.1
Inbau et al. (2001) recommend that prior to the interrogation
proper suspects should be interviewed informally, preferably in a
non-custodial setting where they do not have to be informed of their
rights. This is a non-accusatory interview the purpose of which is
for the investigator to establish rapport and trust, trick the suspect
into a false sense of security, gather detailed information about the
suspect and his or her background, ascertaining by observations of
verbal and non-verbal signs whether or not the suspect is guilty,
and offering the suspect the opportunity of telling the truth without
confrontation. If after this interview the investigator is 'definite or
reasonably certain' about the suspect's guilt then the interrogation
proper commences, using the 'Reid Technique'. This is a highly
confrontational and accusatory process of interrogation and consists
of a nine-step approach aimed at breaking down resistance (Kassin
and Gudjonnsson, 2004).
There is a serious problem with interrogators relying on behavioural
indicators and other similarly weak indictors of deception (e.g.
hunches, impressions) during the non-accusatory interview, because
police officers often make mistakes when they try to distinguish
between lies and truths in police interviews (Vrij 2004b).
The Reid Technique, which is extensively used by interrogators in
the USA (Inbau et al. 2001), involves the following nine steps:
Step 1: 'direct positive confrontation' involves the suspect being told

with 'absolute certainty' that he or she committed the alleged offence.
125
In cases where the interrogator has no evidence against the suspect

this should not be revealed and, if necessary, the interrogator should
pretend that there is evidence. The interrogator then tries to persuade
the suspect of the advantages of telling the truth (i.e. the truth as
assumed by the interrogator). After a while, with denials persisting,
the interrogator then proceeds to step 2.
Step 2: 'theme development.' Here the interrogator suggests various

'them es' to the suspect that are aimed either to minimize the moral
implications of the alleged crime or to give the suspect the opportunity
of accepting 'moral excuses' for the commission of the crime (i.e.
face-saving excuses). This allows the suspect to accept physical
responsibility for the crime whilst at the same time minimizing either
the seriousness of it or the internal blame for it. The themes selected
will depend on the case, but may include the following:
• Tell the suspect that anyone else in his or her position or

circumstance might have committed the same type of offence,
attempting to reduce the suspect's feelings of guilt for the offence
by minimizing its moral seriousness.
• Suggest to the suspect a morally acceptable reason for the offence,

using praise and flattery as a way of manipulating the suspect.
• Catch the suspect telling some incidental lie.
• Get the suspect somehow to associate him or herself with the

crime.
• Suggest there was a non-criminal intent behind the act (e.g. the
criminal act may have been accidental or committed in self-defence
rather than intentionally).
Step 3: 'handling denials.' Repeated denials are seen as placing the

suspects at a psychological advantage. The interrogator is advised
to stop them by persistently interrupting the suspects and telling
them to listen to what he or she has got to say. Inbau et al. (2001)
recommend the use of the 'friendly-unfriendly' technique when the
attempts at sympathy and understanding have failed. This technique
involves two interrogators working together, one of whom is friendly
and sympathetic and the other being unfriendly and critical.
Step 4: 'overcoming objections' requires the interrogator to overcome

the objections that the suspect may give as an explanation or reason
126
for his or her innocence. It is argued that once the suspect feels
that the objections are not getting him or her anyw here he or she
begins to show signs of w ithdraw al from active participation in the
interrogation. The suspect is now thought to be at his or her lowest
point and the interrogator needs to act quickly in order not to lose
the psychological advantage he or she has gained.
Step 5: 'procurem ent and retention of suspect's attention.' W hen the

interrogator notices the suspect's passive signs of w ithdraw al he or
she should try to reduce the psychological distance betw een him or
herself and the suspect and to regain the suspect's full attention.
This is achieved by moving physically closer to the suspect, leaning
forward towards the suspect, touching the suspect gently, m entioning
the suspect's first name and m aintaining good eye contact with the
suspect. As a result of this ploy, a guilty suspect becom es more
attentive to the interrogator's suggestions.
Step 6: 'handling suspect's passive m ood' is a direct continuation of

step 5. W hen it looks like the suspect's resistance is about to break
down, the interrogator focuses the suspect's mind on a specific and
central theme concerning the reason for the offence. The interrogator
displays signs of understanding and sym pathy and urges the suspect
to tell the truth. The suspect is then placed in a more rem orseful mood
by having him or her becom e aware of the stress he or she is placing
upon the victim by not confessing. The interrogator appeals to the
suspect's sense of decency and honour, and religion if appropriate.
The m ain em phasis seem s to be to play upon the suspect's potential
weaknesses in order to break down his or her rem aining resistance.
A blank stare and com plete silence are an indication that the suspect
is ready for the alternatives in step 7.
Step 7: 'presenting an alternative question.' The suspect is presented

with two possible alternatives for the com m ission of the crime. Both
alternatives are highly incrim inating, but they are worded in such
a w ay that one alternative acts as a face-saving device whilst the
other im plies some repulsive or callous motivation. It represents
the culm ination of theme developm ent and, in addition to face-
saving, it provides an incentive to confess (i.e. if the suspect does
not accept the lesser alternative others may believe the w orst-case
scenario). This is the m ost im portant part of the Reid model and one
com m only seen in cases where suspects' resistance has been broken
down during interrogation. It is a coercive procedure where suspects
127
are pressured to choose between two incriminating alternatives when

neither may be applicable. This is a dangerous technique to apply,
particularly amongst suspects who are of below-average intelligence
(Gudjonnsson 2003a).
The psychological reasoning behind the alternative question is as
follows:
'A person is more likely to make a decision once he had

committed himself, in a small way, toward that decision. This
is precisely what the alternative question accomplishes during
an interrogation. It offers the guilty suspect the opportunity to
start telling the truth by making a single admission' (Inbau et
al. 2001: 353).
Step 8: 'having suspect orally relate various details of offence' operates

once the suspect has accepted one of the alternatives given to him or
her in step 7 and consequently providing a first self-incriminating
admission. In step 8 the initial admission is developed into a detailed
confession which provides details of the circumstances, motive and
nature of the criminal act.
Inbau et al. (2001) state that it is important at this point in the
interview for the interrogator to be alone with the suspect, because
the presence of another person may discourage the suspect from
talking openly about the offence. Once a full confession has been
obtained the interrogator asks somebody to witness the confession.
Step 9: 'converting an oral confession into a written confession' is

important because a signed confession is much stronger legally than
an oral one. Suspects can subsequently deny that they ever made an
oral confession, but it is much more difficult to challenge a written
confession that has the suspect's signature on it. Inbau and his co
authors warn that delaying taking a written statement may result in
the confessor having been able to reflect upon the legal consequences
of the confession and retracting it.
Kassin and McNall (1991) argue that the interrogation techniques

in the above nine-steps approach consist of two main strategies:
'm aximization' and 'm inimization'. The former strategy involves the
interrogator frightening the suspect into a confession by exaggerating
the strength of evidence against him or her and the seriousness of
the offence. The 'm inimization' strategy, by contrast, involves the
interrogator tricking the suspect into a false sense of security and
128
confession by offering sympathy, providing face-saving excuses,

partly blam ing the victim or circum stances for the alleged offence
and m inim izing the seriousness of the charges. Kassin and M cNall
(1991) provide convincing experim ental evidence to show som e of the
inherent dangers of these so-called 'subtle' interrogation approaches
on the perceptions of potential judges and jurors. These interrogation
approaches contain im plicit ('hidden') m essages that have im portant
conviction and sentencing im plications, generally against the interest
of the defendant. Kassin and M cN all's experim ents are im portant
because they show that the techniques advocated by Inbau and his
colleagues are inherently coercive in that they com m unicate im plicit
threats and prom ises to suspects. These experim ents raise serious
concerns about the use of 'm axim ization' and 'm inim ization' as
m ethods of interrogation and the confessions they produce should
be used cautiously as evidence in court.
G udjonnsson (2003a) has raised a num ber of ethical issues
with the Reid Technique, including the use of trickery, deceit and
dishonesty as a way of breaking dow n resistance. These measures
do on occasions result in a false confession, either because suspects
are made to believe that they have com mitted a crime of which they
have no previous recollection, or m erely because they are escaping
the pressure of the custodial environm ent.
The frequencies with which different m ethods of interrogation
are used or what effects they have on guilty and innocent suspects
are unknow n (Kassin and Gudjonnsson, 2004). A num ber of
researchers have conducted naturalistic studies of real-life police
interrogations (e.g. Irving 1980; M oston et al. 1992; Leo 1996, Pearse
and Gudjonnsson 1996; Medford et al. 2003). There is no research
evidence about the effectiveness and risks of a false confession
involving the Reid Technique but in the USA the techniques based
on the Reid approach to interrogation are particularly com m on (Leo
1996). In England m ost run-of-the-m ill interrogations are very short
(80 per cent of interview s are com pleted in less than half an hour) and
there is not m uch confrontation or pressure taking place (Pearse and
G udjonnsson 1996). However, in the more serious cases the dynamics
change considerably and Reid-like approaches are used to break
dow n resistance, often rendering confession evidence inadm issible at
trial (Pearse and Gudjonnsson 1999).
The interrogation o f terrorist suspects
Terrorist suspects in England who are detained under the Terrorism
129
Act 2000 are subject to special provisions (Home Office 2004),

which means that their detention can be extended to up to 14
days.
Following the terrorist attacks on the USA on 11 September 2001,
interrogation for the purpose of intelligence gathering has become
much more prominent (Mackey and Miller 2004; Rose 2004). Great
concerns have been raised about the treatment of prisoners by the
military and security service in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay
(Rose 2004). In the words of one experienced American military
interrogator: 'But one of the most crucial weapons in the war on
terrorism may be the abilities of a relative handful of soldiers and
spies trained in the dark art of getting enemy prisoners to talk'
(Mackey and Miller 2004: xxii). The same authors claim that 'Fear
is often an interrogator's best ally' (p. 8) and 'By the time of our
departure from the baking, arid plains of Bagram, we could boast
that virtually no prisoner went unbroken' (p. xxv). The rest of
Mackey and M iller's book describes in detail how psychological
manipulation and coercive techniques are used to break down the
resistance of terrorist suspects.
The techniques described in detail by Mackey and Miller of current
practice by the military are clearly highly coercive and oppressive
in nature and questions must be asked about the real value of
these techniques for obtaining reliable information for intelligence
gathering. It is likely that the occasional elicitation of apparently
useful information for intelligence gathering reinforces this approach
and serves as a justification for its use, irrespective of the amount of
irrelevant and unreliable information obtained.
C on fe ssion s
A major difficulty in comparing the confession rate amongst different

studies is that confessions are defined in different ways. In addition,
a distinction is not always drawn in the studies between 'admissions'
and 'confessions'. In its broadest sense a confession may be construed
as 'any statements which tend to incriminate a suspect or a defendant
in a crime' (Drizin and Leo 2004: 892), including denials, which
causes great confusion among researchers (Gudjonnsson 2003a). A
better operational definition, and a more correct legal definition, is
to use Black's Law Dictionary to distinguish between a 'confession'
and 'admission'. It defines a confession as 'a statement admitting
130
or acknowledging all facts necessary for conviction of a crime' and

an 'admission' as 'an acknowledgement of a fact or facts tending to
prove guilt which falls short of an acknowledgement of all essential
elements of the crime' (cited in Drizin and Leo 2004: 892).
Self-incriminating admissions, not amounting to the suspect
accepting responsibility for the crime and giving a detailed narrative
account of his or her actions, are not proper confessions. For example,
a suspect may admit to having been in the vicinity of the crime or
even claim to have witnessed it. Such admissions may be highly
incriminating, but they must be distinguished from confessions.
Even the comment 'I did it' without a detailed explanation should
be treated as an admission and not as a confession.
Theoretical models o f confessions
Confessing to a crime during custodial interrogation has potentially

serious consequences for the individual concerned. Generally, the
more serious the crime the more severe the consequences are going to
be. Offenders' self-esteem and integrity are often adversely affected,
their freedom and liberty are at risk, and there may be other penalties
(e.g. a financial penalty, a community service). In extreme cases the
death penalty may be imposed (Ofshe and Leo 1997a). In view of
this it is perhaps remarkable to find that a substantial proportion of
all suspects confess during custodial interrogation (i.e. in England
the confession rate has remained about 60 per cent for the past 25
years or more; see Gudjonnsson 2003a for a review). Why should
this be the case? A number of theoretical models are available to
explain why suspects confess to crimes that they have committed.
Theoretical models of confessions are important because they assist in
understanding why suspects confess to crimes they have committed
and because they generate hypotheses that can be tested empirically
by direct research.
Gudjonnsson (2003a) reviewed six models of confessions: the
'Reid m odel' (Jayne 1986); 'a decision-making model' (Flilgendorf
and Irving 1981); 'psychoanalytic models' (e.g. Reik 1959); 'an
interactional model' (Moston et al. 1992); 'a cognitive-behavioural
model' (Gudjonnsson 2003a); and the 'O fshe-Leo model' (Ofshe and
Leo 1997a).
Each model looks at confessions from a different perspective and,
taken together, the models provide an important insight into the
reasons why suspects tend to confess during custodial interrogation.
131
The Reid model o f confession
Jayne (1986) provides a model for understanding the process whereby

suspects' resistance and denial break down during interrogation. The
model builds upon the 'nine steps' of interrogation proposed by
Inbau et al. (1986).
Interrogation is conceptualized within the model as the
psychological undoing of deception. The focus is exclusively on
police-induced confessions where a confession follows a denial. It
is inherent in this model that most people are reluctant to confess,
because of the perceived deleterious consequences of making a
confession. This makes them motivated to deceive the interrogator.
According to the model, a suspect confesses when the perceived
consequences of a confession are more desirable than the anxiety
generated by the deception. The interrogator can manipulate the
perceived consequences and perceived anxiety associated with
denial. There are four essential criteria for changing the suspect's
expectancies and beliefs:
1. The credibility and perceived sincerity of the interrogator (i.e. the

building up of rapport and trust).
2. Understanding of the suspect's attitudes and identifying
weaknesses so that these can be used through subtle psychological
manipulation to break down resistance.
3. The suspect needs to accept the interrogator's suggestions, which

means that the more suggestible the suspect, the easier it is to
obtain a confession from him or her.
4. The interrogator must be vigilant as to whether or not the suspect
is accepting the theme suggested, whether the suspect needs more
anxiety enhancement, and if the timing of the presentation of an
alternative is right.
Persuasion is essential to this process and is viewed as a dynamic

process that needs to be regulated according to the strengths and
weaknesses of the suspect. According to Jayne (1986), it is particularly
difficult to elicit a confession from suspects with high tolerance for
anxiety and guilt manipulation. There are a number of manipulative
ploys that can be used by interrogators to reduce the perceived
consequences of confessing during interrogation. This is mainly
achieved by presenting the suspect with themes that increase self-
deception, cognitive distortion and self-justification ('minimization'),
132
whilst increasing perceived anxiety about persisting with denials, for

example by emphasizing or exaggerating the evidence against the
suspect ('maximization').
The model predicts that the effectiveness of the interrogation will
depend on the extent to which the interrogator is able to identify the
suspect's vulnerabilities, exploiting them to alter the suspect's belief
system and perceptions of the consequences of making admissions,
and persuading him or her to accept the interrogator's version of
the 'truth'. This is a potentially powerful way of breaking down
resistance during interrogation. According to Inbau et al. (2001), it
results in an 80 per cent success rate, although the authors provide
no objective evidence for this claim.
A decision-making model o f confession
The focus of this model is on the decision-making of suspects

during custodial interrogation (Hilgendorf and Irving 1981). The
model was developed by Hilgendorf and Irving after they had been
commissioned by the Royal Commission on Criminal Procedure
to provide a comprehensive review of the interrogation process
(Hilgendorf and Irving, 1981). Hilgendorf and Irving argue that one
of the main advantages of their model is that it is 'closely linked to
the legal concepts of voluntariness and oppression' (p. 81).
The basic premise of the model is that, during interrogation,
suspects become engaged in a demanding decision-making process.
Some of the basic decisions that the suspect has to make include:
• whether to speak or remain silent;

• whether to make self-incriminating admissions or not;
• whether to tell the truth or not;
• whether to tell the whole truth or only part of the truth; and
• how to answer the questions asked by the police interrogator.
Hilgendorf and Irving argue that decisions are determined by the

following:
• Perceptions of the courses of action available to the suspect.

• Perceptions of the 'subjective' probabilities of the likely occurrence
of various consequences attached to these courses of action.
• The utility values or gains attached to these courses of action.
Suspects have to consider the kind of different options there are

available to them and then evaluate the likely consequences attached
133
to these various options. For example, if they confess are they likely
to be charged with the offence? If they insist on their innocence is the
interrogation likely to continue and their detention prolonged?
The decision-making of the suspect is determined by the subjective
probabilities of occurrence of the perceived consequences. In other
words, it is what the suspect believes at the time to be the likely
consequences that influence his or her behaviour rather than the
objective reality of the situation. For example, an innocent suspect
may confess under the misguided belief that since he or she is
innocent no court will bring in a guilty verdict and that the truth
will eventually come out (Gudjonnsson 2003a).
The suspect has to balance the potential consequences against
the perceived value ('utilities') of choosing a particular course of
action. For example, would a confession inevitably lead to cessation
of interrogation and would the suspect be allowed to go home?
Hilgendorf and Irving argue that threats and inducements can
markedly influence the decision of the suspect to confess because
of the perceived power the police have over the situation and the
apparent credibility of their words.
Hilgendorf and Irving postulate that there are a number of social,
psychological and environmental factors that can influence the suspect's
decision-making during police interrogation. On occasions these
factors can undermine the reliability of the suspect's confession when
police interrogators:
• manipulate the social and self-approval utilities during interrogation

in order to influence the decision-making of the suspect;
• manipulate the suspect's perceptions of the likely outcome
concerning a given course of action (e.g. by minimizing the
seriousness of the alleged offence and by altering perceptions of
the 'cost' associated with denial, resistance and deception); or
• impair the suspect's ability to cope with effective decision-making
by increasing anxiety, fear and compliance.
Psychoanalytic models o f confession
Psychoanalytic models (e.g. Reik 1959; Berggren 1975; Rogge 1975)

rest upon the assumption that the feelings of remorse and the need
to elevate it are the fundamental causes of confessions. Reik (1959)
provides a detailed formulation and argues that the unconscious
compulsion to confess plays an important part in religion, myths,
134
art, language and other social activities, including crime. Reik relies
heavily on Freud's concepts of the id, ego and superego where a
confession is seen as 'an attempt at reconciliation that the superego
undertakes in order to settle the quarrel between the ego and the
id' (p. 216). The superego is seen to play an important role in the
need of the individual to confess. A punitive superego may result
in the development of a strong feeling of guilt and need for self
punishment. This may result in a 'compulsion' to confess, and on
occasion false confession.
Within this model, the development of the feeling of guilt after
transgression and the unconscious need for self-punishment are seen
as universal. It is only after the person has confessed that the ego
begins to accept the emotional significance of the deed. A confession
serves the function of relieving the person from the feeling of guilt
and is therefore inherently therapeutic. A similar argument is put
forward by Berggren (1975) who argues that a confession produces a
sense of relief with cathartic effects. For a satisfactory cathartic effect
to occur the confession has to be to a person in authority, such as a
priest or police officer.
Rogge (1975), like Reik and Berggren, argues that confessions are
based on feelings of guilt. He suggests that feelings of guilt are made
up of two components, fear of losing love and fear of retaliation.
An interaction process model o f confession
Moston et al. (1992) developed a model that helps us explain how

the background of a suspect and case characteristics influence the
interrogator's style of questioning, which in turn affects the suspect's
behaviour and the outcome of the interview. The model postulates
that the suspect's initial response to an allegation, irrespective of his
or her involvement in the crime under investigation, is influenced by
the interaction of three main groups of factors:
1. The background characteristics of the suspect and the offence (e.g.

type of offence, the severity of the offence, age and sex of suspect
and the suspect's personality).
2. The contextual characteristics of the case (e.g. legal advice, the

strength of the police evidence). A distinction is drawn between
the suspect's initial reaction to the accusation and his or her
subsequent responses.
3. The interview er's questioning technique.
135
The main strength of the model is its em phasis on looking at the

interaction of variables, rather than view ing each of them in isolation.
The outcom e of the interview is dependent upon an interaction
process of a num ber of factors. One im portant im plication of the
model is that background characteristics of the suspect and the case,
in conjunction with contextual factors, influence the interrogator's
beliefs, attitudes and style of questioning, which in turn influences the
suspect's behaviour. In recent years there has been a growing interest
in the influence of the personality and attitude of the interrogator
and how these im pact on the interview process and outcom e
(Gudjonnsson 2002). In addition, case characteristics may strongly
influence the behaviour of both the suspect and the interrogator. The
m ain lim itation of the model is that it does not focus on the mental
state and cognitive processes of the suspect.
A cognitive-behavioural m odel o f confession
This model was first described by Gudjonnsson (1989) and expanded in

The Psychology o f Interrogations, Confessions and Testimony (Gudjonnsson
1992). It incorporates the essential com ponents of the other models.
W ithin this model confessions are best construed as arising through
the existence of a particular relationship betw een the suspect, the
environm ent and significant others within that environm ent. In order
to understand that relationship it is im portant to look closely at the
antecedents and the consequences of confessing behaviour within the
fram ew ork of behavioural analysis:
• Antecedents refers to events that occur prior to interrogation. These

are the factors that may trigger or facilitate a confession. A large
num ber of different factors may be relevant, such as state of
shock, fatigue, illness, deprivation of food and sleep, stress, social
isolation, feelings of guilt and bereavem ent.
• There are tw7o main types of consequence, 'im m ediate' (or 'short
term ') and 'long-term ' consequences. The im m ediate or short
term consequences occur within m inutes or hours of the suspect
confessing to the alleged crime. The long-term consequences take
place w ithin days, weeks or years of the suspect confessing. The
types of consequence, w hether im m ediate or delayed, depend on
the nature and circum stances of the case and the psychological
characteristics of the individual concerned.
136
Antecedents and consequences are construed in terms of social (e.g.

isolation from one's family and friends, the nature of the interrogation),
emotional (e.g. uncertainty and distress associated with the arrest and
confinement, feelings of guilt and shame), cognitive (i.e. the suspect's
thoughts, interpretations, assumptions and perceived strategies of
responding to a given situation), situational (e.g. the circumstances of
arrest, length and nature of the confinement) and physiological (e.g.
physical pain, headaches, increased heart rate, blood pressure, rate
and irregularity of respiration, and perspiration) events.
The O fshe -Le o model
Based on their work into disputed and false confessions, Ofshe and
Leo (1997a, 1997b) developed a classification of confessions, which
they believe apply equally to true and false confessions. There are five
levels of confession (voluntary, stress-compliant, coerced-compliant,
non-coerced-persuaded and coerced-persuaded), categorized into
two groups (true or false). Each type of confession can be either
true or false, depending on the circumstances of the individual case,
which means that there are 10 possible outcome scenarios. The focus
of this model is very much on the interrogation process itself (i.e.
what the police say and do) and a psychological description of the
type of confession elicited. The model postulates that confessions
are chiefly elicited due to police pressure or legally defined coercion
and individual differences and interactive processes are of relatively
minor importance. This model appears to be particularly relevant to
coerced confessions (i.e. where the police have made threats or offered
inducements) irrespective of the guilt or innocence of the suspect.
Comments on the models
There are some overlaps between the different models, although each
makes different assumptions about why suspects confess to the police
during questioning. For example:
• The undoing of deception.

• The outcome of a decision-making process.
• Feelings of remorse.
• Interactions between the background and the characteristics of the
suspect, the nature of the case and contextual factors.
137
• The nature of the relationship betw een the suspect, the environm ent
and significant others within that environm ent.
• Interrogative pressure and coercion.
Taken as a whole, the models suggest that suspects confess when

they perceive that the evidence against them is strong (irrespective of
w hether this is real or distorted), when they need to relieve feelings of
guilt, when they have difficulties coping with the custodial pressure
(i.e. interrogation and confinem ent) and when they focus prim arily on
the im m ediate consequences of their actions rather than the long-term
ones. Although the suspect's personality and psychological strengths
and weaknesses are considered im portant in som e of the models
(i.e. the Reid model, the cognitive-behavioural model) in producing
confessions and denials, the nature of the specific vulnerabilities and
traits is not well articulated, except in relation to suggestibility and
com pliance (Gudjonnsson 2003a).
A m o d e l o f th e in te rro g a tiv e p ro ce ss
G udjonnsson (2003b), influenced by the work he was doing in the

1980s and 1990s with Dr Jam es M acKeith on high-profile British
cases of m iscarriages of justice (Gudjonnsson and M acKeith 1988,
Police factors
Custodial pressures
Interrogative pressures
• Personality of interviewers
Vulnerabilities
• Physical health
• Mental health
• Psychological vulnerabilities
Support
• Solicitor
• Appropriate adult
Figure 7.1 An interactional model of the interrogative process
138
1997), developed a model to describe the interrogation process that

would help the expert witness and researcher in evaluating cases of
disputed confessions. The interaction model (Figure 7.1) shows the
kind of factors that need to be considered when evaluating cases of
disputed confessions.
First, there are factors associated with the custody itself (i.e.
the nature and duration of the confinement), the interrogation (i.e.
the techniques and ploys used by the interrogator, the intensity
of the interrogation, duration and number of interviews) and the
personality, attitudes and behaviour of the interrogator (e.g. for a
review see Gudjonnsson 2002). In relation to attitudes and demeanour,
Holmberg and Christianson (2002) found that interview styles rated
as 'dom inant' were associated with denials, whereas interview styles
marked by 'hum anity' were associated with admissions. There are
a number of methodological weaknesses in this study (e.g. it was a
pilot survey, some of the respondents appear not to have understood
the questionnaire and there was a very poor response rate).
Case characteristics (i.e. the seriousness and notoriety of the crime)
and the responses of the suspect to the detention and interrogation
also need to be considered. These closely interact with the custodial
and interrogative factors. For example, the behaviour of the police
will generally be influenced by the nature of the crime they are
investigating and how the suspect reacts initially to the detention
and interrogation. If a suspect gives a full and apparently frank
confession to the police at the beginning of an interview then there
is usually no need for confrontational interaction and challenges.
However, if the police do not believe the account given by the suspect
then there may be confrontation, robust challenges and psychological
manipulation aimed at overcoming the resistance and denials (Pearse
and Gudjonnsson 1999; Inbau et al. 2001).
Whether or not suspects confess or deny the offence is significantly
related to the strength of the evidence against them at the time of the
interrogation. For example, Moston et al. (1992) found that where the
evidence against suspects was rated as 'w eak', 76.6 per cent denied
the offence, in contrast to 66.7 per cent who made self-incriminating
admissions where the evidence was rated as 'strong'. This finding
is consistent with research among criminals (Gudjonnsson and
Sigurdsson 1999), which consistently shows that there are three
main reasons why suspects confess to crimes they have committed:
1) perception of the evidence against the suspect; 2) an internal need
to confess, particularly in violent and sex crimes; and 3) custodial and
interrogative pressures. In general, suspects confess to a combination
139
of these three factors, but the single m ost im portant reason is the
suspect's perception of the evidence against him or her (Gudjonnsson
2003a).
There is evidence that the duration of detention, nature of the
interrogation techniques used and dynam ics in the police interview
are related to the severity of the crime being investigated and it is here
that custodial and interrogative factors tap more into psychological
vulnerabilities (Gudjonnsson 2003a). Pearse and G udjonnsson (1999,
2003) used a special coding fram e, the 'Police Interview ing Analysis
Fram ew ork' (PIAF), to analyze the social interaction between
the interview er and suspect from the tape recordings of real-life
interrogation and to identify the techniques that were associated
w ith moving suspects from a position of denial to a confession. Each
five-minute segm ent of interrogation was carefully scrutinized and
the results were subjected to a factor analysis. The three m ost salient
factors that were associated with the breaking down of resistance
were all 'overbearing' in character and were labelled as 'intim idation'
(e.g. m axim izing the seriousness of the offence and the anxiety of the
suspect w hen denying the offence), 'robust challenge' (i.e. repeatedly
challenging lies and inconsistencies) and 'm anipulation' (i.e. minim izing
seriousness of the offence, inducem ents, theme developm ent). These
techniques, which are sim ilar to those recom m ended by Inbau et al.
(2001), were effective in breaking down resistance and securing a
confession. However, this was achieved at a high level of risk of the
confession being rendered inadm issible by a court due to coercion
and the defendant consequently being acquitted. In contrast, there
were two further more 'sensitive' styles em ployed, albeit to a lesser
degree, referred to as 'appeal' and 'soft challenge', which proved
particularly effective with sex offenders and did not underm ine the
adm issibility of the confession as they were not construed as being
coercive.
The PIAF has not only succeeded in analyzing, m easuring and
displaying the nature and type of tactics em ployed, but it has
also discrim inated betw een overbearing and sensitive tactics, as
determ ined by legal judgm ents (Pearse and G udjonnsson 2003).
In a unique real-life observational study of run-of-the-m ill cases at
two English police stations, over 170 suspects were psychologically
assessed by clinical psychologists prior to their being interviewed
by the police (Gudjonnsson et al. 1993). Subsequently, all tapes of
interview s with the suspects were analyzed to find out what factors
were associated with denial and confessions (Pearse et al. 1998).
The great majority of the interview s were very short (i.e. 80 per
140
cent lasted less than 30 minutes and 95 per cent were completed
within one hour), the confession rate was 58 per cent, there was
little interrogative pressure in the tactics used and very few suspects
moved from a denial to a confession (see Gudjonnsson 2003a for
a detailed review of the findings). Logistic regression analysis was
performed on the data. The dependent (outcome) variable was
confession versus denial. The independent variables included the
suspect's age, ethnicity, mental state, intelligence, suggestibility, illicit
drug taking, criminal history, police interview tactics and presence or
absence of a legal adviser. The strength of the evidence against the
suspect was not measured in this study.
Two factors were highly predictive of a denial (i.e. the presence of
a legal adviser and a previous history of imprisonment), whereas only
one variable predicted a confession (i.e. whether the suspect had told
the researcher that he or she had taken illicit drugs within 24 hours
of arrest). The main implications of the findings are that in the run-
of-the-mill English cases where there is little interrogative pressure
or persuasion taking place and the great majority of suspects who
confess do so right at the beginning of the interview. Psychological
vulnerabilities, apart from illicit drug taking, which probably makes
suspects eager to be released from custody as quickly as possible and
therefore more willing to confess, are of little relevance, and having
a legal representative and previous experience of imprisonment are
strongly associated with a denial. However, in the more serious cases,
psychological vulnerabilities and police pressure become much more
important (Gudjonnsson 2003a).
The second important set of factors are the specific vulnerabilities
of the detainee, which are associated with his or her physical and
mental health, as well as more specific psychological vulnerabilities,
such as suggestibility, compliance, acquiescence and anti-social
personality traits (Gudjonnsson 2003a). In addition, children and
juveniles (Drizin and Colgan 2004; Redlich et al. 2004) and persons
with learning disabilities (Fulero and Everington 2004) are particularly
at risk of giving unreliable accounts of events when not carefully
interviewed. Sleep deprivation increases the person's susceptibility
to suggestions (Blagrove 1996).
Thirdly, the impact of the presence or absence of a solicitor and
appropriate adult during the interrogation needs to be evaluated
as a part of the overall custodial environment. The impact of the
presence of a solicitor on suspects' behaviour during interrogation
is well established (Gudjonnsson 2003a). There is evidence emerging
from our current work at police stations that the mere presence of
141
an appropriate adult in an interview, even if he or she does not

contribute directly in the interview process (i.e. he or she tends to
remain silent), influences positively the behaviour of the police and
solicitors (Medford et al. 2003). Medford et al. (2003) found that the
presence of an appropriate adult increased the likelihood that a
solicitor would also be present in an interview, there was overall less
interrogative pressure in the interview and the solicitor took a more
active role in the interview.
H o w in te rro g a tio n can go w ro n g
Gudjonnsson (2003a) argues that police interrogation can go 'wrong'

in the sense that it results in 'undesirable consequences' for the
criminal justice system or the suspect. There are a number of ways
in which this can happen:
• A confession, even if true, being ruled inadmissible during

a suppression hearing due to the coercive nature of the
interrogation.
• Causing a suspect to give a false confession, coerced confessions
resulting in resentment and resulting in the suspect retracting it
and failing to co-operate with the police in the future.
• Coercion resulting in the suspect developing a post-traumatic
stress disorder, and undermining public confidence in the
police.
• Poor interviewing resulting in suspects failing to give a confession
when they would otherwise do so (e.g. suspects who would have
confessed in their own time refuse to confess when they feel they
are being rushed or unfairly treated by the police).
• Suspects who have already confessed may retract their confession
when they feel they are pressured too much to provide further
information. This phenomenon is known as 'the boomerang effect'
(Gudjonnsson 2003a).
• Coersive interviewing results in suspects becoming resentful of the
police, which may result in their retracting their confession and
being reluctant to confess during further interviews (Gudjonnsson
2003a).
142
C o n clu s io n s
Interrogations remain an important investigative tool. There are

immense differences between the current investigative interviewing
techniques and conditions of custodial confinement, as practised in
England, and those legally allowed and practised in the USA. In
spite of the greater restrictions in England imposed on interrogators
with the implementation of PACE, the confession rate has not been
reduced and it remains considerably higher than the confession rates
reported in the USA (Gudjonnsson 2003a; Kassin and Gudjonnsson,
2004). The evidence suggests that suspects confess for three main
reasons - perceptions of the strength of the evidence against them,
internal pressure, and custodial and interrogative pressure (including
techniques using deceit, trickery and psychological manipulation).
Unusually, suspects confess for a combination of reasons, but
perception of the strength of evidence is the single most important
reason. This has important implications for investigators. Where the
evidence against the suspect is weak or flawed, interrogative and
custodial pressures increase the risk of false confessions. Investigators
should be aware that false confessions do occur on occasions,
for a variety of reasons, including suspects wanting to protect
somebody else, not being able to cope with the interrogative and
custodial pressures, and psychological vulnerabilities (Gudjonnsson
2003a).
N o te
1. T hese in clud e W righ tsm an and K assin (1 9 9 3 ); O fshe and Leo (1997a,
1997b ); K assin (1 9 9 8 ); Leo and O fshe (1 9 9 8 ); M cC an n (1998); Leo (1998,
2 0 0 1 a ); an d , m ore recently, K assin and G u djonnsson (2004).
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B lagrove, M . (1 9 9 6 ) 'Effects of len gth of sleep d ep rivation on in terrog ativ e
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C larke, C . and M ilne, R. (2001)
Interviewing Course. Police Research Award Scheme. Report P R A S /1 4 9 .
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Drizin, S.A. and Colgan, B.A. (2004) Tales from the juvenile confessions
front', in G.D. Lassiter (ed.) Interrogations, Confessions, and Entrapment.
New York, NY: Kluwer Academic.
Drizin, S.A. and Leo, R.A. (2004) 'The problem of false confessions in the
post-DNA world', North Carolina Law Review, 82: 891-1007.
Fisher, R.P and Geiselman, R.E. (1992) Memory Enhancing Techniques fo r
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Fulero, S.M. and Everington, C. (2004) 'Mental retardation, competency
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Gudjonnsson, G.H. (1989) 'The psychology of false confessions', Medico-Legal
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Gudjonnsson, G. (2002) 'W ho makes a good interviewer? Police interviewing
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Gudjonnsson, G.H., Clare, I.C.H., Rutter, S. and Pearse, J. (1993) Persons at
Risk During Interviews in Police Custody: The Identification o f Vulnerabilities.
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Gudjonnsson, G.H. and MacKeith, J.A.C. (1988) 'Retracted confessions: legal,
psychological and psychiatric aspects', Medicine, Science and the Law, 28:
187-94.
Gudjonnsson, G.H. and MacKeith, J. (1997) Disputed Confessions and the
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Hilgendorf, E.L. and Irving, M. (1981) 'A decision-making model of
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Holmberg, U. and Christianson, S.A. (2002) 'Murderers' and sexual offenders'
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Inbau, F.E., Reid, J.E. and Buckley, J.P. (1986) Criminal Interrogation and
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Kassin, S.M. (1998) 'More on the psychology of false confessions', American
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Leo, R.A. (1994) 'Police interrogation in America: a study of violence, civility
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S.A. Westervelt and J.A. Humphrey (eds) Wrongly Convicted. Perspectives
on Failed Justice. London: Rutgers University Press.
Leo, R.A. (2001) 'Questioning the relevance of Miranda in the twenty-first
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Pearse, J. and Gudjonnsson, G.H. (1999) 'M easuring influential police
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Pearse, J. and Gudjonnsson, G.H. (2003) 'The identification and measurement
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(ed.) The Psychology o f Interrogations and Confessions. A Handbook. Chichester:
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Pearse, J., Gudjonnsson, G.H., Clare, l.C.H. and Rutter, S. (1998) 'Police
interviewing and psychological vulnerabilities: predicting the likelihood of
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Interrogations, Confessions, and Entrapment. New York, NY: Kluwer
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Vrij, A. (2004b) 'Why professionals fail to catch liars and how they can
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Williamson, T.M. (1993) 'From interrogation to investigative interviewing.
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Williamson, T.M. (1994) 'Reflections on current police practice', in D. Morgan
and G. Stephenson (eds) Suspicion and Silence. The Rights o f Silence in
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146
C h a p te r 8
Towards greater professionalism:

minimizing miscarriages of justice
Tom Williamson
In tro d u c tio n
Experience has shown that trust and confidence in justice can be

damaged where there is an over-reliance on confession evidence
that ignores the importance of evidence available from questioning
witnesses and victims. Confession-focused questioning can, and
almost certainly does, lead to miscarriages of justice. This applies
in both adversarial and inquisitorial jurisdictions but the legal
framework can minimize or exacerbate the degree of reliance on
confession evidence.
Confession-oriented approaches to investigative interviews not
only encourage human rights abuses but may also mask low levels of
interviewing skills. In jurisdictions where interviews are fully or partly
tape recorded, analysis of the tapes frequently reveals low levels of
questioning skill. Attention will be drawn to an alternative approach
based on research that shows that the outcome of an interview with
a suspect correlates highly with the strength of the evidence in any
particular case. Based on these insights an ethical and principled
approach to investigative interviewing is advocated which elevates
the importance of interviews with witnesses and victims, and treats
the investigation as a 'search for the truth', as opposed to a process
of persuasion to obtain a confession.
Analysis of miscarriage of justice cases in England, Canada and the
USA reveals that there are many commonly recurring contributing
factors. One factor has been called 'tunnel vision' which occurs where
the investigator becomes so focused upon an individual or incident
147
that no other person or incident registers in his or her thinking.

Legislative responses to miscarriages of justice often require greater
accountability and transparency in the conduct of investigations and
the use of recording technology is an example of this trend. Based
on experience of these developments in many different countries it is
now feasible to describe a framework for investigative interviewing
that would be effective in minimizing the risk of miscarriages of
justice.
In particular, sound, scientifically based training programmes
are urgently needed to assist investigators acquire the necessary
interviewing skills to function at the higher professional standards
that will be required in the twenty-first century. In addition, by
providing accreditation for investigative skills training and pathways
into higher education programmes, investigators and interviewers
can develop a deeper knowledge and understanding of the current
scientific research and social context of their work. These approaches
can provide the basis for 'licence to practise' arrangements as well as
leading to academic qualifications.
There is sufficient common ground in the academic and practitioner
communities for reaching broad agreement on evidence-based best
practice statements that not only reinforce ethical values and respect
for human rights but also investigative effectiveness.
T h e local c rim in a l ju stice c o n te x t and a search fo r th e tru th
Even if al-Qaeda had not attacked the USA on 9 September 2001,

investigators and interviewers within liberal democracies were facing
challenges regarding the reliability of evidence obtained through
questioning during an investigation. Police questioning of suspects,
victims and witnesses occurs within the context of the type of criminal
justice system that obtains within a particular jurisdiction. In Europe,
systems of justice are either derived from the 'Anglo-Saxon' or 'common
law' tradition, categorized as 'adversarial' or, alternatively, from an
'inquisitorial' tradition which applies in continental Europe and is
based on a 'Rom an' or 'civil law' tradition. The Royal Commission
on Criminal Justice (Runciman 1993: 3) in England examined both
approaches and pointed out that: 'It is important not to overstate the
difference between the two systems: all adversarial systems contain
inquisitorial elements, and vice versa.' They considered whether a
change in the direction of more inquisitorial procedures might not
reduce the risks of mistaken verdicts and conceded:
148
Towards greater professionalism: minimizing miscarriages of justice
But we do recognise the force of the criticisms which can be

directed at a thoroughgoing adversarial system which seems
to turn a search for the truth into a contest played between
opposing lawyers according to a set of rules which the jury
does not necessarily accept or even understand (p. 3).
The commission also acknowledged that the greater use of forensic

evidence in the criminal courts was a move towards a more inquisitorial
approach. The commission identified the impetus for change as
'm istaken verdicts'. When miscarriages of justice are identified and
become public knowledge in industrialized countries they invariably
draw attention to police incompetence and sometimes to police
corruption and lead to calls for politicians to act to reform the system
(Macpherson 1999). Media criticism of recent examples of police
investigative incompetence in Japan have led to a far-reaching reform
programme (Ellis et al. in press). The Japanese system lays heavy
emphasis on confessions (ji haku hencho) (Bayley 1991; Finch 1999),
with the police concentrating on obtaining confessions at the expense
of interviewing witnesses and gathering physical or forensic evidence
(Watson 1995).
It is important that a political response should go beyond making
the police the 'fall guys' for weaknesses in the criminal justice system
(McBarnet 1979). Stephenson (1992: 243) reviewed the psychology
of criminal justice and concluded that: 'at each stage of criminal
processing findings have been accumulated that seriously challenge
conventional views and assumptions about the propriety of the
system. This knowledge should be used to fuel critical evaluation of
the law's activities.' What is apparent is that the publicity that such
cases attract undermines public trust and confidence in the police and
the justice system and erodes the reciprocity necessary for the police
successfully to discharge their responsibilities in a way that respects
human rights and is supported by the 'will of the people' (Wright
2002: 44-6). No system of policing is sustainable unless it enjoys the
support of the people. For this reason it is important to identify and
address police action that erodes trust and confidence.
There has been a continuous stream of officially recognized
miscarriage of justice cases in the UK. Gudjonsson identifies 22
landmark British Court of Appeal cases.1 These were mainly cases that
involved disputed confessions. In many of these cases psychological
evidence relating to suggestibility and compliance was considered
seriously by the court (Gudjonsson 20032). There is an increasing
willingness for the courts to accept expert evidence from forensic
psychologists (Gudjonsson and Haward 1998).
149
T h e ro le o f t h e p o lic e in c r im in a l in v e s tig a tio n s
In England, the Royal Com m ission on Crim inal Procedure (1981)

was appointed amid growing concern about the police role in the
investigation of offences. The Police and People in London series of
public surveys discovered that seven types of serious m isconduct by
the police were believed to occur but abuse of custodial questioning
was the m ost worrying. The PSI Report found:
The use of threats and unfair pressure in questioning is the kind

of m isconduct that is thought to be m ost widespread. About half
of inform ants think it happens at least occasionally, but perhaps
more im portant, one-quarter think that it often happens - that
it is a usual pattern of behaviour by police officers. The other
kinds of m isconduct are thought to happen at least occasionally
by a substantial proportion of Londoners, while about one in
ten Londoners think police officers fabricate evidence, and use
violence unjustifiably on people held at police stations (Smith
1983: 325).
Another survey found that the public were more critical of the police
where they have a high degree of contact with the police and are
subject to a high level of victim ization (Jones et al. 1986).
T h e p rim a c y o f in te rro g a tio n in d e te c tin g offences
One of the reasons for these concerns is the im portance that confession
evidence plays in court proceedings. Bottom ley and Colem an (1980)
found that only 10 per cent of cases were detected as a result of
intelligence or forensic evidence. The interrogation of suspects was the
m ost im portant means of detecting offences. In 1977 approxim ately 25
per cent of all detections were offences 'taken into consideration' by
the courts for sentencing purposes that resulted from the questioning
of som eone arrested for another offence.3
In an observational study for the royal com m ission of how police
interrogations were conducted in four police stations Softley found
that about 60 per cent of suspects made a full confession or a
dam aging adm ission (Softley 1981). In a sim ilar study Irving (1981)
found that obtaining a confession was the m ain purpose of a police
interrogation. An exam ination of cases heard in the Crown Court
(M cConville et al. 1991; Baldwin 1992) found that 13 per cent would
ISO
have failed to reach a prima fa c ie level w ithout confession evidence

and another 4 per cent would probably have been acquitted. W here
suspects had made statem ents to the police, half of them amounted
to a full confession.
At this point in the history of crim inal investigation in England and
Wales it would appear that the police role in detecting offences was
prim arily one of interrogation and less that of inquiry. To understand
why a confession was so im portant it is necessary to consider the
way in which adversarial system s of justice operate.
The adversarial system is not a search for the truth (Zander 1994).
Zander (1994a) argues that:
the com m on law system has never made the search for the truth,
as such, its highest aim. It is not that there is any objection to
the truth emerging. But centuries ago it was appreciated that the
truth is m any-sided, com plex, and difficult to ascertain. Even
when all the relevant evidence is adm issible, we com m only
do not know for sure w hether the defendant was, or, was
not, innocent or guilty The com m on law system does not ask
whether the defendant is guilty or innocent but rather the more
m anageable question - can it be proved beyond a reasonable
doubt that he is guilty?
The way in which a prosecution case is prepared was examined

by M cConville et al. (1991) who argued that the investigation was
not remotely like a search for the truth conducted subject to due
process rules of law, but rather investigators m otivated by crime
control concerns manipulated the paperw ork in ways that supported
a conviction. Inconvenient inform ation w as filtered out, witness
statem ents were shaped by police questioning aimed at developing
and then supporting a prosecution account.
The investigative process turned on the central role of interrogation
and detention placed the suspect in a hostile environm ent where
custodial questioning takes place on police terms. This issue was
considered by the US Suprem e Court in the case of M iranda v.
Arizona, which addressed the vulnerability of suspects facing custodial
questioning. The Suprem e Court considered custodial questioning to
be inherently coercive and ensured that no statem ent made during
police questioning and no evidence discovered as a result of that
statem ent can be admitted in evidence at trial unless the suspect is
first warned of, am ongst other things, his or her right to consult with
and to have counsel present during questioning. If unable to afford a
151
lawyer, one will be provided at public expense, although this relates

to a very restricted category of indigent defendants (Cole 1999). Any
waiver to the right has to be made explicitly by the suspect. The
members of the Royal Commission on Criminal Procedure (1981)
were clearly influenced by the Miranda rules and this was reflected
in the proposals that they made for regulating custodial interviews
in England and Wales. Their recommendations were included in
the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE) and the codes of
practice issued under s. 66 (revised in 2004).
T h e Police and C rim in a l E vid e n ce A c t 1984
When the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 was implemented
it provided a legislative framework for the regulation of custodial
questioning. Under s. 76 of PACE it is no longer up to the defence
to show that something had happened in the interrogation that
would render the statement unreliable, it is up to the prosecution to
show that nothing had happened to make the statement unreliable.
Furthermore, under s. 78 of the Act the trial judge can exclude
anything that is considered to be 'unfair' such as deception by
the interviewing officers or providing misleading information. In
R. v. Heron the judge acquitted the defendant when, inter alia, the
interviewing officers misled the accused regarding identification
evidence in a homicide case.4
Section C of the codes of practice cover the detention, treatment and
questioning of persons by police officers. The Act entitled suspects to
free legal advice and also provided for the tape recording of interviews
with suspects. It is now almost unheard of that an interview will be
conducted which is not either audio or videotape recorded and this
has made a very important contribution to the regulation of custodial
questions and also in identifying skills deficits.
T h e im p o rta n t c o n trib u tio n o f te c h n o lo g y to re g u la tin g

custo d ia l q u e stio n in g
Early research into the quality of the police interviews, which was
possible through the analysis of video and audio tape recordings,
revealed that interviewing skills were generally poor. The interviewers
appeared inept, nervous, ill at ease and lacking in confidence.
Questioning was conducted on the basis of assumption of the suspect's
152
guilt. Suspects were given very little opportunity to speak and when
they did so the interviewing officer(s) constantly interrupted them.
The officers had a fragile grasp of the legal points needed to prove
the offence. The interviewing style was harrying and aggressive.
There were examples of unfair inducements (Baldwin 1992). This
reflected a continuing over-reliance on confession evidence under the
new legislation. The reliance on confession evidence also meant that
witnesses and victims were frequently not interviewed thoroughly
and so were unable to provide all the information they were capable
of giving as evidence. The role of the police in the investigation of
offences was still one of persuading suspects to confess rather than
engaging in a process of inquiry, which was a search for the truth.
In an analysis of over 1,000 tape recorded interviews in London,
Williamson (1990) found that there was a very strong statistical
correlation between the strength of the evidence and the outcome of
the interview. Where the evidence was weak, 77 per cent of suspects
denied the allegation and where the evidence was strong, 67 per cent
of suspects made admissions (see Table 8.1).
D e ve lo p in g a p rin c ip le d ap proa ch to in ve stig a tive in te rv ie w in g
Clearly there was a need for a change of culture to meet the

aspirations of the new legislation and to prevent challenges to the
evidence obtained through questioning. This resulted in the creation
of a national committee on investigative interviewing that involved
police officers, lawyers and psychologists. The committee produced
the seven Principles fo r Investigative Interviewing which were circulated
T able 8.1 Strength of evidence and outcome of interview
Strength of No. of % of % of % neither admit

evidence cases admissions denials nor deny
Weak 274 9.9 76.6 13.5

Moderate 363 36.4 45.2 18.5
Strong 430 66.7 16.3 17.0
Total cases 1,067 - - -
Source: Williamson (1990).
153
to all police forces in Hom e O ffice circular 2 2 /1 9 9 2 w hich encouraged

officers to see their role as searching for the truth:
• The role of investigative interview ing is to obtain accurate and

reliable inform ation from suspects, w itnesses or victim s in order
to discover the truth about m atters under police investigation.
• Investigative interview ing should be approached w ith an open

mind. Inform ation obtained from the person who is being
interview ed should always be tested against w hat the interview ing
officer already know s or what can reasonably be established.
• W hen questioning anyone a police officer m ust act fairly in the

circum stances of each individual case.
• The police interview er is not bound to accept the first answer

given. Q uestioning is not unfair merely because it is persistent.
• Even when the right of silence is exercised by a suspect, the police

still have a right to put questions.
• W hen conducting an interview, police officers are free to ask

questions in order to establish the truth, except for interview s with
child victims of sexual or violent abuse which are to be used in
crim inal proceedings. They are not constrained by the rules applied
to lawyers in court.
• Vulnerable people, w hether victim s, w itnesses or suspects, m ust be

treated with particular consideration at all times.
The circular marked the start of a very successful investigative

interview ing training program m e, called PEACE, which led to
changing interview er behaviour in the UK (see also Chapter 9,
this volum e). PEACE is a m nem onic describing the stages in an
interview:
P Preparation and planning.

E Engage and explain.
A Allow interview ee to provide an account.
C Clarify, challenge and conclude.
E Evaluate evidence obtained through questioning.
The national training program m e has now become a m andatory

part of the curriculum for the training of all police officers. The
154
Youth Justice and Criminal Evidence Act 1999 allows videotaping

of interviews with vulnerable witnesses, w'hich can then be used
as evidence-in-chief. The Association of Chief Police Officers has
conducted a national review of investigative interview training that
will recommend further training to take place at five levels or tiers:
1. Recruit (or probationary officer) training.
2. Investigators volume crime.
3. Investigators of serious crime or specialist interviews with children

or vulnerable interviewees.
4. Supervisors who would be line managers trained to supervise the

interview process.
5. Interview^ co-ordinators w'ho would form a national cadre of

highly trained and experienced investigators who have made
a study of interviewing and can provide consultancy advice in
investigations.
Effective representation for suspects at public expense has also

contributed to a growth in professionalism for police and lawyers.
The recording technology also demonstrated that suspects were not
being adequately represented. The Law Society has created training
courses and an accreditation system for legal advisers has ensured
that legal representation is of a good quality (Bridges and Choongh
1998).
The Police and Criminal Evidence Act provided various rights
for detainees. They have the right to inform someone of their arrest
(s. 5) and to consult privately w'ith a legal representative (s. 6), w'hich
can only be waived with the authority of a superintendent. This
waiver only applies where there is fear of immediate harm and so
in practice is rarely exercised; detainees have a right of access to the
codes of practice. Custody officers dealing with their detention must
provide a written notice of their rights. They must be informed of
the grounds for their detention.
The codes also contain provision for special groups of detainees.
Interpreters must be provided for those w'ho only speak a foreign
language or are deaf. Juvenile detainees must have a parent or
guardian informed of their detention. Detainees with a mental
handicap have the right to have someone who is experienced in
dealing w'ith learning difficulties (called an 'appropriate adult')
155
attend the interview in addition to the person providing legal

advice.
The duration for which the police can detain a person is strictly
regulated. A review of detention must be conducted within 6 hours
of arrival at the police station by an inspector and then a further
review within 15 hours. Detention beyond 24 hours requires a review
and authorization by a police superintendent for detention for up to
36 hours. On application to a magistrates court detention in very
serious cases can be authorized for up to 96 hours. Detainees must be
charged as soon as the police have sufficient evidence to prosecute.
There must be no further questioning after charge.
D isclo su re o f p ro se c u tio n e viden ce
The government has introduced legislation covering disclosure by

the prosecution of all material collected during the course of the
inquiry. This has provided a new level of openness and accountability
subjecting the investigation process to new levels of scrutiny strongly
reinforcing the notion of an investigation as a search for the truth
and curtailing selective disclosure of information by investigators
or prosecution. The Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act 1996
(s. 23) provides the basis for the disclosure of material gathered
during the course of an investigation. Primary prosecution disclosure
involves material in the possession of the prosecution, which might
undermine the case against the accused. Secondary prosecution
disclosure involves material, which might assist in a defence disclosed
in a statement. The prosecution can make application to the court for
the agreement not to disclose sensitive material, such as the identity
of an informant. The disclosure process works by separating the roles
of the senior investigating officer from that of the disclosure officer.
The investigating officer is required to follow all lines of inquiry
whether they point to or away from the suspect.
All information obtained during an investigation must be recorded.
This includes negative information - for example, the number of
people in a particular place at a particular time who said that they
saw nothing. There is a duty to retain all material including material
casting doubt on the reliability of a confession and material casting
doubt on the reliability of a witness. All material is to be listed in a
schedule of non-sensitive material.
156
C rim in a l C a se s R e vie w C o m m is s io n
The Crim inal Appeal Act 1995 created the Crim inal Cases Review
Com m ission whose function is to review all allegations of m iscarriages
of justice. So far over 100 cases have been referred to the Court of
Appeal. The com m ission has reviewed over 4,000 cases and currently
has 450 cases under review .1 A sim ilar review com m ission has been
established in Scotland but with wider term s of reference m aking
intervention easier w henever they suspect a miscarriage of justice.
A Hom e Affairs Select Com m ittee of the House of Com m ons has
investigated cases of historical child abuse and has drawn attention
to w hat it believes to be w idescale m iscarriages of justice (HAC
2002). Cases of this type represent a significant proportion of the
applications to the Crim inal Cases Review Commission.
M is ca rria g e s o f ju s tic e in th e U S A and C a n a d a
A sim ilar trajectory of change can be discerned from m iscarriage

of justice cases in the USA and Canada. A symptom of w hat can
go wrong in custodial questioning has been described in Canadian
inquiries into m iscarriages of justice as 'tunnel vision'. According to
the Right Honourable Peter de C.C. Cory (2001):
Tunnel Vision is insidious. It can affect an officer or, indeed,

anyone involved in the adm inistration of justice with som etim es
tragic results. It results in the officer becom ing so focussed
upon an individual or incident that no other person or incident
registers in the officer's thoughts. Thus, tunnel vision can result
in the elim ination of other suspects who should be investigated.
Equally, events which could lead to other suspects are eliminated
from the officer's thinking. Anyone, police officer, counsel or
judge can becom e infected by this virus.
I recom m end that attendance annually at a lecture or a course

on this subject be m andatory for all officers. The lecture or
course should be updated annually and an officer should be
required to attend before or during the first year that the officer
works as a detective.
Courses or lectures that illustrate with exam ples and discuss

this problem should be com pulsory for police officers and
157
they would undoubtedly be helpful for counsel and judges as

well.*’
Tunnel vision is an enduring feature of 'cop culture' and the response

by practitioners to miscarriages of justice is frequently to go into
denial and assume that defendants somehow managed to get off on
a technicality.
Concerns in Canada regarding the vice of tunnel vision had
previously been expressed by the Honourable Fred Kaufman QC a
former judge of the Quebec Court of Appeal who was appointed
in 1996 to conduct the inquiry designated the 'Commission on
Proceedings Involving Guy Paul Morin' which relates to a miscarriage
of justice case in the Province of Ontario, Canada. The commissioners
found staggering the fact that certain parties at the inquiry continue
to suffer from tunnel vision. It was all the more concerning since
the parties referred to are a prosecution barrister (McGuigan), and
a detective investigating in the case (Fitzpatrick). The commission
reported:
Mr. McGuigan still believes that the informants were telling

the truth and that Guy Paul Morin lied about his 'confession'.
Detective Fitzpatrick holds similar views. Indeed, though
Mr. McGuigan believes that Mr. Morin is innocent, he also
believes that he and his family deliberately concocted a false alibi.
An innocent person has been known to tender a false confession
— though mostly in the context of a police investigation. An
innocent person has been known to tender a false, concocted
alibi. I have found that Mr. Morin did not confess to May; I
also have no doubt that Mr. Morin and his family (however
imperfectly conveyed) did not concoct his alibi. The fact that
Mr. McGuigan still accepts Mr. May's evidence, in the fact of
Mr. M orin's proven innocence, M ay's recantations, M ay's non
rehabilitation, and most importantly, in the face of May falsely
alleging that McGuigan himself was a conspirator in framing
Morin, is 'tunnel vision' in the most staggering proportions. The
fact that Detective Fitzpatrick still accepts Mr. May's evidence, in
the face of these facts and M ay's false claims that Fitzpatrick had
threatened to kill May, etc. demonstrates an equally persistent
'tunnel vision'. These findings of 'tunnel vision' also explain the
need for the recommendations which later follow (Commission
on Proceedings Involving Guy Paul Morin, Executive Summary:
11).
158
The USA has a federal constitution and so there is no equivalent of

England's Police and Crim inal Evidence Act 1984 covering the whole
of the USA. Laws relating to investigation, w'here they exist, are
passed at the local or state level. The Am erican constitution guarantees
its citizens certain rights. The US Suprem e Court set out in M iranda
v. Arizona the rights of citizens who were being questioned by the
police. This includes the right to legal representation. However, since
M iranda, the US Suprem e Court has consistently watered down the
rights articulated in M iranda. In Gideon v. W aimvright, under the Sixth
Am endm ent to the Constitution, indigent defendants have a right to
a law yer to provide 'effective assistance' in trials for serious offences.
Effective assistance has been considered by the courts to include
lawyers who are drunk, asleep, on drugs, or who in capital cases
were unable to nam e a single Suprem e Court decision on the death
penalty (Cole 1999: 88-96; Scheck et al. 2000: 183-92).
In 2000 the US governm ent spent $97.56 billion on their criminal
justice system of which 50 per cent was spent on the police and
prosecution and only 1.3 per cent on indigent defence. Eighty per
cent of all defendants are indigent. H ow ever the right to indigent
defence now only applies after formal proceedings have begun and
the encounter is at a critical stage. It does not relate to pre-charge
questioning. There is no provision for indigent representation in post
conviction proceedings even in death penalty cases (Pennsylvania v.
Finlay (1987) 481. US 51). There has until recently been no provision
for defendants with learning difficulties although this may have
changed as a result of a Suprem e Court decision in June 2002.
There is a rising tide of exonerations of prisoners in North
Am erica, many based upon DNA testing, which is revealing how
frequently m iscarriages of justice can occur. M any of the exonerations
have involved death penalty cases in states such as Illinois, Florida,
Oklahom a and Texas. N on-death penalty states such as M assachusetts
have exonerated prisoners and face a steady stream of new
claim ants. A recent review of the convictions of 33 innocent persons
in M assachusetts revealed that m istaken eyew itness identifications
occurred in over half the identified m iscarriages and m isconduct
by police or prosecutors in over one third, and both are features of
'tunnel vision' (Fisher 2002).
In April 2002 Governor Ryan of the State of Illinois published the
report of a com m ittee which he established to review the death penalty
in Illinois. It found that alm ost half the defendants should not have
been convicted. The com m ission made a total of 80 recom m endations
including the creation of a state-w ide panel to review prosecutors'
159
requests for the death penalty; banning death sentences on the

mentally retarded (sic); significantly reducing the number of death
eligibility factors; and the videotaping of interrogations with homicide
suspects.
Analysis of miscarriages of justice cases reveals that the contributory
factors are depressingly similar. The list includes:
• 'junk' forensic science;

• abuse or misuse of informants, including jailhouse snitches;
• manipulating witnesses to refute alibi evidence;
• misuse of offender profiling techniques;
• poor skills for interviewing witnesses and suspects;
• fabrication of evidence (perjury) or 'gilding the lilly';
• misconduct by lawyers; and
• the psychological vulnerability of many suspects.
Another important factor in miscarriages of justice has been 'cop'

and 'prosecution' cultures:
• The unprofessional relationship between corrupt cops and bad

lawyers.
• 'Cop culture' where loss of objectivity and bad judgem ent manifest
themselves in either 'tunnel vision' or what some have called
'noble cause corruption', which is simply an attempt to control
criminal activity by criminal or unconstitutional methods.
M ost members of the public take police competence in the investigation

of serious offences for granted. However there is mounting evidence
from many jurisdictions that this confidence is frequently misplaced.
P ublic in q u irie s: sim ila r re co m m e n d a tio n s
When miscarriages of justice have been identified and august figures

have conducted their official reviews we find that there is a great
similarity in the recommendations. These include the following:
• Improved protocols for eyewitness identification.

• The requirement for audio or videotaped records of the witness
statements and the custodial questioning of suspects.
• Ensuring prosecutors have full access to records of police
investigations.
160
• Legislation to require disclosure of any material evidence held by

the prosecution to the defence.
• The creation of some form of tribunal to investigate miscarriages
of justice.
• The appointment of civilian oversight bodies.
When the miscarriage of justice cases where the defendants in 74

cases who are actually innocent are examined to identify the causes
leading to wrongful convictions, junk forensic science was a factor
in 69 per cent of cases, police misconduct in 50 per cent of cases
and false confessions in 20 per cent of cases (Scheck et al. 2000: 361).
Although 'junk' science was a factor in the Court of Appeal decision
in the case of the 'Birmingham Six', there has been much less criticism
of forensic science in Britain than in the USA. In England the forensic
science laboratories have been removed from the control of the police
and are now a stand-alone government agency.
The response in Britain to miscarriages of justice has been through
legislation to put in place a rigorous regulatory regime, which has
been strictly enforced by the judges. Technology has been adopted
to ensure that custodial questioning is open and transparent, and
that what is said during questioning is said freely and recorded
accurately. On their own these approaches will have only a limited
effect, without a concomitant investment in the training and education
of investigators and interviewers to change an investigative culture
w^hich is over-reliant on confession evidence.
In ve stin g to de ve lo p in ve stig a tive professionalism
In the UK the government has established a Police Standards and

Skills Organization (now amalgamated as part of a larger Justice
Sector Skills Council) and a National Centre for Police Excellence
which is charged under the Police Reform Act 2003 with developing
investigative doctrine and training products that will professionalize
the investigative process.7 The lack of detective skills is one of the
major challenges facing the police service. The new programme to
help professionalize investigative practice will produce clear job
descriptions for each investigative role. A competency framework
for each role has also been developed. This will lead to a very large
change in the way detective resources are trained and managed.
A national register will be created for particular skills, including
investigative interviewing. The training will have to be approved by
161
a national board and the training deliverers will have to be licensed.

Each officer will be required to maintain a professional development
portfolio to record the evidence of his or her continuous professional
development. This will involve supervision by line mangers, support
from mentors and assessment by trained and qualified assessors
against the defined competencies and standards. These developments
will inevitably lead over time to a form of 'licence to practise'.
Accreditation of the training by universities will provide pathways
into higher education.8 They should lead to British investigators in
the twenty-first century being skilled, educated and licensed.
C o n c lu s io n
Recent research has led to serious questions being raised about the
reliability of evidence obtained by investigators through questioning.
This can be affected by the way investigators adapt to the requirements
of the system of justice in which they operate. There would appear
to be a number of steps that societies can take in order to minimize
miscarriages of justice that result from 'tunnel vision' and over
reliance on confession evidence.
Good pre-trial investigation and custodial questioning processes
will provide better evidence and reduce the over-reliance on
confession evidence and encourage a search for the truth. Making
better use of forensic evidence and more thorough questioning of
victims and witnesses to enable them to give their best evidence will
be more likely to enable courts to reach the truth. Greater sensitivity
in interviewing might help the guilty to provide a truthful account
and for those who are vulnerable it would prevent many future
miscarriages of justice. Quality legal representation for accused at
public expense and disclosure of prosecution evidence are important
safeguards. Formal systems for reviewing alleged miscarriages of
justice and robust civilian oversight arrangements are an important
investment. Independent status for forensic science laboratories
should prevent some of the 'junk' science that has been a feature in
miscarriage of justice cases.
There needs to be greater recognition that truth and justice suffer
when criminal justice systems become too adversarial. As Stephenson
(1992) identified, many of the current systems are fundamentally
flawed. New approaches to professionalizing investigative competence
are being developed which should lead to twenty-first century
162
investigators being skilled, qualified and licensed to practise in their

disciplines, including investigative interview ing. Sound scientific
research should be the foundation upon which this new professionalism
is built. There is sufficient com m on ground in the academ ic and
practitioner com m unities for evidence-based best practice statem ents
to be agreed which not only reinforce ethical values and respect for
hum an rights but also investigative effectiveness, minim izing the risk
of false confessions and m iscarriages of justice.
In conclusion, it is possible to m inim ize the risk of m iscarriages of
justice if we do four things:
1. Make som e changes to our system s of criminal justice for better

regulating custodial questioning.
2. M ake better use of audio and video technology for recording
investigative interviews.
3. Train investigators to search for the truth and teach them more
effective questioning skills.
4. Above all, we should teach everyone involved in crim inal justice
the dangers of 'tunnel vision' and w ays to avoid it.
Im proving trust and confidence in the crim inal justice system will
occur when there is a greater level of professionalism in the core
com petency of investigative interviewing.
N o te s
1. Presentation to the 'wrongful convictions' conference, the Criminal Justice

Institute, Harvard Law School, 19 April 2002.
2. Gudjonsson (2003) provides a comprehensive analysis of the cases referred
to above (see Table 16.1: 439). See also Mullin (1990) and Victory (2002).
3. See Simmons (2002), Table 8.02, showing the current level to be 13 per
cent.
4. Unreported, Leeds Crown Court, 18 October 1993.
5. For a review of the work of the CCRC from its inception in 1997 to 2000,
see James et al. (2000).
6. This description of 'tunnel vision' in police investigations and criminal
justice, together with his recommendations to address the problem are
taken from the Inquiry Regarding Thomas Sophonow, a miscarriage of justice
case in the Province of Manitoba, Canada.
7. See the PSSO website (www.psso.co.uk) and www.centrex.police.uk for
the National Centre for Policing Excellence.
163
8. A Foundation Degree in Investigation and Evidence is being developed

by the Institute of Criminal Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth,
which was due to com m ence in 2004.
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166
C h a p te r 9
W ill it all end in tiers? Police

interviews with suspects in
Britain 1
Andy Griffiths and Becky Milne
In tro d u c tio n
The interviewing of witnesses and suspects is a core function of

policing across the world. In Britain, historically there was no formal
interview training for police officers and officers learnt from watching
others (Moston and Engleberg 1993; Norfolk 1997). The concept of
training officers to interview witnesses was unheard of, confessions
obtained from interviews with suspects were seen as the best evidence
of guilt and 'good' interviewers were those who could persuade
suspects to confess to crimes. In 1992, the Association of Chief Police
Officers for England and Wales published the first national training
programme for interviewing. This was designed to train police
officers to interview both witnesses and suspects (Central Planning
and Training Unit, 1992). It was known as the PEACE interview
model (see p. 172). A decade later an updated five-tier interview
strategy is in the process of being implemented as the latest step
in the evolution of police interviewing within the UK. The strategy
has built upon the foundation laid down by the PEACE model. It
has developed the original single model into a more comprehensive
approach drawn from academic research in the subject and fresh
developments in the criminal justice system. The new approach is
designed to cater for officers at different stages of their careers and
for dealing with different types of crimes. Tier one is an introduction
to interviewing for new police officers, probationers or police recruits.
Tier two is a development of this and is aimed at more experienced
officers engaged in dealing with everyday crime such as theft and
167
assault (similar to the original PEACE course). Tier three is designed

to equip officers to deal with complex and serious crime and is
an umbrella term encompassing separate courses for interviewing
1) suspects (see later for a full description); 2) witnesses (the enhanced
cognitive interview: see Milne and Bull 1999 for a full description);
and 3) witnesses who may be vulnerable or intimidated (Youth Justice
and Criminal Evidence Act 1999; Home Office and Department of
Health 2001). Tier four deals with monitoring and supervision of the
quality of interviews and tier five introduces the role of the interview
co-ordinator for complex and serious crime. This chapter is concerned
with what is now known as tier three suspect interviewing but what
was previously described as 'advanced' interviewing.
Most of the identified problems with police interviews prior to
PEACE were due to miscarriages of justice linked to false confessions.
Although subsequent legislative changes (for example, the mandatory
audio tape recording of all interviews with suspects and the right
for a suspect to have a legal representative present) should prevent
a repetition of these cases, they caused significant damage to the
reputation of the police. The modern transparency of the suspect
interview process has seen attention switched more recently to
the evidence of key witnesses in major criminal trials and how the
police conduct these interviews and present the evidence from them.
Witness interviewing had not received this level of public scrutiny
previously because it had not resulted in dramatic acquittals but the
steady growth of research targeted at this area and certain key cases
such as the murder of a young boy in London where the evidence
of a key witness was discredited (Laville 2002; Tendler 2002) have
raised the awareness of problems in this area in much the same way
as interviewing of suspects prior to 1992 (see Bull and Milne 2004
for a review).
The history of interviewing in England and Wales shows that
interviewing needs to be both effective and ethical. This is especially
true in the investigation of serious crime because of the implications
of wrongdoing. This chapter concentrates on interviews with suspects
and initially provides a brief summary of that recent history. It then
traces the birth of advanced interviewing from the original PEACE
model and outlines the key differences between the two. Finally, the
chapter describes a study undertaken to evaluate the effectiveness of
advanced interviewing and presents the preliminary results from this
empirical research. The chapter culminates with a discussion on how
interviewing will progress.
168
W ill it all end in tiers?
A r e c e n t h is to r y o f p o lic e in t e r v ie w s w it h s u s p e c ts
Prior to 1984 police interview s in England and Wales were governed

by Ju d ges' Rules. These 'rules' were m erely adm inistrative guidance
that originated in the early part of the twentieth century. Officers
were perm itted to conduct interview s unrecorded and then to write
an account of the interview from memory. The officer's recollection
of the interview was then presented in court from the notes. Disquiet
over this approach began to grow in the late 1970s.
A small research study conducted as part of the Royal Com m ission
on Crim inal Procedure (1981) observed sixty interview s with suspects
at one police station in England. The observers reported a large num ber
of persuasive and m anipulative tactics used by interview ers to obtain
confessions (Irving and H ilgendorf 1980). The full com m ission report
resulted in the governm ent passing the Police and Crim inal Evidence
Act 1984 (PACE). This Act m ade significant changes to the detention
and treatm ent of those suspected of crim inal offences in England
and Wales. It introduced the right to have a legal adviser present
throughout the interview process and phased in the m andatory audio
recording of interview s with suspects held in police stations. The
existence of a perm anent and accurate record of an interview exposed
frequent failings in police interview s. The changes brought about by
PACE also allow ed researchers a window into the interview room. As
a result a plethora of work exam ining police interview ing practices
began. For the first time people other than the police officer and the
suspect could hear an accurate record of the interview. The resultant
research confirm ed that police interview s were in need of revision but
not just in the areas identified by the Royal com m ission (M oston et al.
1992; Baldwin 1993; M ortim er 1994a, 1994b; Pearse and Gudjonsson
1996). Baldw in's study of 400 interview s found interview ers who
were 'nervous and ill at ease'. O fficers were also found to have an
accusatory m indset when interview ing. For exam ple, one study
exam ined 1,000 interview s and found the overw helm ing aim of the
interview ers to be securing a confession (M oston et al. 1992). Officers
were also seen to be using coercive techniques that were consistent
with unethical Am erican interview styles (e.g. Criminal Interrogation
and Confessions, Inbau et al. 1986; see M ortim er 1994a for a sum mary
of this approach). The later case of Heron (see below) highlighted the
fact that confessions elicited through this style of interview ing would
not be admitted in a court of law in England and Wales. Yet, where
confessions did occur other research found this had little to do with
the skill of the officer but rather factors such as the strength of the
169
evidence (M oston et al. 1992; Baldwin 1993; Stephenson and Moston

1994; Pearse and Gudjonsson 1996).
Around the sam e time as this research w as being conducted a
series of m iscarriages of justice attributable to false confessions began
to appear. In O ctober 1989 a group of terrorist suspects, know n
as the 'Guildford F ou r' who had been convicted of some of the
w orst bom bings com mitted on mainland Britain in m odern times,
were acquitted on appeal. The confessions that had been central
pillars of their convictions in 1975 were show n to be unreliable
and, in some cases, fabricated. The group had spent years in jail
as a result. In 1991, in a separate case, six suspects convicted of
other terrorist bom bings (the Birm ingham Six) were released when
confession evidence that had secured their convictions in 1974 was
also discredited (Gudjonsson 2003). In 1993, Thom as Heron, who
was on trial for the m urder of a young girl, was acquitted when the
interview s which led to his confession were dismissed by the trial
judge as 'oppressive'. Unlike the Guildford Four and Birmingham
Six where the interview s were not tape recorded (having taken
place before this w as a legislative requirem ent), the Heron interview s
were tape recorded. Also, whereas the terrorist suspects alleged that
threats and violence were used to extract their confessions, H eron's
confession was obtained by tactics such as overstating evidence and
em phasizing the benefits of adm itting the offence. The judgm ent
extended the definition of oppression to include these manipulative
tactics as well as overt violence. The Heron case has been described
as a watershed in police interview ing which marked the end of
persuasive interview techniques in England and Wales (Clarke 1994).
The successful appeals of the Guildford Four and Birmingham
Six and the acquittal of Heron received widespread publicity and
brought heavy criticism of the police and affected public opinion.
A contem porary survey of the general public reported that 73 per
cent of the participants believed that the police broke the rules to
obtain convictions (W illiamson 1991). By 1993 police interview s were
described as a grave concern (Shepherd 1993). More recent statistics
show acquittal rates at trial rising to an all time high of 43 per cent
by 2001 (Robbins 2001). One of the reasons put forward for this
poor interview ing was the absence of officially approved interview
techniques and a lack of standardized training.
As a consequence of this situation, the Association of C hief Police
Officers acted. The result was the developm ent of the seven principles
of investigative interview ing (see M ilne and Bull 1999 and Chapter
8, this volume) and a national model for investigative interview ing
170
know n as PEACE (also Chapter 8, this volum e, and below ). The

intention was to train every officer in England and Wales of inspector
rank and below. In accordance a huge training operation was initiated
over the next five years. The m ost recent evaluation of PEACE found
that interview s w ith suspects had improved since its inception but
that further developm ent was still necessary (Clarke and Milne
2001). Nevertheless, PEACE was a significant step forward and an
attem pt to end m iscarriages of justice. It was devised as a 'one size
fits all' training course for officers regardless of skill, experience or
the offence under investigation.
T i e r 3: a d va n ce d s u s p e ct in te r v ie w tra in in g
In the period before the im plem entation of PEACE individual police

forces in Britain had responded to the criticism of the judiciary and
academ ics by seeking to develop their own interview techniques
in the absence of national guidance. The developm ent of advanced
interview ing has replicated that pattern. In the years follow ing the
im plem entation of PEACE certain forces recognized that the 'one size
fits all' model was not sufficient to cater for all needs. In particular,
serious crime dem anded a higher level of interview technique that
was both ethical and effective if convictions were to be obtained.
PEACE fulfilled an im portant role in lim iting oppressive interview s
but there was still a need to develop further effective interview
techniques.
This led, specifically, to the developm ent of the concept of
'advanced interview ' training for detectives investigating serious
crime in certain forces. During the same period defence legal advisers
improved their own training that in turn created a further need for
increased professionalism by investigating officers. Added to this,
legislative changes encom passed within the Crim inal Justice and
Public O rder Act 1995 also made the subject of interview ing more
com plex for both officers and legal advisers. For exam ple, this act
introduced a change to the right of silence in that if a suspect failed
to account for certain evidence at the time of interview a court may
be allow ed to draw an inference of guilt from this silence.
After this period of unilateral developm ent of advanced
interview ing by some police forces and in the light of the research
exam ining the 'effectiveness' of PEACE training (Clarke and M ilne
2001), the National Investigative Interview Strategic Steering Group
representing ACPO decided to review the level of police interview
171
training. After national consultation the original PEACE model

was further developed into the current five-tier strategy outlined
previously. As a result w hat started as 'advanced interview ing' is
now more accurately referred to as 'specialist interview ing'.
C o m p a ris o n o f c o u rs e c o n te n t: P E A C E and a d va n ce d tra in in g
The original PEACE interview course lasted one week. It was

designed to teach officers to interview both w itnesses and suspects.
The content was a com bination of theoretical input and practical
application achieved through role-play interview s betw een students.
The PEACE model of interview ing puts forward a five-stage approach
to all interview s. A sum m ary of each stage as applied to suspect
interview s appears below:
• Planning and preparation deals with both the legal and logistical
issues of interview preparation. Under 'legal' an officer would
prepare an interview plan encom passing the points to prove and
defences to an offence plus the subject areas to be covered in
the interview. Logistical considerations would include preparing
the interview room, assem bling equipm ent and arranging the
attendance of other professionals.
• Engage and explain covers the opening phase of an interview. It

ensures that legal requirem ents, such as reiterating the detainee's
right to legal advice, are covered and also deals with explaining
the interview process to the suspect.
• Account and clarification covers the obtaining of a suspect's account

of the incident. This includes an initial or first account followed
by more in-depth probing of areas from that account plus areas
identified by the interview er's preparation as relevant. If the
account obtained identifies discrepancies w ith other evidence this
culm inates in 'clarification' or 'challenge' using that evidence.
• Closure deals with the end phase of the interview. There are legal
requirem ents in the closing of an interview as there are at the start.
It also includes explanations to the suspect of w hat may happen
after the interview.
• Evaluation is a post-interview phase defined as assessing the

inform ation obtained in the interview and the interview er's own
perform ance within the interview. This is with a view to future
developm ent.
172
The advanced interview course is three weeks long and aims to

train students to interview suspects for the m ost serious of offences,
including murder. The advanced interview course com bines theory
and practice but the am ount of each com pleted over a three-week
period is naturally m uch higher than the one-w eek course. There is
a higher balance of theoretical input in the early part of the course
but this alters as the course progresses and the students focus
heavily on interview practicals where peer feedback is used to assist
developm ent. The skills taught build upon those underpinning the
PEACE course. Therefore, there is no conflict betw een this type of
course and the PEACE model w hich remains the bedrock of British
police interview ing. Rather, the advanced course is a developm ent
of the PEACE model and aims to further students' know ledge of
questioning, interview planning and legal m atters associated with
interview ing. A m ajor difference is that instead of focusing on crimes
such as theft and m inor assault which were the basis of the PEACE
course, the students concentrate on interview s for crim es such as
murder, rape and serious assault.
One m ajor difference betw een the PEACE course and the advanced
course is assessm ent. The PEACE course has no access test to gain
entry to the course. N either does it conclude with a formal assessed
interview. The 'advanced' course has both. Prior to attending the
course candidates will conduct an assessed role-play interview on
a case such as theft or m inor assault. If successful they attend the
course where, at the end, they have to plan, prepare and conduct a
role-play interview for an offence such as rape or serious assault. This
interview is assessed against set criteria. Only w hen successful are
officers permitted to interview suspects for the m ost serious of cases.
Each part of the PEACE model is dealt with in more detail. During
sessions concerning 'preparation and planning', m ethods of analyzing
inform ation are discussed and practised. Officers are trained to
focus on setting objectives for each interview and ensuring they are
achieved. Interview planning has been significantly affected by the
most im portant legal changes of recent years mentioned previously is
the am endm ent to a suspect's right to silence. This is where suspects
still have the right to refuse to answer questions but if they then give
an explanation at court the honesty of this may be questioned. This
has had the effect of m aking the am ount of inform ation made available
to the suspect prior to interview critical. Legal advisers in England
and Wales are entitled to certain inform ation prior to interview but
officers have discretion as to w hat inform ation to disclose beyond
this. The decision over which inform ation to disclose and w hat to
w ithhold has becom e pivotal to a successful interview.
173
'Engage and explain' as taught on the one-week course is a functional

process. Officers read from a prompt card to ensure they cover all
legal requirements. On the advanced course building rapport with
suspects within the legal constraints is deemed crucial to conducting
an effective interview. A significant amount of time is spent within
the first week of the course explaining the importance of rapport and
encouraging officers to develop their own style. The students are also
taught to cover all necessary legal issues without the use of cue or
prompt cards. Students are encouraged to dispel cultural assumptions
of guilt as such assumptions produce biased questioning designed to
establish guilt as opposed to an account (Moston et al. 1992; Mortimer
1994a). Having dealt with the preparatory and introductory phases in
the first few days of the course the students move on to the 'account'
phase of the interview. Training in the 'account' stage encompasses
the need to structure the obtaining of information from a suspect
and the use of appropriate questioning techniques in order that the
information obtained is reliable and accurate. A large amount of time
is spent on this phase developing the officers' ability to obtain and
probe a suspect's account using productive questioning techniques.
This skill forms a key area of development for most officers. This
extends to the clarification or challenge phase. Students are taught
not to be judgemental or inappropriate when putting evidence that
contradicts a suspect's account even where it seems obvious that
the suspect is lying. The 'evaluation' of the interview is addressed
by introducing students to models of feedback and assessing their
ability both to assess themselves and to deliver objective feedback
to their peers. The assessment of the post interview product is also
addressed in great detail. Students analyze the answers given to their
detailed questions in order to identify inconsistencies in a suspect's
account.
D oes advanced tra in in g w ork?
The advanced interview course represents an intensive investment

in individual officers and so the key question is 'does it work?'
Over the last three years Griffiths and Milne have been conducting
research examining this very question. Fifty students who have
successfully completed the course have agreed to participate in the
study. Data collection for the study is complete but what follows is
a discussion of preliminary findings based on a sample of 15 of the
advanced interviewers (60 interviews). The purpose of the research
is to establish:
174
• w hether students who com plete the course im prove as

interview ers;
• if they do im prove in w hat ways they dem onstrate this
im provem ent; and
• w hether these im provem ents transfer to the w orkplace and persist
over time.
Audio tapes of four interview s by each of the officers have been

collected. These have been marked against a set of criteria that was
developed from a scale used by Clarke and M ilne (2001). Individual
elem ents of the interview process are broken dow n into 120 criteria.
Exam ples include com pliance with legal requirem ents at the start
and finish of the interview plus behaviours such as rapport building
and sum m arizing the interview ee's account at periodic points within
the interview. The use of questions by the interview ers is the subject
of a specific range of criteria. Eight different categories of question
(open, probing, appropriate closed, inappropriate closed, leading,
m ultiple, forced choice and op inion/statem ent) are evaluated in each
interview by the use of the Griffiths Q uestion Map (GQM). This tracks
the chronology of question usage to identify the m ost productive
strategies. Im proved ability in this area is critical in establishing
w hether advanced interview ers have succeeded in moving away
from the 'confession'-based approach criticized by both courts and
psychologists to a more open-m inded approach based upon obtaining
an account from a suspect. The criteria are either scored on a y e s/
no basis for sim ple criteria such as 'gave time and date' or a five-
point Likert scale for more com plex criteria such as 'developm ent of
rapport'. In this scale '1 ' represents very poor and '5 ' excellent. The
first two interview s collected are the role-play interview s conducted
by the student to gain access to the course (interview A) and the
assessed interview at the end of the course (interview 13). The third
interview is an interview conducted with a real suspect shortly after
the student's graduation from the course (interview C). The fourth
and final interview is another real-life interview conducted up to
one year later (interview D). Interviews C and D (real life) concern
interview s for crim es such as rape and murder. Offences carrying life
im prisonm ent as a maxim um penalty m ake up 75 per cent of this
part of the sample. (A separate control of 30 interview s conducted
by PEACE-trained officers has also been collected and scored against
identical criteria.) The discussion below concerns the sample of
advanced trained interview ers.
175
Figure 9.1 show s the com parative results across the sam ple of 15
detective officers in terms of their overall perform ance in four assessed
interview's (60 interview s). Interview' A is the role-play interview that
officers conduct to gain access to the course. The average perform ance
of the sam ple in this interview' is assessed as 2.25. The m arking
guide for the scale suggests '3 ' as PEACE standard and so this result
indicates a poor overall standard. This is especially true when one
considers that the figure represents only successful applicants for
the course. This result is significant because officers have time to
prepare for the assessm ent and attend as volunteers seeking access
to the course. Interview B, the final assessed interview undertaken
at the conclusion of the training course, shows there is a significant
im provem ent in the overall standard of interview s conducted across
this group. The mean score of the group is 4.1. This is classified
as 'skilful' within the m arking guide. This score is achieved under
sim ilar test pressure as the first interview in that the officers have
5.0 "
4 .5 1
A B C D
Interview
F ig u re 9.1 The overall interview assessment
176
to pass the interview to graduate from the course. However, the

interview concerns a more com plex offence than the entry test and
so the level of perform ance achieved clearly shows that the officers'
skills have developed as a result of the intensive training. As before
the figure only shows officers who successfully com plete the course.
The interview s conducted after return to the workplace C and D show
some erosion in overall skill but still dem onstrate a higher level of
skill than prior to training. This erosion could be accounted for by the
fact that the interview s assessed are 'real' and not sim ulated or the
fact that they take place under 'real' conditions. For exam ple, some
of the interview s collected take place late at night w hen officers have
been on duty for an extended period. The m ost telling com parison is
the difference betw een the last interview (D) and the first interview
(A). This indicates that even after som e time has elapsed there is an
appreciable im provem ent in the overall level of skills displayed by
the sample since they were assessed before the course.
Figure 9.2 show s mean scores for the same sam ple but focuses on
one criterion; the ability to deliver the caution or right to silence.
This is the conditional caution referred to earlier. The wording of this
caution is: 'You are not obliged to say anything. But it may harm your
defence if you do not m ention w hen questioned som ething you later
rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'
Interview
F ig u re 9 .2 Assessment of the delivery of the caution
177
W hilst many officers read the words from a card advanced

interview ers are expected to deliver the caution w ithout prompts. The
cue cards are rem oved from the interview room for the assessm ent
interview s (A and B). The criterion is assessed on the officer's ability
to deliver the caution word perfect at an appropriate pace. The results
from the sam ple show that even prior to training, com petence in this
area was high with an average score of 4.2. The level of perform ance
for this criterion is preserved over time with a m ean score of 4.6
for the last interview (D). The ability to quote the caution verbatim
is im portant because the wording is a legal requirem ent and could
result in a case being lost if given incorrectly. It is also a sim ple area
to assess because it is easy for an assessor to spot errors in the words
used. O ther criteria (for exam ple, structure of topics) present greater
problem s because there is a greater subjective elem ent to evaluating
this skill. The delivery of the caution im proves to a high standard
after training and rem ains at this level in the first workplace interview.
However, it is worthy of note that the overall difference betw een the
m ean perform ance of the sam ple prior to training and after is less
than one point on the scale.
Figure 9.3 represents a more com plex skill. This is the explanation
of the caution or right to silence. W hen this caution was introduced
in 1995 it was more com plicated than the previous version. The
law (PACE 1984) also required that officers ensured that a suspect
understood this fundam ental hum an right. G uidance was issued to
officers and the first interview (A) scores indicate that officers explained
the right to an acceptable standard prior to extra training. However,
it should be noted that any of the criteria within the introductory
phase of the interview can be practised as an officer know s they will
arise during every interview. Therefore the respectable m ean score of
3.8 m ight not be a realistic portrayal of officers' practical ability but
rather their preparation for the test. W hen assessing the perform ance
of the sample against this criteria it can be seen that there appears to
be a greater im provem ent after training than in the sim pler 'delivery
of the caution criterion' but also a more marked decline in the skill
level displayed after return to the w orkplace (C and D). The ability
to explain this im portant legal point in clear, concise language is seen
as im portant in building trust and rapport with a suspect. W hereas
the caution itself has one form of words the explanation of it can be
approached in several ways and it may be this factor which produces
the difference in perform ance over time. Listening to the audio tapes
shows certain officers cutting down the explanation in interview D.
This may be the result of them m aking their own decisions as to the
178
im portance of the explanation or experim enting with different ways

to explain it but om itting key elements.
Figure 9.4 show s one of the m ost com plex criteria. This concerns
an officer's ability to structure the areas of the interview. This is
critical in conducting skilful interviews. They can be rehearsed and
are the same during every interview. The topics, or subjects, discussed
are different in every interview and im possible to rehearse like the
introductions or legal elem ents. Therefore the officer's ability to cover
the relevant subjects in the appropriate sequence is tested on every
occasion. The aim is to produce an interview that closely exam ines
the key evidence and does not waste time probing irrelevancies. The
ability to do this becom es more difficult the longer an interview
lasts and the more com plicated the subject matter. The interview s
assessed in the study vary in length from 32 m inutes to over 4
hours. Interview A lasts no longer than 45 m inutes and concerns
sim ple crimes. However, officers' ability to structure these interview s
5.0
4 .5
4.0
J 3.5
3
(D
c 2.5
CO
2.0
1.5
1.0
A B C D
Interview
F ig u re 9 .3 Assessment of explanation of the caution
179
5.0
A B C D
Interview
Figure 9.4 A ssessm en t of th e stru ctu re of topics in sequ ence
is poor on average, the mean score being 2.1. Very few officers
scored higher than 3. Interview B concerns a serious crime with a
significant amount of information to question the suspect about.
Despite this the sample display a skilled performance in this area,
the mean score being 4.4, which shows a significant improvement
over interview A. In the discussion regarding Figure 9.3 the point
was made about officers practising their introductions in order to
improve their scores. This is not possible with the criterion subject
of Figure 9.4 because the information available for every interview is
unique and presents previously unseen issues. The skills loss found
in the workplace interviews (C and D) concerning this criterion is
significant. In particular, interview D shows a significant decrease
since training. This illustrates the difference between maintaining
improvement within simple or complex criteria. As a final point it
should be noted that even with the skills loss officers show a higher
level of skill in more complex interviews one year after training than
before training.
The ability to question a suspect using appropriate question
types is fundamental to advanced interviewing. The course spends
180
extensive time raising awareness of different question types and the

dam aging effect certain types of questions can have. Figure 9.5 shows
the skills of the sam ple across all four interview s w ithin this area. The
initial interview (A) records a mean score of 3.3 for the sample. This
equates to a PEACE standard in the m arking guide. As in the earlier
discussion the sam ple show n in this figure were all successful in this
interview in that they gained access to the course. The level of skill
displayed in this com plex area is com paratively high in interview B,
being 4.2. The w orkplace interview s (C and D) show a small skill loss
even w hen exam ining the last interview assessed (D). Further, the
perform ance at that point is significantly better than before training
despite the interview s being for more serious offences. Com paring
the results of this criterion and that of topic structure suggests that
officers find the latter easier to learn (interview B m ean 4.4 com pared
with 4.2 for use of questions) but more difficult to m aintain over time;
(interview D mean of 3.0 com pared with 3.9 for use of questions).
5.0
A B C D
Interview
F ig u re 9 .5 Assessment of the appropriate use of questions
181
T h e G riffith s Q u e s tio n Map ( G Q M )
The initial criteria developed to assess the employment of question

types within an interview used a Likert scale to evaluate appropriate
and inappropriate questions. However, it was soon apparent that,
although this was a useful indicator which allowed comparison
with other criteria in the scale (as above), there was a need for a
more in-depth analysis of question usage which went beyond simply
counting the number of each type of question used in an interview.
The result was the Griffiths Question Map (GQM). The following is
a brief description of the GQM (for a fuller description, see Griffiths
and Milne in preparation). The GQM divides questions into eight
types, split into productive and non-productive categories:
1. Open questions defined as those allowing a full range of response

(e.g. 'Describe everything that happened in the shop?' or 'Tell me
about the argument with your wife?'). These questions encourage
longer and more accurate answers from interviewees.
2. Probing questions defined as more intrusive and requiring a more
specific answer, usually commencing with the active words 'w ho',
'what, 'w hy', 'where', 'w hen' 'w hich' or 'how' (e.g. 'You said you
pushed your wife over, which part of her body hit the ground
first?'). These are appropriate when obtaining further detail
following an initial account.
3. Appropriate closed y es/n o questions which are used at the
conclusion of a topic where open and probing questions have been
exhausted. They are typically used to establish legal points (e.g.
'Did you strike the other man more than the one time you have
described?').
These are all defined as productive questions and appropriate to

obtaining an account from the interviewee. The remaining question
types are defined as unproductive and associated with poor
questioning:
4. Inappropriate closed y es/n o questions which could appear identical

in wording to an 'appropriate closed' question but are used at the
wrong point in the interview and therefore become unproductive
because they either allow an evasive interviewee the easy option in
giving less detailed answers or close down the range of responses
182
available to an interview ee (e.g. 'Could you describe the man who

pushed you ?').
5. Leading questions which suggest an answer in formal content

to an interview ee (e.g. 'Are you norm ally that aggressive after
drinking?').
6. M ultiple questions which constitute a num ber of sub-questions

asked at once. This m akes it difficult to ascertain which one the
interview ee is m eant to answer (e.g. 'How did you get there, what
did you do inside and w hen did you first decide to steal the car?').
M ultiple questions also include m ultiple concept questions. This is
where an interview er asks about two concepts at once (e.g. W hat
did they look like?').
7. Forced choice questions which only offer the interview ee a limited

num ber of possible responses (e.g. 'Did you kick or punch the
other w om an?').
8. Opinion or statem ent defined as posing an opinion or putting

statem ents to an interview ee as opposed to asking a question (e.g.
'I think you did assault the other person').
The GQM allots an individual line to each question type as shown

below. In addition other inform ation can be entered on the map (e.g.
time). The map is used when observing an interview live or listening
to a recording after the event. Each question is plotted on to the
appropriate line as it is posed in the interview form ing a 'm ap' of the
way in which the interview er uses different types of questions across
the tim eline of the interview. Context is an essential com ponent in
assessing question usage and the 'm ap' illustrates the way in which
questions are used far better than sim ply scoring of the frequency of
a particular question type. The same question construction can have
different classifications depending where in time and space it comes
in the interview. The follow ing are exam ples of the use of the GQM
in the research exam ining the effectiveness of advanced interview
training.
Figure 9.6 is a map of an assessed interview conducted by an
officer prior to attending the training course (interview A). The
interview lasted 45 m inutes and concerned an offence of assault
where the suspect gave an account denying the offence. As can be
seen the officer has m ade extensive use of probing questions (n =
56) com pared with open questions (n = 20). There are a num ber
of closed y e s/n o questions that have been assessed as appropriate
183
Time
Fig u re 9.6 The GQM of an interview for assault
(n = 10); however, a high number of inappropriate closed y es/n o

questions were deemed inappropriate (n = 25). There are hardly
any leading questions (w = 2) and only one forced choice question.
Overall the chronology of question use reveals recurring patterns of
sequences of probing questions with less use of any other question
type. The majority of questions used were productive. As a result
the officer was successful in gaining access to the course but needs
developmental training in the appropriate use of closed y es/n o
questions.
Figure 9.7 is a map of part of a real-life interview with a murder
suspect conducted by the same officer after training (interview C).
The map depicts a 43-minute period in the early part the interview,
spread across two audio tapes (note that audio tapes last a maximum
of 45 minutes and the timescale reverts to 2 halfway across the map).
Looking across the whole map the officer has still made a greater
use of probing questions (n = 51) compared with open questions (n
= 17). The officer has also used a number of appropriate closed y e s/
no questions (n = 20) but has only used two (n = 2) unproductive
questions in the whole interview. This is a significant improvement
to the previous interview. However, a detailed look at the map
184
Closed
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 0
Leading
Multiple
Forced
Choice
Opinion
Stmt
Figure 9.7 The GQM for an interview with a murder suspect
reveals more interesting information. This map depicts two different

phases of the interview. The period from 6 to 24 m inutes in the first
interview represents the first account phase of the interview and
shows the use of both open and probing questions. The second tape
(from 2 to 27 m inutes) on the map show s more detailed questioning
about two topics where the interview er required more detail. In
particular the second topic, which ran from 14 to 27 m inutes, shows
a string of probing questions and a definite change in style from the
more varied use of open and probing questions in the first account.
The interview er also em ploys a num ber of appropriate closed y e s/n o
questions towards the end of the topic to close down the topic area
having obtained the inform ation required. It can be seen that there is
a clear difference betw een the use of question types in the interview s
depicted in Figures 9.6 and 9.7. The latter interview conducted after
training is more organized and logical in its structure whereas the
form er interview, which took place prior to training appears to
show a random and unstructured approach. In addition, the use of
questions by this officer has altered in that the questions in Figure
9.7 are exclusively productive and confined to the top-three question
types.
185
Figure 9.8 is a map of a real interview with a suspect accused

of sexually assaulting a child. The interview was not conducted by
an officer who had received advanced interview training and was
collected as part of the control sample. Initial exam ination of the
map reveals a com pletely different profile from either of the previous
two interview maps. This interview lasted 42 minutes. Although the
interview er com m ences with an open question he quickly descends
into a predom inate use of inappropriate closed y e s/n o and leading
questions with the majority of questions being unproductive. O f
particular note is the use of opinion and statem ent. The first example
of this occurred at 30 m inutes and consisted of a com m ent 'I have
interviewed this girl and I know she is not lying'. Nine sim ilar
com m ents follow ed in the last 12 m inutes of the interview. The GQM
of the interview show s that the officer becam e increasingly frustrated
with his inability to gain an admission from the interview ee and
resorted to unsupported accusations. The interview terminates
with the officer expressing his view that the suspect was guilty of
the alleged offence. Further research into this particular interview
revealed that the judge excluded the interview from the subsequent
trial and the defendant was acquitted.
This brief description of the GQM and prelim inary findings show s
that the use of questions is a critical factor in evaluating the legality
Open
Probing
F ig u re 9 .8 The GQM for an interview with a child abuse suspect
186
and effectiveness of interviews. The development of the GQM has

continued and it has now been incorporated into police training
courses where officers are using it to evaluate their own use of
questions in order to identify strengths and weaknesses (see Griffiths
and Milne in preparation).
C o n clu s io n s
All officers attempting to gain access to the advanced course have

been PEACE trained. Nevertheless, the level of skill demonstrated by
the research sample in interview A overall is below that expected from
PEACE-trained officers, similar to the findings of Clarke and Milne
(2001). Detailed examination of individual criteria suggests that the
officers score higher in areas associated with legal requirements that
can be defined as simple criteria. The more complex areas associated
with more difficult skills such as topic structure and questioning
show a low level of skill across the sample before training (interview
A). This lends support to the hypothesis that the original PEACE
course was effective at preventing illegal and oppressive interviews
but less effective at improving the ability of officers to obtain and
probe accounts. After training (interview B) the sample show an
improvement in every criterion examined. The level of improvement
varies dependent on the criterion and ability prior to training but
the complex criteria demonstrate appreciable improvements. This is
despite the fact the final course interview (B) is more complex than
the first interview (A). Overall these improvements transfer to the
workplace. However, there is a marked decline in the performance
of the sample in some of the more complex criteria in the last
interview assessed (D). This suggests a need for refresher training in
these complex areas. This finding has resource implications for any
organization deciding to initiate such a programme.
The development of advanced training, therefore, can be judged
to have improved the skills of the interviewers in this sample. If
such results are replicated across all police interviewers trained
using this method then the implementation of the tiered approach
can be judged to have improved police interviews with suspects
immediately after training. However, the importance of monitoring
and ongoing refresher training can be evidenced from the skills loss
apparent within the complex criteria as time elapses after training.
GQMs assessed from interviews some time after the course (interview
D) show a wide variation of profile, further evidencing that need.
187
T ier fo u r is so lely co n cern ed w ith the m o n ito rin g and ev alu ation of
in terv iew s in ord er to p ro v id e reg u lar ob jectiv e feed b ack . T his area
sh ou ld be the su b ject o f fu rth e r research to ev a lu a te its effect. T h ese
p relim in ary find ings d em o n stra te that, w ith the a p p ro p riate training,
officers can im p ro ve th eir sk ills and co n d u ct effectiv e and p ro fessio n a l
in terv iew s. T h is is essen tial in secu rin g safe co n v ictio n s in the m ost
serio u s o f cases if the co n fid en ce o f the p u b lic is to be m ain tain ed .
N o te
1. The term 'Britain' or 'British' has been used throughout the chapter for
ease of reading. However, it should be noted that England and Wales
have different laws from Scotland and Northern Ireland. Comments about
historical cases relate to England and Wales only. However, police forces
within Scotland and Northern Ireland are adopting the five-tier strategy
and so comments regarding the development of interviewing are relevant
to all four countries.
R e fe re n c e s
Baldwin, J. (1993) 'Police interview techniques: establishing truth or proof',

Bull, R. and Milne, R. (2004) 'Attempts to improve the police interviewing of
suspects', in G.D. Lassiter (ed.) Interrogations, Confessions and Entrapment.
New York, NY: Kluwer Academic.
Central Planning and Training Unit (1992) A Guide to Interviewing. Harrogate:
Home Office.
Interviewing Course. Police Research Award Scheme (PRAS/149).
Clarke, M. (1994) ‘The end of an era', Police Review, 102: 22-5.
Griffiths, A. and Milne, R. (in prep.) The Griffiths Question Map (GQM). A
Training Manual.
Gudjonsson, G.H. (2003) The Psychology o f Interrogations and Confessions.
Chichester: Wiley.
Home Office and Department of Health (2001) Achieving Best Evidence.
London: HMSO.
Confessions (3rd edn). Baltimore, MD: Wilkins & Wilkins.
Irving, B.L. and Hilgendorf, L. (1980) Police Interrogation: The Psychological
Approach - a Case Study o f Current Practice. London: HMSO.
Laville, S. (2002) 'The Damilola trial', Daily Telegraph, 26 April.
188
McGurk, B.J, Carr, M.J. and McGurk, D. (1993) Investigative Interviewing

Courses fo r Police Officers: An Evaluation. Police Research Series Paper 4.
London: Home Office.
Milne, R. and Bull, R. (1999) Investigative Interviewing: Principles and Practice.
Chichester: Wiley.
Mortimer, A. (1994a) 'Cognitive processes underlying police investigative
interviewing behaviour.' PhD thesis, University of Portsmouth.
Mortimer, A. (1994b) 'Asking the right questions', Policing, 10: 111-23.
Moston , S. and Engleberg, T. (1993) 'Questioning techniques in tape recorded
interviews with criminal suspects', Policing and Society, 3: 223-37.
Norfolk, G.A. (1997) Fit to Be Interviewed by the Police. Harrogate: Association
of Police Surgeons.
Pearse, J. and Gudjonsson, G.H. (1996) 'Police interviewing techniques at
two south London police stations', Psychology, Crime and Law, 3: 63-74.
Robbins, T. (2001) 'Acquittals by juries reach record levels', The Sunday Times,
28 January.
Shepherd, E. (1993) 'Ethical interviewing', in E. Shepherd (ed.) Aspects o f
Police Interviewing. Issues in Criminology and Legal Psychology 18. Leicester:
British Psychological Society.
Stephenson, G.M. and Moston, S.J. (1994) 'Police interrogation', Psychology,
Crime and Laiv, 1: 151-7.
Tendler, S. (2002) 'Damilola police "created witness to avert failure"', The
Times, 15 May.
Williamson, T. (1991) Police Investigations - Interview Techniques. London:
Seminar Paper Reprints.
Williamson, T. (1993) 'From interrogation to investigative interviewing:
strategic trends in police questioning', Journal o f Community and Applied
189
C h a p te r 10
The Reid Technique of interviewing

and interrogation
Joseph P. Buckley
In tro d u c tio n
A process of interviewing and interrogation, which has come to be

known as the Reid Technique, was initially developed in the 1940s
and 50s and described in the first edition of the book, Criminal
Interrogation and Confessions, by Fred E. Inbau and John E. Reid,
published in 1962. During the next 43 years the Reid Technique
continued to evolve and several new editions of the book were
published, with the fourth edition published in 2001 (co-authored by
Inbau, Reid, Joseph Buckley and Brian Jayne).
The technique is taught in seminars across the USA, Canada,
Europe and Asia by John E. Reid and Associates, Inc.1 Hundreds of
thousands of investigators have received this training. As a process
that scrupulously honours the rights of the individual and the
guidelines established by the courts, the Reid Technique is widely
considered to be the most effective interrogation technique in use
today. In fact, Wayne State University Law School Professor Joseph
Grano said in his review of the third edition of Criminal Interrogation
and Confessions: T h is is the only technique a modern civilized society
should use' (1984).
In June, 2004 the US Supreme Court, in the case Missouri v. Seibert,
recognized John E. Reid and Associates as a law-enforcement training
resource that properly teaches the advisement of Miranda rights. This
chapter will outline the essential elements of the Reid Technique.
190
The Reid Technique of interviewing and interrogation
D is tin c tio n s be tw e e n in te rv ie w s and in te rro g a tio n s
The Reid Technique includes both an interview and interrogation

process. The terms 'interview' and 'interrogation' are often used
interchangeably by investigators, depending on the audience being
addressed. At the outset of this chapter I would like to describe some
of the essential differences between an interview and interrogation so
that the reader will have a clear understanding of what we mean by
these terms as they appear in text.
Characteristics o f an interview
An interview is non-accusatory
This should be the case even when the investigator has clear reason
to believe that the suspect is involved in the offence or has lied to
him or her. By maintaining a non-accusatory tone, the investigator
is able to establish a much better rapport with the suspect which
will assist in any interrogation that might follow the interview. A
guilty subject is more likely to volunteer useful information about his
or her access, opportunity, propensity and motives if the questions
are asked in a non-accusatory fashion. In addition, the suspect's
behavioural responses to interview questions can be more reliably
interpreted when the questions are asked in a conversational, rather
than challenging manner. The investigator should remain neutral and
objective during the interview process.
The purpose for an interview is to gather information

During an interview the investigator should be eliciting investigative
and behavioural information. Examples of investigative information
include the relationship between the suspect and the victim, to
establish the suspect's alibi or access to the crime scene. During
an interview the investigator should closely evaluate the suspect's
behavioural responses to interview questions. The suspect's posture,
eye contact, facial expression and word choice as well as response
delivery may each reveal symptoms of truthfulness or deception.
Ultimately, the investigator must make an assessment of the
suspect's credibility when responding to investigative questions.
This is primarily done through evaluating the suspect's behavioural
responses during the interview, along with independent assessment
of factual information.
191
An interview may be conducted early during an investigation

Because the purpose for an interview is to collect information, it
may be conducted before evidence is analyzed or all the factual
information about an investigation is known. Obviously, the more
information the investigator knows about the crime and the suspect,
the more meaningful will be the subsequent interview of the suspect.
However, on a practical level, the investigator should take advantage
of any opportunity to conduct an interview regardless of sketchy
facts or the absence of specific evidence.
An interview may be conducted in a variety o f environments

The ideal environment for an interview is a room designed specifically
for that purpose. Frequently, however, interviews are conducted
wherever it is convenient to ask questions - in a person's home, or
office, in the back seat of a squad car or on a street corner.
Interviews are free flowing and relatively unstructured

W hilst the investigator will have specific topics to cover during the
interview, the responses a suspect offers may cause the investigator
to explore unanticipated areas. The investigator must be prepared to
follow up on these areas because the significance of the information
may not be known until later during the investigation.
The investigator should take written notes during a formal interview

Note taking during a formal interview (one conducted in a controlled
environment) serves several important functions. Not only will the
notes record the subject's responses to interview questions but, by
taking notes, the investigator will be more aware of the subject's
behaviour. Note taking also slows down the pace of the questioning.
It is much easier to lie to questions that are asked in a rapid-fire
manner. By creating silence between each question, the deceptive
subject experiences greater anxiety when given time to think
about his or her deceptive response, and is more likely to display
behaviour symptoms of deception. Furthermore, an innocent suspect
may become confused or flustered when a rapid-fire approach to
questioning is used.
Characteristics o f an interrogation
An interrogation is accusatory
A deceptive suspect is not likely to offer admissions against self-
interest unless he or she is convinced that the investigator is certain
192
of his or her guilt. Therefore, an accusatory statement, such as 'Joe,

there is absolutely no doubt that you were the person who started
this fire', is necessary to display this level of confidence. On the other
hand, if the investigator merely states 'Joe, I think you may have
had something to do with starting this fire', the suspect immediately
recognizes the uncertainty in the investigator's confidence which
reinforces his or her determination to deny any involvement in
committing the crime.
An interrogation involves active persuasion

The fact that an interrogation is conducted means that the investigator
believes that the suspect has not told the truth during non-accusatory
questioning. Further questioning of the suspect is unlikely to elicit
the presumed truth. In an effort to persuade the suspect to tell the
truth the investigator will use tactics which make statements rather
than ask questions. These tactics wall also dominate the conversation;
for someone to be persuaded to tell the truth that person must first
be willing to listen to the investigator's statements.
The purpose o f an interrogation is to learn the truth

A common misperception exists in believing that the purpose of
an interrogation is to elicit a confession. Unfortunately, there are
occasions when an innocent suspect is interrogated and only after the
suspect has been accused of committing the crime will the suspect's
innocence become apparent. If the suspect can be eliminated based on
his or her behaviour or explanations offered during an interrogation,
it must be considered successful because the truth was learnt. Often,
of course, an interrogation will result in a corroborated confession,
w'hich again accomplishes the goal of learning the truth.
An interrogation is conducted in a controlled environment

Because of the persuasive tactics utilized during an interrogation, the
environment needs to be private and free from distractions.
An interrogation is conducted only when the investigator is reasonably certain

o f the suspect’s guilt
The investigator should have some basis for believing a suspect
has not told the truth before confronting the suspect. The basis
for this belief may be the suspect's behaviour during an interview,
inconsistencies within the suspect's account, physical evidence or
circumstantial evidence coupled with behavioural observations.
193
Interrogation should not be used as a primary means to evaluate

a suspect's truthfulness - in most cases, that can be accomplished
during a non-accusatory interview.
The investigator should not take any notes until after the suspect has told
the truth and is fully committed to that position
Premature note-taking during an interrogation serves as a reminder
to the suspect of the incriminating nature of his or her statements
and can therefore inhibit further admissions against self-interest. Only
after the suspect has fully confessed, and perhaps after the confession
has been witnessed by another investigator, should written notes be
made documenting the details of the confession.
Benefits o f conducting an interview before an interrogation
The majority of interrogations are conducted under circumstances

in which the investigator does not have overwhelming evidence
that implicates the suspect - indeed, the decision to conduct an
interrogation is an effort possibly to obtain such evidence. Frequently,
prior to an interrogation, the only evidence supporting a suspect's
guilt is circumstantial or behavioural in nature. Under this condition
conducting a non-accusatory interview of the suspect is indispensable
with respect to identifying whether or not the suspect is, in fact,
likely to be guilty. Furthermore, the information learnt during the
interview of a guilty suspect, when there is sparse incriminating
evidence linking him or her to the crime, is necessary to conduct a
proper interrogation.
In those instances where there is clear and convincing evidence of
a suspect's guilt, it may be tempting for an investigator to engage
directly in an interrogation, bypassing the interview process. This is
generally not advisable for the following reasons:
1. The non-accusatory nature of the interview affords the investigator

an opportunity to establish a level of rapport and trust with
the suspect that cannot be accomplished during an accusatory
interrogation.
2. During an interview the investigator often learns important

information about the suspect that will be beneficial during an
interrogation.
194
3. There is no guarantee that a guilty suspect will confess during an

interrogation. However, if that same guilty suspect is interviewed
he may lie about his alibi, possessing a particular weapon, knowing
the victim or having access to a certain type of vehicle. During
a subsequent trial the investigator may be able to demonstrate
that the statements made during the interview were false, and
thus provide evidence contributing to the finding of the suspect's
guilt.
4. There is a psychological advantage for the investigator to conduct
a non-accusatory interview before the accusatory interrogation.
For the interrogation to be successful, the suspect must trust the
investigator's objectivity and sincerity. This is much more easily
accomplished when the investigator first offers the suspect an
opportunity to tell the truth through conversational questioning.
An exception to the foregoing suggestion may be the situation when

the suspect is caught in an incriminating circumstance or clearly
evidences a desire to tell the truth during initial questioning. Under
this circumstance, an immediate interrogation may be warranted. As
an example, a car that was recently reported stolen may be pulled
over after a brief chase. In this circumstance, conducting a non-
accusatory preliminary interview of the driver makes little sense.
If the suspect waives his or her Miranda rights, the arresting officer
would certainly be wise to confront the suspect immediately, perhaps
with a statement similar to 'We know you took this car. Did you take
it just for a joy ride or were you going to use it as a get-away car
for a robbery?'
Sum mary
Traditionally, investigators have made little or no distinction between

interviewing and interrogation. However, advancements in these
specialized techniques suggest that clear differences exist and ought
to be recognized. As will later be presented, some investigators
are inherently good interviewers but lack the same intrinsic skills
during an interrogation - and vice versa. An effective investigator
will have gained skills in both these related, but distinctly different,
procedures.
195
S u g g e s tio n s fo r s e ttin g up th e in t e r v ie w / in te r r o g a tio n ro o m
Establish a sense o f privacy
The room should be quiet, with none of the usual 'police' surroundings
and with no distractions within the suspect's view. (If existing
facilities perm it, a special room or rooms should be set aside for this
purpose.) The room should be as free as possible from outside noises
and should also be a room into which no one will have occasion
to enter or pass through during an interview. This will not only
instil a sense of privacy, but also the less the surroundings suggest
a police detention facility, the less difficult it will be for the suspect
or arrestee who is really guilty to im plicate him or herself. The
sam e surroundings will also be reassuring to the innocent suspect.
Therefore, there should be no bars on the window s. (There should be
an alternative m eans of protection against any attem pts to escape.) In
a window less room that has no air-conditioning system , a m echanical
blow er or exhaust system may be installed w ithout m uch difficulty
to improve ventilation and to elim inate, or at least m inim ize, noises.
(The room should have its own thermostatic controls.)
Remove locks and other physical im pedim ents
For non-custodial police or private security interview s, there should

be no lock on the door of the interview ing room, nor should there
be any other physical im pedim ent to an exit by the suspect if he
or she desires to leave the building itself. This will help m inim ize
claim s of false 'im prisonm ent'. The room should also be devoid of
any large objects or drapes that m ight cause the suspect to believe
that a concealed third person can overhear his or her conversation
with the investigator.
Remove all distractions
Interview room s should be of plain colour, should have smooth

walls and should not contain ornam ents, pictures or other objects
that would in any way distract the attention of the person being
interview ed. Even sm all, loose objects, such as paper clips or pencils,
should be out of the suspect's reach so that he or she cannot pick up
and fumble w ith anything during the course of the interview. Tension-
relieving activities of this sort can detract from the effectiveness of
an interrogation, especially during the critical phase when a guilty
196
person may be trying desperately to suppress an urge to confess. If

pictures or ornaments are used at all, they should only be on the
wall behind the suspect. If there is a window in the room, it, too,
should be to the rear.
M inim ize noise
No telephone should be present in the interview room because,

amongst other disadvantages, its ringing or use constitutes a serious
distraction. Also, if the investigator wears a beeper, it should either
be put in the vibrator mode or turned off during the interrogation.
In addition, any noise emanating from the heat or ventilating system
should be minimized to reduce the distraction.
Arrange chairs properly
The chairs for the investigator and suspect should be separated by

about four feet and should directly face each other, without a desk,
table, or any other object between them. The chairs should be the
type normally used as office equipment without rollers.
Straight-back chairs should be used for the suspect as well as
the investigator. Other types of chairs induce slouching or leaning
back, and such positions are psychologically undesirable. A suspect
who is too relaxed whilst being questioned may not give his or her
full attention to the investigator, and this will create an unnecessary
hurdle. Similarly, this is no occasion for the investigator to relax. His
or her full attention and alertness are highly essential. Whenever
possible, the seating arrangement should be such that both the
investigator and the suspect are on the same eye level. Most certainly,
to be scrupulously avoided are chairs with lowered front legs or other
deviations that place the suspect in an 'inferior' posture or prevent
him or her from making normal changes in his or her posture.
T h e Reid nine steps o f in te rro g a tio n
To be clear, the word 'guilt' as used in this text only signifies the
investigator's opinion. In no way does it connote legal guilt based
upon proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Accordingly, it is in that
context this part of the text presents the tactics and techniques
for the interrogation of suspects whose guilt, in the opinion of the
investigator, seems definite or reasonably certain. Amongst them are
the nine steps of interrogation.
197
The investigator's goal during an interrogation is to persuade a

suspect to tell the truth. Largely because of movie and television
portrayals of interrogation, the average citizen has little appreciation
for the persuasive efforts required to convince a guilty suspect to
offer admissions against self-interest.
As a result of many years' experience, primarily on the part of
the staff of John E. Reid and Associates under the guidance of the
late John E. Reid, the interrogation process has been formulated into
nine structural components - the nine steps of criminal interrogation.
These nine steps are presented in the context of the interrogation of
suspects whose guilt seems definite or reasonably certain. It must
be remembered that none of the steps is apt to make an innocent
person confess and that all the steps are legally as well as morally
justifiable.
Step I : the positive confrontation
This involves a direct, positively presented confrontation of the suspect

with a statement that he or she is considered to be the person who
committed the offence. At this stage, the investigator should pause
to evaluate the suspect's verbal and non-verbal response. A suspect
who says nothing and looks down to the floor will be approached
somewhat differently from the suspect who crosses his or her arms
and leans back in the chair whilst stating, 'You're crazy. I swear,
I didn't do it'. Regardless of the suspect's initial response to the
direct positive confrontation, the investigator will proceed to offer a
reason as to why it is important for the suspect to tell the truth. This
transition statement introduces the interrogation theme.
Step 2: theme development
In step 2, the investigator expresses a supposition about the reason

for the crime's commission, whereby the suspect should be offered a
possible moral excuse for having committed the offence. To accomplish
this, the investigator should generally attempt to affix moral blame for
the offence upon some other person (e.g. an accomplice, the victim) or
some particular circumstance such as an urgent need by the suspect
of money in order for the suspect to support him or herself or family.
If a suspect seems to listen attentively to the suggested 'them e', or
seems to be deliberating about it, even for a short period of time,
that reaction is strongly suggestive of guilt. On the other hand, if
the suspect expresses resentment over the mere submission of such a
suggestion, this reaction may be indicative of innocence.
198
Step 3: handling denials

During development of the interrogation theme, a guilty person,
as well as an innocent one, can be expected to offer denials of
involvement in the offence. The investigator should then embark
upon step 3, which consists of suggested procedures for handling
the initial denials of guilt. Basically, this step involves discouraging
the suspect's repetition or elaboration of the denial and returning to
the moral excuse theme that comprises step 2. An innocent person
will not allow such denials to be cut off; furthermore, he or she
will attempt more or less to 'take over' the situation rather than to
submit passively to continued interrogation. On the other hand, a
guilty person will usually cease to voice a denial, or else the denials
will become weaker, and he or she will submit to the investigator's
return to a theme.
Step 4: overcoming objections

This involves the task of overcoming the suspect's secondary line of
defence following the denial - offering reasons as to why he or she
would not, or could not, commit the crime. These excuses will consist
of what may be viewed as 'objections' from the suspect, presented
in the form of explanations oriented around economic, religious,
or moral reasons for not committing the crime. These excuses are
normally offered only by the guilty suspect, particularly when they
come after the denial phase of the interrogation. They are significant
in that they constitute evasions of a bold denial by the substitution of
the less courageous statement as to why the suspect did not or could
not commit the offence under investigation. Such an objection causes
less internal anxiety than the utterance of an outright denial.
Step 5: procurement and retention o f a suspect’s attention

When a guilty suspect's verbal efforts (denials and objections) are
ineffective in dissuading the investigator's confidence, the suspect is
likely mentally to withdraw and 'tune out' the investigator's theme.
Step 5 consists of the procurement and retention of the suspect's full
attention, without which the interrogation may amount to no more
than an exercise in futility. During step 5, the investigator will clearly
display a sincerity in what he or she says. Helpful in achieving this
is an increase in the closeness of the previously described seating
arrangement between investigator and suspect and physical efforts
by the investigator to maintain eye contact with the suspect.
199
Step 6: handling the suspect’s passive mood
This involves recognizing the suspect's passive mood. During this

stage the suspect is weighing the possible benefits of telling the
truth, and this is generally reflected in changes within the suspect's
non-verbal behaviour (tears, a collapsed posture, eyes drawn to the
floor).
Step 7: presenting an alternative question
This step is the utilization of an alternative question - a suggestion

of a choice to be made by the suspect concerning some aspect of
the crime. Generally one choice is presented as more 'acceptable' or
'understandable' than the other. This choice will be in the form of a
question such as 'Was this the first time, or has it happened many
times before?' Whichever alternative is chosen by the suspect, the net
effect of an expressed choice will be the functional equivalent of an
incriminating admission.
Step 8: developing the details o f the offence
Following the selection of an alternative, step 8 involves having the

suspect orally relate the various details about the offence that will
serve ultimately to establish legal guilt. These details can include
where the fatal weapon was discarded or where the stolen money
was hidden and the motive for the crim e's commission.
Step 9: the written confession
Finally, step 9 relates to the confession itself. This step involves the
recommended procedure for converting an oral confession into a
written one.
Before proceeding to apply any of the nine steps, the Miranda

warnings must be given to a custodial suspect and a waiver must
be obtained. In custodial cases, this must occur before the interview.
Unless the investigator knows that this has already been done by the
person who presented the suspect for the interview, or by someone
else in authority prior to the interview, the investigator should give
the warnings and obtain the waiver.
200
False confessions: th e issues
In the past several years a number of false confession cases have

received extensive publicity In several of these cases the convicted
individual has been exonerated by DNA testing and the actual
perpetrator, in turn, has been identified. In these cases it is important
to examine in detail exactly what happened; what went wrong; what
are the lessons to be learnt; and what are potential safeguards that
can be put into place to prevent future mistakes.
To be sure, in the experience of most professional interrogators
the frequency of false confessions is rare. When we do learn of
them, however, the interrogation tactics and techniques should be
scrupulously examined, as well as the circumstances surrounding the
interrogation. When this has been done, there are four factors that
appear with some regularity in false confession cases:
1. The suspect is a juvenile.

2. The suspect suffers some mental or psychological impairment.
3. The interrogation took place over an inordinate amount of
time.
4. The interrogators engaged in illegal tactics and techniques.
Juveniles/mental impairm ent
Every interrogator must exercise extreme caution and care when

interviewing or interrogating a juvenile or a person who is mentally
or psychologically impaired. Certainly these individuals can and do
commit very serious crimes. But when a juvenile or person who
is mentally or psychologically impaired confesses, the investigator
should exercise extreme diligence in establishing the accuracy of such
a statement through subsequent corroboration. In these situations it
is imperative that interrogators do not reveal details of the crime so
that they can use the disclosure of such information by the suspect
as verification of the confession's authenticity.
When a juvenile younger than 15, who has not had any prior
experience with the police, is advised of his or her M iranda rights,
the investigator should carefully discuss and talk about those
rights with the subject (not just recite them) to make sure that he
or she understands them. If it is apparent that the suspect does not
understand his or her rights, no interrogation should be conducted
at that time. The same is true for a person who is mentally or
psychologically impaired.
20 1
Threats/promises
A review of the available information in false confession cases has

revealed that in many of the interrogations the investigators engaged
in the use of impermissible threats and promises. Interrogators in
these cases have made such statements as the following:
• You're not leaving this room until you confess.

• If you tell me you did this you can go home and sleep in your
own bed tonight (when such is not the case).
• You will be sentenced to the maximum term unless you confess.
• With the evidence that we have, there's no doubt that you will be
convicted of this. The only question is how long you are going to
sit in jail.
• If you don't tell the truth I will get your children turned over to
protective services and you'll never see them again.
• The other guys want to charge you with first-degree murder but if
you tell me it was just manslaughter nothing bad will happen to
you.
It goes without saying that in the questioning of a criminal suspect

no professional interrogator should engage in any illegal interrogation
practices, including any threats, promises of leniency or the exercise
of any physically abusive tactics. Furthermore, the rights of the
suspect should be scrupulously respected.
Them e development
It has been suggested by some that the interrogator's effort to develop

a theme during the interrogation is not just offering the suspect a
moral excuse for his or her criminal behaviour, but is actually offering
the suspect a promise of reduced punishment. The following are
several quotations from Criminal Interrogation and Confessions (Inbau,
Reid, Buckley and Hayne 4th edn 2001) that clarify this issue:
During the presentation of any theme based upon the morality

factor, caution must be taken to avoid any indication that the
minimization of the moral blame will relieve the suspect of
criminal responsibility (p. 235).
202
As earlier stated, the interrogator must avoid any expressed or

intentionally implied statement to the effect that because of the
minimized seriousness of the offense, the suspect is to receive a
lighter punishment (p. 246).
In applying this technique of condemning the accomplice, the

interrogator must proceed cautiously and must refrain from
making any comments to the effect that the blame cast on an
accomplice thereby relieves the suspect of legal responsibility
for his part in the commission of the offense (p. 263).
The Investigator Anthology From Jayne and Buckley (2000: 414):
During theme development, caution must be exercised, however,

not to tell the suspect that if the crime was committed for a
morally acceptable reason that the suspect will be accorded
leniency.
Alternative questions
In the Reid Technique the alternative question should never threaten

consequences or offer promises of leniency. The following are improper
alternative question:
• Do you want to co-operate with me and tell me what happened,

or spend the next five to seven years behind bars?
• Do you want to be charged with first-degree murder, which will
mean life in prison, or was this just manslaughter?
• Are you going to get this straightened out today, or do you want
to spend a few days in jail to think about it?
There has been the suggestion by some critics of police interrogation

techniques that the alternative question 'Was this your idea or did
your buddies talk you into it?' is potentially dangerous because it
offers a suspect (including an innocent one) only two choices, both
of which amount to an admission of guilt. Obviously the third choice
is for the suspect to deny any participation in the commission of the
crime that is under investigation.
However, there is an additional issue raised by some critics about
the alternative question - namely, that saying 'Was this your idea or
did your buddies talk you into it' is essentially the same as saying
'If this was your idea you are going to spend time in jail, but if your
203
buddies cam e up with the idea you w on't have any problem s'. This
theory is called 'pragm atic im plication' and was developed from a
research study in which college students read various transcripts
of interrogations and then speculated on the type of punishm ent
the suspects would receive based on the interrogation process
used. Specifically, the students theorized that when the interrogator
suggested in a m urder case interrogation that the victim may have
done or said som ething to have provoked the suspect, that he or
she would receive the same punishm ent as in those interrogations in
w hich the suspect was directly offered a prom ise of leniency that if
he or she confessed he or she would receive less punishm ent.
The courts have rejected the idea that a confession is inadm issible
if a suspect confesses because he or she harbours some internal hope
that his or her confession may lead to a lesser sentence:
• State v. Nunn: 'even if a suspect ...in flu en ced perhaps by wishful

th in k in g ... assumed that he would get more lenient treatm en t... [this]
would not, as a m atter of law, m ake the confession inadm issible.'
• R. v. Rennie: 'Very few confessions are inspired solely by remorse.

O ften the m otives of the accused are m ixed and include a hope
that an early adm ission m ay lead to an early release or a lighter
sentence.'
• R v. Oickle: The Suprem e Court of Canada indicated that the

type of alternative question we suggest does not create an
inadm issible confession, and offered a clear test of w hether or
not an implied threat or prom ise crosses the legal line: 'The m ost
im portant decision in all cases is to look for a quid pro quo offer
by interrogators, regardless of w hether it com es in the form of a
threat or a prom ise.'
Confession corroboration
As we have stated earlier, it is im perative that interrogators do not

reveal details of the crim e so that they can use the disclosure of
such inform ation by the suspect as verification of the confession's
authenticity. In each case there should be docum ented 'hold back'
inform ation about the details of how the crime was com m itted; details
from the crim e scene; details about specific activities perpetrated
by the offender; etc. The goal is to match the suspect's confession
against these details to establish the veracity of the statement. It
should be rem em bered, however, that suspects do not always tell us
204
everything that they did and they do not alw ays rem em ber all the
details themselves:
It is also a fact that m ost confessors to crim es of a serious nature

w ill lie about som e aspect of the occurrence, even though they
may have disclosed the full truth regarding the main event. They
will lie about some detail of the crim e for which they have a
greater feeling of sham e than that which they experienced with
respect to the main event itself (Inbau et al. 2001: 106).
Lies of justification and om ission are com m onplace in written

confessions. Many of these lies represent the suspect's attempt
to present his crime in the m ost favorable light, others have
a more direct bearing, such as protecting the nam e of an
accom plice or concealing involvem ent in another crim e (Jayne
and Buckley 2000: 472).
Some confessions contain m isinform ation because of the suspect's

perceptual distortions. During a kidnapping and m urder of a
child, the suspect may have vivid recollections of com m itting
the crim e, but have no specific recollections of the clothes the
child was w earing (Jayne and Buckley 2000: 472).
M any crimes are com mitted when the suspect is experiencing intense
em otions (fear, anger, frustration). Just as victim s tend to focus on
the robber's weapon during a robbery, the em otions a guilty suspect
experiences can bias attention and m em ory retrieval of specific
details. As cognitive psychologist Daniel Schacter writes (1996: 473):
'W hen a person has actually experienced traum a, the central core of
the experience is almost always well rem em bered; if distortion does
occur, it is m ost likely to involve specific details.'
N evertheless, when significant and substantial contradictions exist
betw een the known facts about the crime and w hat the suspect
describes in his or her confession, extrem e care m ust be exercised in
the assessm ent of the confession's validity.
Factors to consider
With the above discussion in m ind, the follow ing represents some
factors to consider in the assessm ent of the credibility of a suspect's
confession. These issues are certainly not all inclusive, and each case
m ust be evaluated on the 'totality of circum stances' surrounding the
205
interrogation and confession but, nevertheless, these are elements

that should be given careful consideration:2
1. The suspect's condition at the time of the interrogation:

• physical condition (including drug a n d /o r alcohol
intoxication);
• mental capacity; and
• psychological condition.
2. The suspect's age.
3. The suspect's prior experience with law enforcement.
4. The suspect's understanding of the language.
5. The length of the interrogation.
6. The degree of detail provided by the suspect in his or her
confession.
7. The extent of corroboration between the confession and the
crime.
8. The presence of witnesses to the interrogation and confession.
9. The suspect's behaviour during the interrogation.
10. The effort to address the suspect's physical needs.
11. The presence of any improper interrogation techniques.
N o te s
1. Visit w w w .reid .com for details.

2. F o r m ore in form ation on these issues go to 'E d u ca tio n In form ation ' at
w w w .reid .com and click on the 'C ritics C o rn e r'.
R eferences
G rano, J. (1984) 'Selling th e idea to tell the truth: the professional in terrog ator
and m od ern confession la w ', Michigan Lazv Review, 8 4: 662.
Inbau, F.E., R eid, J.E ., Buckley, J. and Jayn e, B. (2 001) Criminal Interrogation
and Confessions (4th edn ). G aithersburg, M D: A spen.
Jayn e, B. and Buckley, J. (2 000) The Investigator Anthology. C h icag o, IL: John
E. Reid & A ssociates.
Schacter, D. (1996) Searching for Memory: The Brain, the Mind and the Past.
N ew York, NY: H arperC ollins.
206
C h a p te r I I
A critical appraisal of modern

police interrogations
Saul M. Kassin
In tro d u c tio n
Let me begin with a story that already has historic value in the
annals of wrongful convictions. This was an infam ous case that took
place in 1989 in New York City. Known as the 'Central Park jogger
case', it involved a young wom an, an investm ent banker, who was
beaten senseless, raped and left for dead. It was a heinous crime that
horrified the city. The victim 's skull had m ultiple fractures, her eye
socket was crushed and she lost three quarters of her blood. Defying
the odds, she survived; but to this day, she is com pletely am nesic
for the incident. Soon thereafter, solely on the basis of police-induced
confessions taken within 72 hours of the crim e, five A frican- and
Hispanic-Am erican boys, 14-16 years old, were convicted of the
attack and sentenced to prison. There were no physical traces of the
defendants at the crim e scene and no traces of the scene on them.
At the time, however, it was easy to understand why detectives
aggressively interrogated the boys, some of w hom were 'w ilding' in
the park that night.
Four of the five jogger confessions were videotaped and presented
to the juries at trial. The tapes (which showed only the confessions,
not the precipitating 14V$-30 hours of interrogation) were com pelling,
as the boys described in vivid detail how the jogger was attacked,
when, where and by w hom , and the role that they played in the
process. One boy physically re-enacted the way he allegedly pulled
off the jo g g er's running pants. A second boy said he felt peer-
pressured to join in his 'first rape' and he expressed remorse. These
207
confessions, portions of which were aired on television, fooled not

only two trial juries but an entire city and nation - including myself,
a native New Yorker who followed the case closely when it broke.
Thirteen years later, Matias Reyes, in prison for three rapes and a
murder committed after the jogger attack, stepped forward with a
voluntary, accurate, independently corroborated confession supported
by DNA evidence (semen found on the victim's body and socks
excluded the boys as donors in 1989; the district attorney prosecuted
the boys solely on the basis of the confessions and argued to the jury
that just because police did not capture all the perpetrators does not
mean they did not get some of them). As the result of a painstaking
and thorough re-examination of the case, including an analysis of the
original confessions, the Manhattan District Attorney's Office joined
a defence motion to vacate the boys' convictions, which was granted
in 2002 (Neiv York v. Wise et al. 2002).
The assault on the Central Park jogger was a horrific, violent act.
Yet the case also now stands as a shocking tale of five false confessions
resulting from a single investigation. Despite its notoriety, this case
illustrates a phenomenon that is not new or unique. The pages of
history reveal many tragic miscarriages of justice involving innocent
men and women who were prosecuted and wrongfully convicted
solely on the basis of false confessions. I would not hazard an estimate
as to the prevalence of the problem, which is unknown. Within the
recent population of post-conviction DNA exonerations, 20-25 per
cent had confessions in evidence (Scheck et al. 2000; h ttp ://w w w .
innocenceproject.org).1
Notably, these tragic outcomes occurred because innocent people
were interrogated, because they confessed, and because prosecutors,
judges and trial juries believed their false confessions. Indeed,
when false confessors plead not guilty and proceed to trial, the jury
conviction rate is 81 per cent, a figure that led Drizin and Leo (2004:
959) to lament that confession evidence is 'inherently prejudicial and
highly damaging to a defendant, even if it is the product of coercive
interrogation, even if it is supported by no other evidence, and even
if it is ultimately proven false beyond any reasonable doubt'. This
sobering result suggests that there are not adequate safeguards in
the criminal justice system to catch the mistakes - which increases
the pressure on police to ensure that their practices elicit accurate
outcomes.
The jogger case also points to a sequence of three potential problems
to watch for in a police investigation: 1) that innocent people are
often targeted for interrogation, despite a lack of evidence of their
208
A critical appraisal of modern police interrogations
involvement, based solely on an interview-based judgement; 2)

certain interrogation techniques can cause innocent people to confess
to crimes they did not commit; and 3), afterwards, it is difficult for
investigators, attorneys, judges and juries to distinguish between
true and false confessions. I will argue that there are risks of error
inherent in each link of this three-step chain of events - from the pre
interrogation interview, to the interrogation that elicits an admission,
to the full confession that is so difficult for trial judges, juries and
others to assess.
Before launching into a critique of current interrogation practices,
let me put my predispositions on the table. First, I know that most
police investigators are well intended, well trained and competent, so
it is not my intent to paint an unflattering portrait of the profession.
But performance can be improved at every step in the process.
Secondly, I am not an ideological zealot looking to handcuff cops
in their pursuit of criminals. I think everyone would agree that
the surgical objective of interrogation is to secure confessions from
suspects who are guilty but not from those, misjudged, who are
innocent. Flence, I think everyone would also agree that the process
itself should be structured to produce outcomes that are diagnostic, as
measured by the observed ratio of true to false confessions. Adopting
this strictly pragmatic position has two implications. The first is that
I recognize that society's relative tolerance for false-positive and
false-negative errors may well shift as a function of contextual factors
(e.g. one could reasonably argue that the fundamental value, rooted
in Blackstone's Commentaries on the Laws o f England, that it is better
to acquit ten guilty people than to convict one who is innocent, may
have to be 'tw eaked' in extreme conditions, as in the questioning of
terrorism suspects who pose an imminent threat). Secondly, whilst
the exclusion from evidence of involuntary confessions serves a
number of important values - such as the desire to ensure that these
statements are reliable, to protect a defendant's due process rights
and to deter repugnant police conduct that undermines the public's
trust in government - the research I will talk about is driven by cold,
pragmatic concerns for reliability.
T h e p re -in te rro g a tio n in te rv ie w : a p la tfo rm fo r bias and e r r o r
The first problem is that innocent people are often targeted for
interrogation, despite the absence of any evidence of their involvement,
based solely on an investigator's hunch. Consider, for example, the
209
military trial of U.S. v. Bickel (1999), in which I testified as an expert

witness. In this case, the defendant confessed to rape as a result of
interrogations by five agents. There was no independent evidence
against the defendant. So, when asked why they interrogated him
so forcefully, one investigator said that Bickel behaved in a deceptive
m anner:
His body language and the way he reacted to our questions

told us that he was not telling the whole truth. Some exam ples
of body language is that he tried to remain calm but you could
tell he w as nervous and every time we asked him a question
his eyes would roam and he would not m ake direct contact,
and at times he would act pretty sporadic and he started to cry
at one time.
Correctly, I think, this defendant was acquitted by a jury of m ilitary

officers.
Num erous other exam ples illustrate the problem. In Florida,
Thom as Saw yer was interrogated for 16 hours for sexual assault and
m urder because his face flushed red and he appeared em barrassed
during an initial interview, a reaction seen as a sign of deception.
W hat the investigators did not know' at the time was that Saw'yer
was a recovering alcoholic and also had a social anxiety disorder
that caused him to sw'eat profusely and blush in public situations.
Ultimately, the charges were dropped. Then there was the California
case of 14-year-old M ichael Crowe, falsely accused in the m urder of
his sister Stephanie. M ichael confessed after intense interrogations,
but the charges were dropped when a drifter in the area was found
with the victim 's blood on his clothing. According to the detectives
in this case, Crowe becam e a prim e suspect in part because they felt
that he had reacted to his sister's death w'ith inappropriately little
emotion.
The first problem can be traced to the pre-interrogation interview.
As per the Reid Technique, the police do not com m ence interrogation
until and unless they have m ade an initial, interview -based judgm ent
that the suspect is lying. Som etim es that judgm ent is reasonably
based on reports from w itnesses or inform ants, or on other forms of
extrinsic evidence. At other times, how'ever, that judgm ent is based
on nothing more than a hunch, a clinical im pression that detectives
form during a non-confrontational interview. In Criminal Interrogation
and Confessions, for exam ple, Inbau et al. (2001) advise investigators to
look for behavioural sym ptom s or indicators of truth and deception
210
in the form of verbal cues (e.g. long pauses, qualified or rehearsed

responses), non-verbal cues (e.g. gaze aversion, frozen posture,
slouching) and behavioural attitudes (e.g. unconcerned, anxious,
guarded). They also recommend the use of various 'behaviour
provoking questions' designed to elicit responses that are presumed
diagnostic of guilt and innocence (e.g. 'W hat do you think should
happen to the person who did this crime?' 'Under any circumstances,
do you think the person who committed this crime should be given
a second chance?'). In these ways, they claim, investigators can
be trained to judge truth and deception at an 85 per cent level of
accuracy - an average that substantially exceeds human lie-detection
performance obtained in any of the world's laboratories.
As this initial judgment becomes a pivotal choice-point in a case,
determining whether a suspect is interrogated or sent home, it is
important to determine scientifically how - and how well - that
judgment is made. As an empirical matter, there are reasons to be
sceptical. Over the years, large numbers of psychological studies
involving thousands of subjects from all over the world have
consistently failed to support the claim that groups of individuals
can attain such high average levels of accuracy at judging truth and
deception. Rather, this research has shown that people perform at no
better than chance level; that training produces, at best, small and
inconsistent improvements compared with control groups; and that
police, judges, customs inspectors, psychiatrists, polygraph examiners
and other experts perform only slightly better than chance, if at all.
In general, professional lie catchers exhibit accuracy rates in the range
from 45 to 60 per cent, with a mean of 54 per cent (for reviews, see
Vrij 2000; Memon et al. 2003; Granhag and Stromwall 2004).
One might argue that performance in these laboratory experiments
is poor because participants are asked to detect truths and lies
uttered in relatively low involvement situations, which can weaken
deception cues. But forensic research on the detection of high-stakes
lies has thus far produced mixed results. One might also argue that
professionals would be more accurate when they personally conduct
the interviews than when they observe sessions conducted by others.
But research clearly does not support this notion either. In short,
there is no scientific evidence to support the claim that professionals,
trained or not, can distinguish truths and lies simply by observing a
person's interview behaviour. This result is not particularly surprising
in light of the kinds of deception cues that form the basis for training.
For example, Inbau et al. (2001) focus on several visual cues - such as
gaze aversion, non-frontal posture, slouching and grooming gestures
- that are not empirically predictive of truth and deception (for a

comprehensive meta-analysis of deception cues, see DePaulo et al.
2003).
In studies that illustrate the point, my colleagues and I have
examined the extent to which special training in deception detection
increases judgment accuracy in a specifically forensic context. In
one study, Kassin and Fong (1999) randomly assigned some college
students but not others to receive training in the Reid Technique
using videotapes and written materials on the behavioural symptom
analysis. Next they created a set of videotapes that depicted brief
interviews and denials by individuals who were truly guilty or
innocent of committing one of four mock crimes. As in past studies in
non-forensic settings, observers were not proficient at differentiating
between truthful and deceptive suspects better than would be
expected by chance. In fact, those who underwent training were less
accurate than naive controls - but more confident. Closer inspection
of the data revealed that the training procedure itself produced a
response bias towards guilt.
From a practical standpoint, this study was limited by the fact
that the observers were college students, not police detectives, and
their training was condensed, not offered as part of professional
development to those with prior experience. To address these issues,
Meissner and Kassin (2002) conducted a meta-analysis and a follow-
up study to test the performance of experienced investigators.
Looking at past research, they found that police investigators and
trained participants, relative to naive controls, exhibited a proclivity
to judge targets in general as deceptive rather than truthful. Next,
they used Kassin and Fong's videotapes to compare police and college
student samples and found that the police exhibited lower, chance-
level accuracy, a response bias towards judgments of deception and
significantly more confidence. Within our sample of investigators,
both years of experience and special training correlated significantly
with the response bias - but not with accuracy. It appears that special
training in deception detection may lead investigators to make
pre-judgments of guilt, with high confidence, that are biased and
frequently in error.
Let me be clear that I am not prepared to claim that it is impossible
to increase the accuracy of judgments made in this domain. High
average levels of lie-detection accuracy may be rare, but some
individuals are intuitively and consistently better than others (Ekman
et al. 1999). It is also clear that lying leaves behavioural traces that
may provide clues as to how to improve performance (DePaulo et
212
al. 2003). Hence, it may be necessary to reconceptualize the current

approach. Following traditional models of polygraphic lie detection,
professionals tend to search for behavioural cues that betray stress (e.g.
gaze aversion), a presumed symptom of deception. But this approach
may be misguided. Indeed, after shadowing homicide detectives for
a year in Baltimore, Simon (1991: 219) may have captured the essence
of the problem:
Nervousness, fear, confusion, hostility, a story that changes or

contradicts itself - all are signs that the man in an interrogation
room is lying, particularly in the eyes of someone as naturally
suspicious as a detective. Unfortunately, these are also signs of
a human being in a state of high stress.
Recent research suggests the possibility of an alternative approach

that focuses on the fact that lying is an effortful cognitive activity.
In one study, Newman et al. (2003) asked subjects to lie or tell the
truth about various topics (including, in one study, the commission
of a mock crime) and found that when people lie, they use fewer
first-person pronouns and fewer 'exclusive' words such as except, but
and without, words that indicate cognitive complexity, which requires
effort. In a second study, Walczyk et al. (2003) instructed subjects
to answer various personal questions truthfully or deceptively
and found, both within and between subjects, that constructing
spontaneous lies - which requires more cognitive effort than telling
the truth - increases response time. Perhaps because lying is effortful,
observers would be more accurate if asked to make judgments that
are indirect but diagnostic. In a third study, Vrij et al. (2001) found
that subjects made more accurate discriminations of truths and lies
when asked 'How hard is the person thinking?' than when asked 'Is
the person lying?'
As an empirical matter, it is also possible that certain 'behaviour-
provoking questions' suggested by the Reid Technique, and others of
a similar nature, will enhance an investigator's ability to discriminate
between truthful and deceptive suspects. For example, Inbau et al.
(2001) suggest that police ask suspects for an opinion of what should
happen to the person who committed the crime, whether that person
should get a second chance and what the results of forensic tests
will show about their own involvement - the assumption being
that innocents will not hesitate in their responses to be punitive,
uncompromising and self-confident. Of potential relevance in this
regard is recent research indicating that innocent people are more
213
likely than perpetrators to waive their rights to silence, to counsel

and to a line-up - co-operative acts, like a willingness to undergo a
polygraph, physical examination, or house search, that may betray a
naive phenomenology of innocence (Kassin 2005).
In short, when it comes to making accurate discriminations, it
remains a reasonable goal to seek future improvements in training
as a way to make police more effective interviewers and lie detectors
(Bull and Milne 2004; Granhag and Stromwall 2004; Vrij 2004). For
now, however, it is vital that police be mindful of their own limitations
and stay vigilant whilst they interrogate to the possibility that their
first impressions were mistaken.
In te rro g a tio n : a g u ilt-p re s u m p tiv e process o f influence
In the past, the police often practised 'third degree' methods of

custodial interrogation - inflicting physical or mental pain and
suffering to extract confessions and other types of information
from crime suspects. Amongst the methods used were prolonged
confinement and isolation; explicit threats of harm or punishment;
deprivation of sleep, food and other needs; extreme sensory discomfort
(e.g. shining a bright, blinding strobe light on the suspect's face); and
assorted forms of physical torture (e.g. suspects were tied to a chair
and smacked to the side of the head or beaten with a rubber hose,
which seldom left visible marks). The use of such methods declined
precipitously from the 1930s to the 1960s and was replaced by a more
professional approach to policing and by interrogations that are more
psychological in nature, as in the Reid Technique (for a review, see
Leo 2004).
Despite this historic and seismic paradigm shift, modern
interrogations continue to put innocent people at risk to confess to
crimes they did not commit. To begin with, the two-step approach
- in which an interview generates a judgment of deception, which,
in turn, sets into motion an interrogation - is inherently flawed.
Inbau et al. (2001: 78) advise that 'The successful interrogator must
possess a great deal of inner confidence in his ability to detect truth
or deception, elicit confessions from the guilty, and stand behind
decisions of truthfulness'. Thus, interrogation is by definition a guilt-
presumptive process, a theory-driven social interaction led by an
authority figure who has formed a strong belief about the suspect
and who measures success by the ability to extract an admission
from that suspect. For innocent people who are initially misjudged,
214
one would hope that police would remain open-minded and re
evaluate their beliefs over the course of the interrogation. But the
two-step approach makes this an unreasonable expectation. Over
the years, research has shown that once people form a belief, they
selectively seek and interpret new information in ways that verify
that belief even in the face of contradictory evidence. This problem
contributes to the errors committed by forensic examiners, whose
assessments of handwriting samples, ballistics, and other 'scientific'
evidence are often corrupted by prior beliefs, a problem uncovered
in many DNA exoneration cases (Risinger et al. 2002). To complicate
matters further, people unwittingly create behavioural support for
their beliefs, producing a self-fulfilling prophecy. This effect was first
demonstrated by Rosenthal and Jacobson (1968) in their classic report
on the effects of teachers' expectancies on students' performance.
Similar results have been obtained in military, business and other
organizational settings (McNatt 2000).
In a story that illustrates how investigators can be blinded by
the guilt-presumptive lens they wear, a man confessed to his wife's
murder after 19 hours of interrogation when police 'bluffed' him into
thinking they had DNA evidence to be tested (Missouri v. Johnson
2001). During interrogation, it is common for police to bluff in this
manner about having independent evidence on the assumption that
the suspect, whom they presume guilty, will realize the futility of
denial and capitulate. W hat they cannot see, however, is that to an
innocent but beleaguered person, who is naive about the use of this
tactic, the 'threat' of DNA may be construed as a promise of future
exoneration - ironically making it easier to confess. In this case,
the defendant - who was instantly acquitted by a jury - explained
afterwards that he confessed because he was exhausted and knew
that the test results would show his innocence.
The process of interrogation is not only guilt presumptive but
powerful in its impact. Inbau et al. (2001) advise interrogators to
remove the suspect from familiar surroundings and place him or
her in a small, barely furnished, soundproof room housed within the
police station. Against this physical backdrop, a nine-step process
begins with the positive confrontation and the development of
alternative themes - and ends with a full written or oral confession.
Conceptually, this approach is designed to get suspects to incriminate
themselves by increasing the anxiety associated with denial,
plunging them into a state of despair and minimizing the perceived
consequences of confession. Glossing over the specifics, interrogation
is reducible to an interplay of three processes: isolation for some
215
indefinite period of time, which increases stress and the incentive to

relieve that stress; confrontation, in which the interrogator accuses the
suspect of the crime, expresses certainty in that opinion and blocks all
denials, sometimes citing real or manufactured evidence to support
the charge; and minimization, in which the sympathetic interrogator
morally justifies the crime in the form of an alternative version of
events (e.g. that it was spontaneous, accidental, provoked or peer
pressured), which can lead a suspect to infer that he or she will be
treated with leniency. The net effect is to trap the suspect so that he
or she sees confession as the most effective means of 'escape'.
In the interrogation room, as in other settings, some individuals are
more vulnerable to manipulation than others, particularly if they are
characteristically prone to exhibit social compliance or interrogative
suggestibility. Youth, naivete, a lack of intelligence, cultural
upbringing, and social anxiety and various psychological disorders
that impair cognitive and affective functions, present unique sources
of vulnerability to watch for (see Gudjonnsson 1992, 2003). Certain
situational factors can also increase the risk of a false confession,
even amongst suspects who are not by nature vulnerable. One such
risk factor is time: as a tactical matter, interrogators isolate suspects
in custody - but for how long? Prolonged isolation is likely to be
accompanied by fatigue, feelings of helplessness, and a deprivation
of sleep, food and other biological needs, mental states that impair
complex decision-making. Yet whereas most interrogations last 1-2
hours (Leo 1996), and whilst 3 -4 hours is generally sufficient (Inbau
et al. 2001), a study of documented false-confession cases in which
interrogation time was recorded showed that 34 per cent lasted 6-12
hours, 39 per cent lasted 12-24 hours, and the mean was 16.3 hours
(Drizin and Leo 2004). Following the Police and Criminal Evidence
Act 1984 in Great Britain, police should be trained to set time limits
on the process, or at least flexible guidelines, as well as periodic
breaks from questioning for rest and meals.
A second problem concerns the presentation of false evidence. This
tactic often takes the form of outright lying to suspects - for example,
about an alibi that allegedly failed to corroborate the suspect's story;
an eyewitness identification that was not actually made; fingerprints,
hair or blood that was not found; or polygraph tests they did not
really fail. The presentation of false evidence is implicated in the vast
majority of false confession cases that have been documented for
analysis. In addition, laboratory research shows that it increases the
risk that innocent people would confess to acts they did not commit
and, at times, internalize guilt for outcomes they did not produce
216
(e.g. M eyer and Youngjohn 1991; Kassin and Kiechel 1996). Especially
disconcerting in this regard is the role that the polygraph has played.
The polygraph is best know n for its use as a lie-detector test but,
because it is not adm issible in m ost courts, police use it prim arily to
induce suspects to confess. Far too often, however, false confessions
have been extracted by police exam iners who told suspects they had
failed a lie-detector test. This tactic is so com m on that Lykken (1998:
235) coined the term 'fourth degree' to describe it. This problem
recently led the N ational Research Council Com m ittee to Review the
Scientific Evidence on the Polygraph to warn of the risk of polygraph-
induced false confessions (N ational Research Council 2003).
A third potential problem concerns the use of m inim ization, the
process by which the police suggest to a suspect that the crime in
question was provoked, an accident or otherw ise m orally justified.
By design, m inim ization tactics lead people to infer that they will be
treated with leniency if they confess - even when no explicit promises
are made (Kassin and M cNall 1991). In the laboratory, this tactic led
18 per cent of innocent college students to confess that they cheated
on a problem that they were supposed to solve w ithout assistance
(Russano et al. 2005). Although more work is needed to com pare
the different alternative them es and the conditions under which this
tactic puts innocent people at risk, it appears that m inim ization - by
com m unicating leniency 'under the rad ar' - may at times induce
confessions in suspects who are beleaguered and feeling trapped,
even if innocent.
Taking stock of what psychological science has, and has not,
achieved w hen it com es to police interrogations, it is clear that
researchers have thus far sought to identify the risks, with an eye
towards reducing the num ber of false confessions and wrongful
convictions. To develop fully a science of interrogation, however,
researchers m ust also help the police to build a better m ousetrap. The
surgical objective is sim ple: develop interrogation techniques that are
'diagnostic' to the extent that they increase the observed ratio of true
to false confessions.
This objective brings w ith it som e im portant im plications. First,
because the decision to confess is largely influenced by a person's
expectations of the consequences, both guilty and innocent people
are m ost likely to capitulate when they believe that there is strong
evidence against them (M oston et al. 1992). As the police are more
likely in nature to have direct and circum stantial proof of guilt against
perpetrators than against innocent suspects who are falsely accused,
the practice of confronting suspects w ith real evidence should increase
217
the diagnosticity of the confessions that are ultim ately elicited. To

the extent that the police are perm itted to m isrepresent the evidence,
however, and lie to suspects, the guilty and innocent becom e equally
trapped and sim ilarly treated, reducing diagnosticity. On the question
of how to confront suspects w ith real evidence for maxim um impact,
recent research suggests that it may be easier to 'trap' those who are
guilty into betraying their culpability by strategically delaying the
disclosure of crime details rather than disclosing details early, as part
of a positive confrontation. In a study involving a mock crime and
investigation, Hartwig et al. (2005) found that when they disclosed
facts at the outset, both guilty and innocent suspects managed to shape
their responses in ways that were consistent. W hen the disclosures
were delayed, however, guilty suspects seeking to evade detection
held back in describing what they knew but were more likely than
innocents to contradict the facts that were withheld - inconsistencies
that betrayed attempted deception. M ore work is needed, but this
initial study suggests that the tim ing of disclosures can be used to
differentiate betw een guilty and innocent suspects.
N a r ra t iv e con fe ssio n s as H o lly w o o d p ro d u c tio n s
Confession evidence is pow erful in court and hard to overcome.

To safeguard against the wrongful convictions they elicit and their
consequences, therefore, it is vitally im portant that confessions be
accurately assessed prior to the onset of court proceedings. We have
seen that people are poor lie detectors and cannot readily distinguish
betw een true and false denials. But can people in general, and law
enforcem ent officers in particular, distinguish betw een true and false
confessions?
One could argue that even if the process of interrogation is
psychologically coercive, and even if innocent people sometimes
confess, there is no problem to solve to the extent that the errors
are ultimately detected by authorities and corrected. Essential to this
presumed safety net is a com monsense assumption, built on blind faith,
that 'I'd know a false confession if I saw one'. There are three reasons
for concern about whether people can detect as false the confessions
of innocent suspects. The first is that generalized common sense leads
us to trust confessions the way we trust other behaviours that are not
tainted by self-interest. Reasonably, most people believe they would
never confess to a crime they did not com mit and they cannot imagine
the circumstances under which anyone else would do so.
218
A second reason for concern is that people are typically not

adept at deception detection. We saw earlier that neither lay people
nor professionals can accurately separate truths from lies. The
question rem ains as to w hether they can distinguish true and false
confessions. Kassin et al. (2005) exam ined this question in a study
on the perform ance of police investigators and lay people. First, we
recruited male prison inmates in a state correctional facility to take
part in a pair of videotaped interviews. Each inm ate was asked to
give a full confession to the crim e for which he was in prison. Each
free narrative was then followed by a standardized list of questions
concerning who, what, when, where, how and other details. In a second
interview, each inmate was instructed to concoct a false confession on
the basis of a one- or tw o-sentence description of a crime com m itted
by a different inmate. Using this procedure, we created a videotape
that depicted ten different inm ates, each giving a single true or false
confession to one of five crimes: aggravated assault, armed robbery,
burglary, breaking and entering, and autom obile theft. The tape
w as shown to college students and police investigators (two thirds
of whom had received training in interview ing and interrogation).
The result: neither group was significantly more accurate than would
be expected by chance, but the investigators were more confident
in their judgm ents and more likely to com m it false-positive errors,
trusting the false confessions.
There are two possible explanations for why the investigators
were unable to distinguish the true and false confessions and why
they were less accurate on average than college students. One is that
training and experience introduce a bias that system atically reduces
judgm ent accuracy. This is not terribly surprising in the light of
the kinds of behavioural deception cues that form part of the basis
for training (e.g. such visual cues as gaze aversion, non-frontal
posture, slouching and groom ing gestures are not correlated with
truthtelling or deception; see DePaulo et al. 2003). A second possible
explanation is that the police in our sam ple were im paired by our
use of a paradigm in which half the observed confessions were
false - a percentage that is likely far higher than the real-world
base rate for false confessions. To the extent that law enforcem ent
work leads investigators to presum e m ost confessions true, then the
response bias imported from the police station to the laboratory may
have proved m isleading for a study in which half the confessions
were false. To test this latter hypothesis, we conducted a second
study in which we neutralized the response bias by instructing
all subjects prior to the task that half the confessions were true
219
and half were false. This manipulation did reduce the overall num ber
of 'true' judgm ents am ongst investigators, but they were still not more
accurate than students or chance perform ance, only more confident.
W hen it com es to the assum ption that 'I'd know a false confession
if I saw one', there is a third reason for concern: real-life false
confessions, when elicited through a process of interrogation,
contain content cues that people associate with truth-telling. In m ost
docum ented false confessions, the statem ents ultim ately presented in
court are com pelling, as they often contain vivid and accurate details
about the crim e, the scene and the victim - details that can becom e
know n to an innocent suspect through the assistance of leading
interview questions, overheard conversations, photographs, visits
to the crime scene and other second-hand sources of inform ation
invisible to the naive observer. To further obfuscate m atters, many
confessions are textured with w hat I call 'elective' statem ents. Often
innocent suspects describe not just w hat they allegedly did, and
how they did it, but why - as they self-report on revenge, jealousy,
desperation, capitulation to peer pressure and other prototypical
m otives for crime. Som etim es they add apologies and expressions of
remorse. In some cases, innocent suspects will correct m inor errors
that appear in the written statem ents that are derived from them,
suggesting that they read, understood and verified the contents. To
the naive spectator, such statem ents appear to be voluntary, textured
with detail and the product of personal experience. Uninform ed,
however, this spectator m istakes illusion for reality, not realizing that
the taped confession is much like a Hollywood drama - scripted by
the police theory of the case, rehearsed during hours of unrecorded
questioning, directed by the questioner and ultim ately enacted on
paper, tape or cam era by the suspect.
The Reid Technique offers advice on how to create these illusions
of credibility. Inbau et al. (2001) recomm end that interrogators
insert m inor errors (such as a wrong nam e, date or street address)
into written confessions so that the suspect will spot them, correct
them and initial the changes. The goal is to increase the perceived
credibility of the statem ent and m ake it difficult for the defendant
later to distance him or herself from it. Because only perpetrators
should be in a position to spot these errors, this technique appears
to have great potential. However, Inbau et al. advise that, to play
it safe, 'the investigator should keep the errors in mind and raise
a question about them in the event the suspect neglects to do so'
(p. 384). Similarly, they advise detectives to insert into written
confessions irrelevant personal history item s know n only to the
220
'offend er'. 'For instance, the suspect may be asked to give the name
of the grade school he attended, the place or hospital in which he
w as born, or other sim ilar inform ation' (p. 383). O f course, for the
suspect who is not the offender but an innocent person, the insertion
of neutral, crim e-irrelevant biographical details from his or her own
life has no diagnostic value. Like the error correction trick, how ever
it merely creates a false illusion of credibility.
T h e post hoc asse ssm e n t o f con fe ssion s
In theory, the police, prosecutors and others can assess suspects'

statem ents with som e degree of accuracy through a genuine effort at
corroboration. A full confession contains both an admission of guilt
and a post-adm ission narrative in which suspects recount not just
what they did but how, when, where and with whom. Evaluating
such a statem ent should involve a three-step process. The first step
requires a consideration of the conditions under which the statem ent
was made and the extent to which coercive techniques were used. As
in the 'totality of circum stances' approach that Am erican courts use
to determ ine voluntariness, relevant factors in this inquiry include a
consideration of suspect characteristics such as age, intelligence and
mental state; the physical conditions of detention; and the use of
stated or implied promises, threats and other social influence tactics
used during interrogation. Still, w hilst the presence of personal and
situational risk factors cast doubts on a confession, they do not
invalidate it. Coerced confessions m ay well be true; innocent people
som etim es confess voluntarily, w ithout prompting. The second step
requires a consideration of w hether the confession contains details
that are accurate, not erroneous, in relation to the verifiable facts of
the crime. A confession can prove guilt or at least guilty know ledge
(or it may fail to do so) to the extent that it is 'generative', furnishing
the police with crime facts that were not already known or leading
to evidence that was not already available. An often overlooked but
necessary third step concerns a requirem ent of attribution for the source
of the details contained in the narrative confession. A confession has
diagnostic value if the accurate details it contains were knowable
only to a perpetrator and were not derivable from such second-hand
sources as new s accounts, overheard conversations, leading interview
questions, photographs or visits to the crime scene (see Ofshe and
Leo 1997; Hill 2003).
This three-step analysis can be illustrated in the videotaped false
221
confessions in the Central Park jogger case described earlier. On tape,

these defendants confessed to a gang rape in statem ents that seemed
vividly detailed, voluntary and the product of personal experience.
But exam ination of the conditions under which the statem ents were
m ade reveals the presence of troubling risk factors. The boys were
14-16 years old, and at the time of their videotaped statem ents,
they had been in custody and interrogation by m ultiple detectives
for a range of 14-30 hours. The passage of time may not be visible
to the naive consum er of the final product, but it brings heightened
pressure, a dogged refusal to accept denials, fatigue, despair and
often a deprivation of sleep and other needs. As to other aspects
of the situation, the detectives and suspects disagreed in significant
w ays about w hat w ent on during the m any unrecorded hours of
questioning. They disagreed, for exam ple, over w hether the parents
had access to their boys, w hether threats and physical force was used
and w hether prom ises to go hom e were made.
The conditions of interrogation contained classic elem ents of
coercion, but that does not absolve the guilty or invalidate their
confessions. The Central Park jogger confessions were com pelling
precisely because the narratives contained highly vivid details,
including an on-cam era physical re-enactm ent. From start to finish,
however, the narratives were riddled with inconsistencies and
factual errors of om ission and com m ission. W hen asked about the
jo g ger's head injury, one boy said she was punched with fists; then
when prompted to recall a blunt object, he said they used a rock;
m om ents later, the rock turned to bricks. Across the defendants, the
statem ents diverged. Each and every defendant m inim ized his own
role in the assault, placing 'th em ' at centre stage. W hen two of the
suspects were taken to the crime scene and asked to point to the site
of the attack, they pointed in different directions. Factual errors were
also numerous. One suspect said the jogger wore blue shorts and a
T-shirt; she wore long black tights and a long-sleeve jersey. Another
said the jogger and clothes were cut with a knife; there were no knife
cuts. A third suspect did not seem to know the victim bled; she bled
profusely. A fourth said that one of the boys he w as w ith ejaculated;
yet no traces of that boy's sem en were found. N one of the defendants
knew the location of the attack, that the jogger was left at the bottom
of a ravine, that her hands were tied or that she was gagged with
her own shirt.
Pointing to the presence of accurate details in these statem ents,
the naive spectator will see the confessional glasses as half full, not
222
half empty. In the light of all that is known about the problems with
eyewitness memory, it is not reasonable to expect perfection in the
accounts of crime suspects. This assertion, however, invites a third
analytical step, an attribution as to the source of the accurate details.
A confession can prove guilt if it contains details knowable only to
the perpetrator, details not derivable by second-hand sources. Yet
in the jogger case, after dozens of collective hours of unrecorded
questioning, and amidst disputes as to what transpired, there is no
way to know whether crime facts were furnished to the defendants,
wittingly or unwittingly, through the process. Indeed, one need not
stray from the videotaped confessions to hear the prosecutor ask
leading questions that functioned not only to elicit information from
the suspects but to communicate information to the suspects. Without
apparent regard for the ownership of the facts being extracted, she
steered one boy's story through a broken but persistent sequence of
leading questions: 'M edical evidence says something other than a
hand was u se d ... what?' and 'D on't you remember someone using a
brick or a stone?' In a move that grossly undermined all opportunity
to get a confession indicative of guilty knowledge, the detectives
inexplicably took one suspect on a supervised visit to the crime
scene before taking his videotaped confession. The district attorney
then showed him graphic photographs of the victim. For diagnostic
purposes, it makes no sense to contaminate a suspect's confession
by spoon feeding him information in these ways, rendering the
source of his subsequent knowledge ambiguous. Whether he was
there or not, the visit and photographs endowed him with key
visual facts about the victim, crime and place - facts fit for a full
confession. Importantly, Inbau et al. (2001) advise police to withhold
key crime details so that they can ask suspects to corroborate their
admissions.
Crime perpetrators have the unique capacity to reveal information
about their actions that the police did not already know and produce
evidence that police did not already have. Yet the statements of the
Central Park jogger defendants - individually and collectively - were
not generative in these ways. Lacking such corroboration, the case
against the five defendants was like a house of cards, with each
boy's confession built squarely and solely upon the foundation of the
others' confessions. In December 2002, this house of cards collapsed
under the weight of an imprisoned serial rapist who voluntarily
confessed to the attack, who furnished the police with crime facts
that proved accurate and not previously known, and whose semen
was present on the jogger.
223
T o w a rd s th e v id e o ta p in g o f in te rro g a tio n s
To assess accurately the incriminating value of confessions, the police,

prosecutors and fact finders must have access to a videotape recording
of the entire interview and interrogation. In Great Britain, the Police
and Criminal Evidence Act 1985 mandated that all suspect interviews
and interrogations be taped. In the USA, Inbau et al. (2001) have long
opposed the videotaping of interrogations, only recently changing
course. The FBI continues to prohibit the practice. Today, a handful
of states require electronic recording in custodial settings and others
do so on a voluntary basis (for an excellent historical overview of
this practice, see Drizin and Reich 2004).
There are a number of presumed advantages to a policy of
videotaping interviews and interrogations in their entirety, all of which
should provide for a more effective safety net. First, videotaping will
deter the police from using overly guilt-presumptive, duplicitous
and forceful interrogation tactics. Secondly, videotaping will deter
frivolous defence claims of coercion where none existed. Thirdly, a
videotaped record provides an objective and accurate account of all
that transpired during interrogation, an all-too-common source of
dispute in the courtroom (e.g. about whether rights were administered
and waived; whether detectives yelled, intimidated, threatened,
made promises or lied to the suspect; and whether the details in a
confession came from the police or suspect). All this should increase
the fact-finding accuracy of judges and juries. For the tapes to be
complete and balanced, however, entire sessions should be recorded
and the camera should adopt a 'neutral' or 'equal focus' perspective
that shows both the accused and his or her interrogators (Lassiter et
al. 2001).
In the USA, the videotaping experience has been well received
wherever it has been used. Several years ago, a National Institute
of Justice study revealed that amongst those police and sheriff's
departments that videotaped interrogations, the vast majority found
the practice useful (Geller 1993). More recently, Sullivan (2004)
interviewed officials from 238 police and sheriff's departments in 38
states who voluntarily recorded custodial interrogations and found
that they enthusiastically favoured the practice. Amongst the reasons
cited were that recording permits detectives to focus on the suspect
rather than take copious notes, increases accountability, provides an
instant replay of the suspect's statement that reveals information
initially overlooked and reduces the amount of time detectives
spend in court defending their interrogation conduct. Contradicting
224
the m ost com m on criticism s, respondents in this study reported that

videotaping interrogations did not prove too costly or inhibit suspects
from talking to police.
The Central Park jogger case revealed a sequence of three
problem s: innocent people are often targeted for interrogation on the
basis of judgm ents of deception that are frequently in error; certain
processes of interrogation can cause people to confess to crimes they
did not com m it; and it is difficult for the police, attorneys, judges
and juries to identify false confessions once they occur. The risks
inherent in this chain of events suggests that there are not adequate
safeguards in the crim inal justice system. One would hope that recent
advances in DNA testing and forensic-psychological research will
bring together collaborative groups of law enforcem ent professionals,
attorneys, social scientists and policy-m akers to scrutinize current
practices - the goal being to increase the effectiveness of interview s
and interrogations, as measured by the diagnosticity of the outcom es
they produce.
N o te
1. T his p e rc e n ta g e is e v e n h ig h e r in h o m icid e ca se s. In fact, a s m a n y false

c o n fessio n s a r c d isc o v e re d b efore th ere is a trial, a rc n o t re p o rte d by
p o lice an d are n o t p u b licized b y th e m e d ia , it is c le a r th a t th e kn ow n
c a se s re p re se n t th e tip of a m u c h la rg e r iceb erg (D rizin an d L eo 2 0 0 4 ;
G ross et al. 2 0 0 5 ).
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C h ap ter 12
Investigative interviewing and the

detection of deception
Mark G. FrankJo h n D.Yarbrough

and Paul Ekman
T h e Im p ro v in g In te rp e rs o n a l E v a lu a tio n s fo r L aw E n fo rc e m e n t
and N a tio n a l S e c u rity te c h n iq u e
The Im proving Interpersonal Evaluations for Law Enforcem ent and

National Security technique (HE) is derived from observations of real-
life field interview s com bined with the latest scientific behavioural
analysis. It originated in the dissatisfaction of working police towards
their interview ing training. This dissatisfaction caused J.J. Newberry
(US Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, now retired) to
observe the techniques of the m ost successful w orking police officers
(those who when they chose to charge a suspect typically obtained a
conviction, and who other officers viewed as being the m ost effective
interview ers). These observations were elaborated and refined,
based upon close contact with behavioural scientists with expertise
in hum an memory, em otion and expressive verbal and non-verbal
behaviour, including deception (e.g. Yuille 1989; Ekman and Frank
1993, Newberry 1999; Ekman 1985/2001; Frank and Ekman 1997,
2004a, 2004b; O 'Sullivan 2005). In summary, this approach noted
that good police interview ers were excellent com m unicators. They
listened well, built good rapport with their interview ees and they
were sharp observers of verbal and non-verbal behaviours, which
included being good detectors of deceit. The techniques of these
good interview ers were quantified by the behavioural scientists and
then developed into training packages that addressed building the
individual skills along with full application of the techniques to live
interviews.
229
We will describe here the development of the interviewing training

that was combined into what became known as 'analytic interviewing'
initially by J.J. Newberry, with the active participation of the authors
above, Professors Paul Ekman and Mark Frank, retired police officers
such as John Yarbrough, and other scientists and law enforcement
officers. As we explain in the conclusion, not all these individuals
are continuing to work together, and now there is a choice between
two distinct organizations: the Institute for Analytic Interviewing and
Improving Interpersonal Evaluations.
The basic assumptions o f the HE interview
First, the HE makes a few key assumptions about the purpose of

doing any interview, be it a suspect, witness or informant. The first
assumption is that the purpose of any interview is to find the truth.
It defines the truth as what the interviewee actually believes to be
true (Newberry 1999). This assumption applies to suspect, witness,
or informant interviews, background investigations or intelligence-
gathering interviews, or almost any type of interview. This purpose
is in stark contrast to what many beginning police officers believe,
and on occasion, are formally taught. The HE instructors note that
when they ask a typical group of police officers 'what is the purpose
of doing an interview?' a very high proportion of them indicate 'get
a confession' as their primary purpose. This is not too surprising,
as many techniques taught in law enforcement stress the confession
as the goal of an interrogation (Inbau et al. 1986). Although the HE
approach is not opposed to obtaining confessions, it notes that shifting
the focus away from the confession and more towards the truth -
whatever that might be - would seem to reduce the likelihood of
obtaining a false confession (see Dwyer, Neufeld, and Scheck 2000, for
a description of false convictions, many involving false confessions).
Moreover, the slight shift away from the confession seems to keep the
investigator focused on information gathering, rather than rendering
a judgment. This is important because it is the information gathered
from the suspect or witness that may contradict or be consistent with
the physical evidence or other witness accounts, or that will provide
clues towards other lines of inquiry and so forth. It is this information
that will ultimately convict or exonerate the suspect.
Secondly, the HE approach assumes that besides knowing what a
person believes to be true, it is just as important to know why he
or she believes it. Did he or she read it, hear it, see it or experience
it? In order to conduct a proper investigation, one must have the
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Investigative interviewing and the detection of deception
most accurate inform ation possible. Knowing how the individual

received and processed the inform ation w ill tell the interview er why
the person believes it to be true, and in the process unm ask clues as
to the accuracy of the statem ent. Take the exam ple of a witness to a
traffic accident who claim s to have 'seen the whole thing', although
he or she had his or her back to the accident at the precise m oment
of impact. Careful questioning of such a witness as to why he or
she believes one driver was at fault, and why he or she says one
car crossed the red light and why he or she was at that location -
rather than just what happened - will in all likelihood reveal that the
w itness first heard the im pact, and then turned to look at the scene.
This would reveal a witness who could not have actually seen the
m om ent of im pact, and thus his or her account up to that m om ent
may not be accurate.
Thirdly, the HE approach also assum es that people do give truthful
inform ation that can be inaccurate. For exam ple, inform ation can
becom e inaccurate through two people having an honest difference
of opinion, or a person having a m istaken recall, or having a false
memory, am ongst others (Haugaard and Repucci 1992). However,
people also lie. To distinguish a lie from other forms of inaccurate
inform ation, the HE approach uses Ekm an's definition of a lie
- a deliberate attem pt to m islead, w ithout the prior notification of
the target of the lie (Ekman 1985/2001). This means that lies are
consciously fabricated, distorted or concealed by the liar. Thus a
person who provides factually incorrect inform ation is not necessarily
lying, unless the person who delivers it know s it will mislead. If a
person truly believes he is N apoleon, he is not lying, although he will
be incorrect. If the person know's he is not N apoleon but claim s to
be, then he is lying. This definition also m eans that people can give
their im plicit or explicit approval to be misled for some interpersonal
situations, and this would not be lies. For exam ple, we give our
approval to being misled w'hen view ing a play or m ovie, and allow'
the actor to pretend to be a different person w ithout labelling him or
her a liar. Likewise, Ekman (1985/2001) describes how in real-estate
negotiations, it is im plied that the price of the house is not necessarily
the only price the seller will take, and the potential buyer knows that
because bargaining situations im ply this. Thus, the price listed for a
house is not considered a lie - although concealing inform ation or
fabricating a story about som e serious structural damage w'ould be
a lie. If the purpose of any interview is to find the truth, and this
purpose is clearly stated to the subject of that interview, then any
attem pt to conceal, distort or fabricate inform ation would be clearly a
231
lie in that interview context as there is really no area in the interview

proper where an investigator would give his or her consent to being
misled.
The basic processes o f the IIE
The HE describes the processes by which an investigator can maxim ize

the am ount of accurate inform ation, w hilst m inim izing the amount
of inaccurate inform ation obtained in an interview. It is best thought
o f as a series of steps not too dissim ilar to the PEACE model (see
Chapters 8 and 9, this volum e), although the HE addresses specific
techniques. The IIE uses the first six letters of the alphabet as the
m em nonic for its process:
• Aw areness
• Baseline
• Changes
• Discrepancies
• Engagem ent
• Follow-up.
Awareness
Awareness in the IIE means that an investigator m ust becom e aware

of the ways in which inform ation may be inaccurate. Knowing this
allow s the investigator to take steps and apply techniques for reducing
the chances that this will happen. For exam ple, two w itnesses to a
traffic accident who offer contradictory accounts of the accident
does not guarantee that one m ust by lying. Thus an investigator
who knows how hum an m emory can be affected - through simple
processing lim itations or the biasing affects of closed, ended questions
and so forth - can reduce the likelihood of his or her own behaviour
biasing the quality of the information.
Awareness also m eans that the investigators m ust be aware of their
own physical and personality traits. For exam ple, if the investigator
is a female who is interview ing a m ale who subscribes to a brand
of fundam entalist religious belief that view s females as subservient
to males, she may receive a hostile reception from this interview ee.
Likewise, a physically big m ale may generate fear in his interview ee
by sim ply shaking the interview ee's hand. There are age, status,
ethnic and other factors as well to consider. An interview er who is
aware of these physical traits and their dynam ic im pact can take
steps to reduce their im pact on the interview process. In particular,
232
an area that the investigator m ust becom e aware of are the cross-
cultural dynamics that develop in an interview. For exam ple, many
Asian cultures (such as Chinese) dem onstrate respect by not looking
directly into the eyes of the other. This is in contrast to many western
cultures, in which one is expected to look into the eyes of the person
one is talking to. Moreover, many of the physical traits described
earlier will interact with these cultural dynam ics - for example,
many cultures apply very strict age, gender a n d /o r generational
status rules. Regardless, an interview er who is aware of these issues
will be m uch less likely to m isinterpret the behaviours and accounts
presented to him or her.
Similarly, one m ust be aware of personality traits and particular
biases and how they may w ork against obtaining accurate
inform ation. An investigator who is aggressive and high energy may
interrupt his or her interview ee too m uch and thus disrupt his or
her account. If an investigator is aware of this trait, he or she can
develop techniques to nullify it. For exam ple, investigators may
teach them selves to allow for the silence, or to expect it, or they may
learn to listen w hilst positioning their hand over their m ouths and
gently grab their lip as a constant rem inder not to interrupt. These
sorts of skills were observed in the anecdotal study of effective
police officers, and laboratory research confirm s that more socially
com petent and sensitive people are more likely not to interrupt
others, particularly distressed individuals offering accounts of their
problem s (Christensen et al. 1980). Likewise, an interview er who is
aware of a bias against certain types of people - red-haired people,
snobby people or w hatever - would be able to take com pensatory
steps to insure he or she does not treat these individuals in way that
m ay put off the subject and serve as an obstacle to com m unication.
Baseline
As an investigator becom es aware of these aforem entioned factors,

he or she should also be observing the norm al m ode of behaviour
for the subject. The norm al style of behaviour is referred to as the
baseline behaviour. The interview er should note how expressive the
subject was, how m uch he or she moved his or her hands, feet and
head as he or she spoke, w hat characteristic gestures he or she used,
w hat tone of voice he or she had, what sort of words he or she
used, and so forth. This w ill becom e the basis for noting the general
personality and interaction style of the interview ee, and it provides
a clear control sam ple to com pare any behavioural changes in the
subject during the interview.
233
Changes
Ekman (Ekman and Friesen 1969; Ekman 1985/2001) first noted that
detecting deceptive behaviours is most effectively done within the
subject - i.e. one must compare the subject to the subject (Ekman and
Friesen 1972, 1974; Ekman et al. 1976). The IIE approach adopted this
idea and built in training techniques to help investigators improve
their abilities to note not only the baseline behaviours, but also when
behaviours deviate from this baseline. These changes are essential
to understanding when an individual is convinced of the accuracy
of a statement he or she just uttered, uncertain of that statement
or even deliberately misleading with that statement. Moreover, the
IIE approach instructs investigators to label these changes from the
baseline behaviour as 'hotspots', rather than lies, although research
has shown that these hotspots can betray deception or concealed
emotion at rates greater than chance (Ekman and Frank 1993; Frank
and Ekman 1997; Ekman 1985/2001). At its core, a hotspot means
that the topic under discussion, or some segment of it, has caused the
subject to experience an emotion, or has caused the subject to have to
think hard on his or her feet. The IIE approach recognizes that there
are a number of reasons why a person would feel an emotion, or
be forced to think on his or her feet, besides lying. This is why IIE
stresses the phrase 'hotspot' when these behaviours are noted, rather
than lie - to force the interviewer to recognize this topic has caused
a reaction and, later, when the moment is right, to address that topic
to ascertain why the subject showed such a reaction to it. It could
be because the subject is lying, but it could be due to the topic
generating an emotion for a different reason. Ekman (1985/2001)
describes how a high US government official who was under
investigation showed a marked demeanour change when questioned
about an important lunch meeting with another official who had
violated US law. He pointed out that this change in demeanour could
be due to lying, but it could also be due to an argument he had with
his wife about lunch-related issues. Thus, the most accurate inference
when recognizing a hotspot is that it is strong evidence that the
subject is thinking on his or her feet, or is experiencing an emotional
reaction to the topic (Ekman 1985/2001). But it is still enormously
useful to the investigator who spots it because he or she can then
ask questions to ascertain the source of the hotspot, which in turn
may reveal an important area of inquiry that the interviewee may be
trying to avoid or conceal. The scientific basis for this is discussed
shortly.
234
Discrepancies
Discrepancies refer to the discrepancy not only within the verbal and
non-verbal communication channels, but also between the verbal and
non-verbal communication channels. For example, an investigator
observes a person issuing a statement about his or her kidnapped
child, stating he or she witnessed the kidnapping whilst exhibiting
the emotion of sadness. The IIE-trained interviewer would examine
this person's expressive behaviour looking for clear evidence of
discrepancies in the person's verbal and non-verbal behaviour, or
within the non-verbal elements of sadness such as looking for sadness
in the face, voice, and body. In a falsified sadness, not all these
channels will be consistent with the emotion of sadness. Likewise
across these communicative channels, a subject who shows a shrug
when he or she states 'I saw the whole thing', is discrepantly non
verbally communicating 'I am uncertain'. Or a subject who says 'no'
in response to a question, yet nods his or her head indicating 'yes',
is also showing discrepant behaviour. When these discrepancies are
noted, they too are classified as hotspots (Ekman 1985/2001). The
scientific basis for discrepancies being informative to the investigator
will be discussed shortly.
Engagem ent
Engagement refers to the process by which the interviewer engages

the interviewee. The IIE approach addresses the skill set needed to
create an environment that makes it as easy as possible for the subject
to be truthful and accurate. The observations of good interviewers
suggest that they listen more than they talk, and that they create a
more comfortable environment by building rapport with the subject.
It also means that an investigator must learn how to ask open-ended
questions, to phrase his or her questions in a way to foster recall and
detail, and not to ask leading questions.
IIE teaches investigators specific techniques for building rapport.
Researchers have defined rapport as consisting of a state of similarity,
empathy and liking (Bernieri et al. 1996), resulting in a feeling
of positivity, attentiveness and co-ordination (Tickle-Degnen and
Rosenthal 1990). Knowing these building blocks of rapport enables the
investigator to adopt the habits that will facilitate similarity, empathy
and liking. For example, one technique for establishing similarity is
actively to seek out areas of commonality. An investigator and a subject
might both have children, or have grown up in the same town, had
235
the same course of study in school, have follow ed the sam e sports or
teams and so forth. Thus, in the process of talking w ith the subject an
interview er would identify areas of com m onality as m eans by which
he or she can establish this personal connection with the subject. This
then functions as a means to foster conversation betw een the two. It
is astounding how hum an beings will organize them selves into in
and out groups based on even the m ost trivial characteristics, and
that once som eone feels he or she has this in-group bond he or she
views the other quite differently (e.g. Tajfel 1978). Im agine meeting
som eone from your hom e town whilst on holiday in a very remote
location. One would typically feel som e special bond to this person
alm ost im m ediately (however, we would not feel this special bond
if we m et him or her w alking dow n the street of our hom e town
because this sim ilarity would not be salient). Regardless, one can
be made to feel some connection to total strangers by finding any
thread of commonality. Thus, an investigator who does this creates
a more com fortable environm ent for conversation - and particularly
for a truthful person who, odds are, will be nervous if he or she is
falsely suspected of a crime.
A nother technique to facilitate rapport is m irroring. Mirroring
refers to the active effort of the interview er to match the behaviours
of the interview ee. This is based upon the finding that two people
in rapport tend to exhibit postural and speech congruence (Charney
1966; LaFrance and Broadbent 1976; Trout and Rosenfeld 1980; Capella
1981; LaFrance 1979, 1985). Som e behaviours that an interview er may
m irror include seating posture, resting a hand on the chin or even
using the sam e level of vocabulary. Research show s that when people
are mirrored they feel much more com fortable with their interaction
partner and like him or her more than when they are not mirrored
(Chartrand and Bargh 1999). Moreover, not only do those in rapport
show congruent behaviours, but when they are com fortable with the
conversation they tend to synchronize their behaviours (Bernieri and
Rosenthal 1991). In fact, IIE suggests periodically testing rapport by
having the interview er adjust his or her position deliberately, to see if
the subject follows. IIE also warns against being too obvious in doing
this, for if a subject thinks an interview er is sim ply im itating him or
her, he or she m ay feel m ocked, and that will destroy rapport.
Another technique to building rapport - although limited by
jurisdiction and local custom - is to touch the subject. This means
an occasional gentle touch, in socially appropriate areas like the
forearm or upper arm, can facilitate rapport by dem onstrating that
the interview er feels em pathy and even likes the subject (or at least
236
is not repelled by the subject), as research has show n that people

in rapport tend to touch each other more (Moore 1985). As stated
earlier, though, one m ust be aware of the cultural im plications for a
touch, and in some situations it can work against the interview er (for
exam ple, some fundam entalist forms of religions w ould consider it
harm ful for a female investigator to touch a m ale subject). By listening
carefully and courteously to the subject whilst building rapport, the
investigator increases the chance that the subject will believe the
investigator feels em pathy for him or her, and does not reject him
or her as disgusting or unworthy. This sort of environm ent is much
more conducive to conversation and increases the w illingness of the
subject to co-operate. Collins et al. (2002) tested this by having subjects
view a suicide on videotape, and then one third were interview ed by
a person who was brusque, one third by som eone who was neutral
and one third by som eone who had built rapport with the subjects
(it was the senior author who conducted all the scripted interviews).
They then transcribed these eyew itness accounts of this suicide and
scored them on the basis of how many correct and incorrect elements
were in the account. They found that those subjects with whom the
interview er built rapport recalled approxim ately 50 per cent more
accurate inform ation than the subjects w ith whom the interview er
was neutral or was brusque. Moreover, there was no difference in
the am ount of inaccurate inform ation offered by the subjects across
conditions. This study show s for the first time that at least as far
as witness interview s go, rapport building is an essential elem ent in
maxim izing the accuracy of the account.
As part of the engagem ent process, IIE also describes techniques
for phrasing questions that m axim ize the elicitation of diagnostic
inform ation. For exam ple, IIE warns against asking leading questions,
multiple-choice questions, com pound questions and so forth, as
these can either confuse the subject or reveal case inform ation to
the subject such that if he or she chooses to lie he or she can create
a more effective false alibi that accounts for the case information.
Instead, the IIE approach teaches investigators to allow for an initial
uninterrupted account - sim ilar to the PEACE model - and then to
ask open-ended questions and to choose carefully words that solicit
inform ation, words that com m and and words that connote detail.
For exam ple, solicitation words are those used in com m on politeness
('could you please', 'w ould you please', etc.), and these appear to
be more effective in obtaining an initial narrative from the subject.
Com m and words are more directed (such as 'tell me about', 'describe
your relationship') and, when offered in an open-ended fashion, push
237
the subject for more detail on specific issues. Words that connote
detail encourage the subject to sharpen the topic further, and include
words such as 'specifically' (as in 'tell me specifically about') or
'describe in detail your relationship'. The IIE approach also teaches
techniques for review ing the inform ation with the subject, obtaining
sequences of events and so forth, including techniques derived from
the cognitive interview (Geiselman et al. 1986) which have show n to
be effective in generating accurate recall.
Follow-up
The IIE approach acknow ledges that a confession without

corroborating evidence is w orthless. Thus after m aking them selves
aware of context and interpersonal variables, and then engaging
the subject, observing baseline behaviour, noting changes and
discrepancies, and obtaining as com plete an account from the subject
as possible, interview ers need to follow up on that inform ation so
that they can confirm or disconfirm som e, none or all the elements
of the subject's account. It also suggests what other inform ation
can be brought to bear on this account (e.g. are there surveillance
cam eras in the locations the subject has claim ed to have been at the
time of the crim e? etc.). Although HE does spend quite a lot of time
discussing the im portance of behavioural inform ation, these hotspots
are best seen as a m eans towards helping the investigator gather hard
inform ation or to identify an account either consistent or inconsistent
with the other evidence in the case - a tool in the toolbox approach.
IIE recognizes that evidence trumps behaviour - i.e. that ultim ately
it is this hard evidence, not the behavioural displays of the subject,
that will convict or exonerate him or her.
R e se a rch s u p p o rtin g th e use o f cha nges and d is c re p a n cie s as

h o ts p o t in d ic a to rs
The IIE approach to identifying hotspots relies upon the scientific

analysis of hum an behaviour w hen in em otional situations. In
particular, it has been based upon Paul Ekm an's sem inal w ork on
hum an em otion and deception, and the research stream s generated
from it.
Ekm an's research suggests that two fam ilies of behavioural clues
betray deception - clues related to a lia r's thinking about w hat he
or she is saying, and clues related to a liar's feelings (including his
238
or her feelings about deception) (Hocking and Leathers 1980; Ekman

and Frank 1993; Ekman 1985/2001).
Cognitive clues
For exam ple, in order to mislead som eone deliberately, a liar must
fabricate, distort or conceal facts, describe events that did not happen
or that he or she did not witness or suppress critical information.
However, the process of thinking about or creating this misinform ation
can leave behavioural signs. These signs range from a hesitation in
the speech, to a m isplaced word or a contradictory statem ent, to
very vague accounts with less logical structure (see DePaulo et al.
2003 for a review). These types of clues are particularly evident in
situations in which the liar should know exactly w hat he or she has
done w ithout having to think too m uch about it. A witness who
claim s to have been present at a crim e scene should be able to tell
the court, w ithout too much thought, where he or she was standing
w hen he or she witnessed the event. If the witness was not present
at that scene, he or she would have to create the details necessary to
convince som eone that he or she was there. This on-the-spot thinking,
research has show n, often m anifests itself in m any speech hesitations,
speech disfluencies and errors, often with few er of the hand or facial
gestures that typically illustrate speech (Ekman and Friesen 1972;
Ekm an et al. 1976; DePaulo et al. 1985).
The choice of words can also betray this on-the-spot thinking (e.g.
Stiff and M iller 1986). In sim ple terms, liars are less im m ediate, use
more general, sim ple words to recall and generate thoughts and use
less concrete words (reviewed by DePaulo et al. 2003). On top of this,
the deceptive witness would have to be very careful not to contradict
his or her statem ents m ade during his or her initial interview s. In
more precise terms, work by Yuille and colleagues on credibility
assessm ent (e.g. Porter and Yuille 1995, 1996; Yuille and Porter 2000)
identified a num ber of characteristics - up to 24 - that distinguished
an actual m em ory of an event from a fabricated m em ory of an
event. One exam ple of a characteristic includes w hether a subject
spontaneously reproduces dialogue in his or her account - it appears
real m em ories are more likely to feature such elements.
Em otional clues
Not only do w itnesses, defendants or victims who are lying have to

think out the lie and m aintain a consistent story, but often em otions
are aroused within them that are associated with these lies. Emotions
239
can enter into the lie process in one of two ways - first, the person
testifying could be lying about his or her feelings or emotions, or,
secondly, the act of lying may produce feelings or emotions within
the liar. The same principles apply regardless of how the emotions
are initiated. Research has shown that when emotions are aroused,
changes are unbidden and occur automatically (reviewed by Ekman
2003). Subjectively people report that they do not choose which emotion
to experience, but instead report that emotions happen to them in
specific situations. We know this through our own experience. For
example, during times when we may feel blue, we do things that we
hope will make us feel better - we go for a walk, eat some calorie
laden food, rent a comedy video - but whether we actually feel
happy afterwards is never guaranteed. Likewise, if we have to give
an important presentation to the boss, and find ourselves nervous, it
is very hard simply to stop being nervous (despite the suggestions of
our well meaning friends). These changes occur within a split second
and are considered fundamental features of an emotional response
(Frijda 1986; Ekman 2003).
Research has shown that anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness,
and surprise each have unique physiological profiles (Ekman et al.
1983); moreover, when subjects are asked to pose facial expressions
of anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness and surprise, the same
patterns of emotion-specific physiology have been found (Levenson
et al. 1990). This same link between facial expressions and emotion-
specific physiology has also been found in different subject groups,
such as the elderly (Levenson et al. 1991), and in a matrilineal,
Muslim, non-western culture (Levenson et al. 1992). Research has also
found that specific emotions have specific central nervous system
(CNS) patterns of hemispheric brain activation, as measured by the
electroencephalogram (EEG).
However, part of this emotional response, besides changes in heart
rate, blood pressure, and so forth (Ekman et al. 1983; Levenson et
al. 1992), is a change in voice tone (Scherer 1984) as well as a facial
expression of that emotion (Izard 1994; Ekman 1994, 2003). In terms
of the voice, researchers note particular patterns in fundamental
frequency and amplitude that distinguish anger from fear and these
emotions from others, and there is some limited evidence that these
vocal profiles for emotions are universal across cultures (Scherer and
Walbott 1994). For example, in anger the fundamental frequency gets
lower (lower pitch), and the amplitude higher (i.e. louder), whereas
in fear the fundamental frequency gets higher (higher pitch) and the
amplitude softer (i.e. quieter).
240
In term s of the face, research has shown that em otions such as

anger, contem pt, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness and surprise
appear on people's faces during an em otional experience, often
despite their efforts to hide them (e.g. Ekman et al. 1988, 1991; Frank
and Ekm an 1997). The system atic study of how facial expressions
link with em otion originated with the publication of D arw in's book
The Expression o f the Emotions in M an and Animals (1872/1998). In
this book, Darwin proposed that hum ans across all cultures have
distinct facial expressions for particular em otions, and that these
expressions are produced involuntarily as a result of that emotion
(through w hat he called 'nerve force'). Darwin defined em otions
as being behavioural and physiological reactions that have assisted
hum ans and anim als survive the various life challenges they faced
throughout their evolutionary history. For exam ple, the fear reaction
assisted hum ans and anim als to escape danger, the anger reaction
assisted hum ans and anim als to fight rivals and so forth. Those
who possessed these em otional reactions were more likely to live
to reproductive age and therefore pass their genes on to the next
generation. W hat Darwin argued (and elaborated later by others, e.g.
Plutchik 1962; Tomkins 1962, 1963; Ekman 1992, Izard 1994) is that
social anim als, such as hum ans, m ust com m unicate these emotions
to others in the group because em otions express im m inent behaviour,
such as striking out in anger, fleeing in fear, avoiding spoiled food
in disgust, approachability in happiness and other action tendencies
(e.g. Frijda 1986). The expression of im m inent behaviour allows
hum ans to co-ordinate their behaviours in ways to reduce conflict,
avoid danger and increase harmony.
The evidence for the universality of the em otions of anger,
contem pt, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness and surprise is quite
com pelling, where people from all continents on the planet - including
pre-literate and visually isolated societies - agree which emotion
belongs to which expression (Ekm an and Friesen 1971; Izard 1971,
1994; Ekman 1994, 2003). Parallel evidence for universality came
from observations of children who were born blind and deaf. These
visually and auditory im paired children experienced spontaneous
em otions, and they showed sim ilar expressions of emotion as their
sighted counterparts (Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1973).
However, Ekman (2003) and others have stressed that these
expressions are not reflexes. In fact, he argued that different cultures
and subcultures learn different rules to regulate their expression of
emotion - what he called 'display rules' (Ekman 1972). For exam ple,
Japanese culture, unlike N orth Am erican culture, has a display rule
241
that prohibits the expression of emotions such as anger or disgust

to higher-status people. When Japanese and Americans were secretly
observed whilst watching a gory film, both cultural groups showed
facial expressions of disgust. When Japanese and Americans were
shown this film in the presence of a high status person, the Japanese
smiled whereas the Americans still showed facial expressions of
disgust - even though both groups still experienced disgust (Ekman
and Friesen 1971). Ekman (1972) proposed that these display rules
can apply within cultures as well, as in North America, where boys
are typically taught to suppress sadness, and girls are taught to
suppress anger.
Based on these and other findings, Ekman (1977) proposed his
neuro-cultural theory of emotions. This theory argued that certain
basic human emotions had specific physiological patterns, and that
these emotions produced particular facial expressions that were
universal across all cultures, but that the ultimate facial expression
of these emotions was modified, exacerbated, suppressed or masked
by social learning processes dependent upon cultural or local
customs. However, Ekman argued that if the emotional experience
is of sufficient intensity, the facial expression for that emotion would
'leak' through and be visible despite efforts by the person to control
or hide them (e.g. Ekman 1985/2001). These leaks can be partial or
whole expressions, and can often be micromomentary in duration.
He called these 'microexpressions' and they have been shown to be
useful in uncovering deceit (Ekman and Friesen 1969; Ekman and
O'Sullivan 1991; Ekman et al. 1988, 1991; Frank and Ekman 1997,
2005).
The idea that the face can express deliberate, learned expressions,
as well as more involuntary, unbidden facial expressions of emotion
is supported by the architectural neuroanatomy of the face. There
appear to be two distinct neural pathways that mediate facial
expressions, each one originating in a different area of the brain:
one pathway for voluntary, willful facial actions, and a second for
involuntary, emotional facial actions (Tschaissny 1953; Meihlke 1973;
Myers 1976). The voluntary facial movements - along with other
voluntary movements - originate in the brain's cortical motor strips.
These impulses arrive at the face via the pyramidal motor system.
Involuntary facial movements originate in the subcortical areas
within the brain. These areas are associated with the production of
emotion. These impulses arrive at the face via the extrapyramidal
motor system. This dual-pathway hypothesis is supported by clinical
reports of patients with lesions on the cortical motor strip, who show
242
paralysis when asked to pose an expression such as a smile, but

who show perfect bilateral sm iles when told a joke that causes them
to feel happy (Brodal 1981). Likew ise, patients with lesions of the
subcortical areas of the brain (such as the basal ganglia) have difficulty
show ing spontaneous, em otional facial expressions; however, these
patients are able to move their facial m uscles on com m and (Karnosh
1945). These facial action observations are so reliable that in the pre-
CAT scan era they served as diagnostic criteria for pyram idal and
extrapyram idal lesions (DeM yer 1980). Current research is attem pting
to isolate further areas of production of various facial expressions
(e.g. A nderson and Phelps 2000).
Not only do voluntary and involuntary facial actions differ by
neural pathway, but the actions m ediated by these pathw ays m anifest
them selves differently. In a norm al person, voluntary pyram idal motor-
system -based m ovem ents are lim ited solely by individual effort. A
person can consciously move a facial m uscle quickly or slowly and
hold that action for a brief or long period of time, depending upon
the dictates of the circum stance and individual endurance. However,
extrapyram idal m otor system based facial actions are characterized
by synchronized, sm ooth, sym m etrical, consistent and reflex-like or
ballistic-like actions on the part of the com ponent facial m uscles
(reviewed by Rinn 1984). Relatively speaking, these actions appear
to be less under the deliberate control of the individual (e.g. Frank
et al. 1993; Frank 2003). Moreover, research has show n that facial
expressions that are driven by actual felt em otion have different
characteristics from those that are mim icked em otions, including
subtle differences in the m uscles used in the expression (Ekman
and Friesen 1982; Frank and Ekman 1993; Frank et al. 1993). These
subtle differences have been called 'reliable' behavioural signs of
em otion (Ekman 1985/2001) because few people can actually mimic
them. For exam ple, when people feel the em otion of happiness their
facial expression involves the contraction of the large muscles that
surround the eyes (producing a 'crow s' feet' appearance) along with
an upward contraction of the lip corners (Ekman and Friesen 1982).
W hen people are faking happiness or enjoym ent, they w ill contract
their lip corners, but do not - or cannot - contract the large m uscles
that surround the eyes (Frank and Ekman 1993). Although a large-
intensity sm ile will also generate the 'crow s' feet' appearance, at
lower intensities 'crow s' feet' would be a reliable sign of actual felt
enjoyment.
These facial expressions of emotion m ust have some significance
for our species, as recent research with functional magnetic resonance
243
im aging (fMRI) has show n that there are specific areas of the brain
that respond just to these em otional expressions. W hen researchers
show a photo of a facial expression of em otion (typically the same
photos used in the universality studies described earlier), they have
found that anger seems to activate the right orbitofrontal cortex and
anterior cingulate cortex (Blair et al. 1999). D isgust seem s to activate
the anterior insula and limbic cortico-striatal-thalam ic area (Phillips et
al. 1997). Fear seems to activate the left am ygdala (M orris et al. 1996;
W halen et al. 1998). Flappiness seem s to activate the left side of the
lateral frontal, mid-frontal, anterior tem poral and central anterior scalp
regions (Davidson et al. 1990; Ekman and Davidson 1993). Sadness
seem s to activate the left amygdala and right temporal lobe (Blair et
al. 1999). W hat this m eans is that hum ans appear to be biologically
wired to perceive these specific em otion facial expressions.
H o w th e e x p re s s io n m e ch a n ism s can b e tra y d e c e p tio n
If the situation involves assessing the true feelings of a witness, then

the lie catcher should try to observe the presence or absence of as
m any of these reliable clues to the em otions as possible within the
face and voice. In the face, these reliable signs include the narrowing
o f the red m argins of the lips in anger, the upward and inward
contraction of the area betw een the eyebrow s in fear, and the upward
raise of the inner corners of the eyebrow s in sadness (see Ekman
2003 for a more com plete list of these behavioural signs of emotions).
For exam ple, one of the authors, a retired sheriff's deputy, described
how an abusive man claimed he would not harm his wife if she were
to return to their apartm ent to remove her belongings and, as he was
m aking his claim s of com plete co-operation, the red m argins of his
lips becam e more and more narrow. The deputy at the time noted
this as a gut feeling. Given that the man said all the co-operative
things, the deputy asked the woman to enter the apartm ent to claim
her belongings. W hen she entered, the m an struck her in front of
the deputy. In this case, it was the presence of the reliable sign that
should have tipped off the deputy that the man was feeling anger
but struggling to control it.
However, research has been undertaken into the face and voice
w hen the stakes are high - i.e. where the liar faces benefits for
successful lying and punishm ents for unsuccessful lying (Ekman
1985/2001; DePaulo et al. 2003). For exam ple, research has shown that
facial expressions of fear, distress and disgust distinguish liars and
244
truth tellers at over 76 per cent accuracy (Frank and Ekm an 1997);
when voice m easures are added, this accuracy rises to 86.5 per cent
(Ekm an et al. 1991). Even more recent w ork by Frank and Ekman
(2005), using a counterterrorism paradigm , has pushed this up to 90
per cent accuracy. These behavioural signs are often obvious but, at
other times, occur so fleeting as to be micromomentary. Ekm an and
Friesen (1969) called these m icrom om entary expressions of emotion
'm icroexpressions', and the evidence suggests that they can be as
brief as Vi of a second. It also appears that only expert lie catchers
detect these m icroexpressions with any accuracy, w hereas average to
poor lie catchers m iss them (Ekm an and O 'Sullivan 1991; Ekman et
al. 1999; Frank and Ekman 1997; Frank 2005). These expressions are
often micro because in a situation where som eone is m otivated to
lie, they will attem pt to manage their facial behaviour so as to not
look 'guilty'. Thus, a 'tug of w ar' over control of the face ensues
betw een the subcortical, em otional regions and the cortical motor
strip. This attem pt to squelch the expressions m inim izes their scale
and duration. These m icroexpressions were first discovered using
Ekm an and Friesen's Facial Action Coding System - a laborious
technique for reliably coding all visible m uscle m ovem ent, not just
that presum ed to be related to em otion (Ekman and Friesen 1978).
It involves careful, back and forth view ing of behaviours that can
take up to 3 hours of coding time to code one m inute of behaviour.
However, this hard w ork did identify these em otional displays that
people with the naked eye did not see. Moreover, with as little as
30 m inutes of training, people can be taught to improve significantly
their abilities to spot m icroexpressions in real time (Ekman 2005;
Frank and Ekm an, 2005).
H o w emotions can betray deception
There are situations in w hich lies are betrayed by people who falsely
portray an em otion. One of the m ost argued-about aspects of the
M enendez case in California - where two brothers killed their well-
to-do parents but claim ed to have been driven to that act by their
parents' relentless physical and sexual abuse - involved whether the
displays of sadness by the two brothers when they described their
actions were real or feigned; that is, w hether their sadness w as a
genuine display of remorse over being forced, due to the years of
abuse, to kill these evil parents before their parents killed them;
or w hether it was the sim ulated sadness of two culpable siblings
designed to gain sym pathy from the judge and jury so they could
collect their sizeable inheritance.
245
Another way in which understanding emotions can help is to

identify the current states of mind of subjects. For example, one of
the authors viewed a videotape of a walk-through with a subject
suspected of murdering his parents. As the subject described finding
the bodies of his father and mother, he showed sadness. Flowever,
only when describing his mother did he show signs of sadness
featuring the reliable facial muscles. This provided an important
clue as to how he felt about each parent and his relationship with
each, and would be useful information to an interviewer who later
interviewed this suspect.
Other lies do not necessarily involve the topic of what one truly
feels but, instead, involve how the lie itself generates an emotion
within someone. A witness may conceal the fact that his or her friend
actually threw the first punch in an assault, or the witness may
conceal the fact that he or she never saw the dispute, but was simply
parroting the alleged victim's account. However, this witness may feel
guilt about making up the account of the assault, or he or she may
feel fear of being jailed for perjury or he or she may feel enjoyment
at the fact that he or she has outsmarted the police into believing
his or her account of the assault. Thus lies can produce emotions
independent of the act in which the lie was designed to conceal or
falsify. Once these emotions are involved, they must be concealed if
the lie is not to be betrayed. There are many emotions which could
be involved in deception, but three seem most intertwined with
deceit - fear of being caught in the lie, guilt about lying, and delight
in having duped someone (Ekman 1985/2001).
Fear o f being caught

Low levels of fear may help a liar get away with his or her deceptions
by maintaining the liar's alertness. In moderate and high levels, fear
can produce behavioural signs that can be noticed by the skilled lie
catcher (e.g. Frank and Ekman 1997; Ekman, et al. 1999; DePaulo et al.
2003). There are a number of factors that can influence fear of being
caught - for example, if the lie catcher has a reputation for being
tough to fool, the liar may feel more fear. If the liar has not had
much practice at telling and getting away with the lie, then his or her
fear of being caught would increase. Conversely, a lying witness who
has been able to convince police investigators of his or her fictional
account of a crime would gain confidence and would not feel as
fearful of being caught (after all, he or she hasn't been caught yet).
Likewise, this practice enables the liar to anticipate other possible
questions, and thus further reduce the fear of getting caught. Finally,
246
besides the fear of being caught, a lying witness may show fear of
punishment - that is, punishment for the act upon which the lie was
designed to conceal. In other words, the stronger the punishments
for the crime, for perjury or getting caught in general, the more fear
a deceptive witness is likely to show (e.g. Frank and Ekman 1997).
Deception guilt
Deception guilt refers to a feeling about lying, and not the legal issue
of whether someone is guilty or innocent. Deception guilt refers to
the guilt felt when lying; for example, a witness may feel happiness
at helping out a friend by claiming that the defendant threw the first
punch, but later may feel guilty about lying. This situation can be
reversed as well - he or she may feel guilt about helping out the
friend, but feel no guilt about lying about it (or some can feel guilt
for both, and some for neither). What is important is that it is not
necessary to feel guilty about the content of a lie in order to feel
guilty about lying. Like fear of being caught, deception guilt can vary
in strength. For example, severe guilt can be a tortuous experience,
undermining the sufferer's most fundamental feelings of self-worth
(Ekman 1985/2001).
There are a number of factors which function to increase the amount
of guilt a liar might feel. First, it seems that there are people who
are particularly prone to guilt - for example, those who suffer from
generalized anxiety disorders. These individuals often have very strict
upbringings and have been severely punished for lying, or have been
led to believe that lying is one of the most severe sins. Conversely,
psychopaths - who have been reported to show no remorse or shame
and an incapacity for love - may be much harder to detect than the
average person due to their limited capacity to feel guilt (Hare 1970).
Secondly, a close relationship between the liar and the target of the
lie, such that they share values, respect each other and so forth, also
functions to augment guilt feelings. Conversely, a liar who does not
share values with the target would feel less guilt; and a witness who
despises the legal system may not feel guilty about lying in court,
much the same way in which a spy or terrorist feels no guilt about
lying to a representative of an enemy government. Finally, if the
target of the lie is impersonal or anonymous, then less deception guilt
is generally felt. A witness who lies to a videotape camera or in an
affidavit may feel less guilt than if he or she lied to an actual person.
However, guilt often causes people to rationalize their deceits, so the
witness may convince him or herself that the defendant had always
been a troublemaker and deserved to be arrested, even though the
defendant was not responsible for initiating the current altercation.
247
D u p in g delight
Lying can produce positive as well as negative emotions. The lie
may be viewed as a proud accom plishm ent. Peter Sutcliffe, the man
convicted of being the Yorkshire Ripper, expressed his delight whilst
he was twice interrogated and then dism issed by the police before
ultim ately being caught. There are a num ber of factors that may
cause an increase in duping delight - if the target is hard to fool, or
if there is an audience who is aware of the deception and enjoying
the perform ance. Thus, a lying witness may enjoy the fact that he or
she is sitting in centre stage of the courtroom , in front of his or her
friends, whilst he or she regales them with his or her bogus account
of an assault.
It should be noted that these em otions can occur sim ultaneously
or in any com bination. For exam ple, w itnesses may feel guilt over
producing a bogus account of the assault, or fear being caught
perjuring them selves, as well as a certain delight in being able
to pull off the lie in front of all these supposedly im portant legal
professionals.
Cautions
It m ust be noted that these thinking and feeling clues are just that
- clues that witnesses, defendants and victim s are thinking, or clues
that they are feeling or concealing som e emotion. To date no one has
been able to identify a hum an equivalent of a 'Pinocchio response' -
that is, there is no one behavioural sign or constellation of signs that,
across every person, in all situations, indicates that a person is lying.
Thus, a lie catcher who identifies the behavioural clues described
above m ust alw ays infer why a witness would show guilt, or fear
or delight, or why a witness would m ull som ething over. This is
why the concept of calling these incidents of em otional or cognitive
leakage 'hotspots' rather than lies is the preferred notation in IIE.
Som eone who judges leaked em otions or cognitive efforts as a lie
may be right, but may be wrong, as there can be other reasons why
som eone would feel fear or enjoym ent besides lying. Som eone who
judges these sam e behaviours as hotspots will be much less likely to
be wrong, and can use this evidence to gather even more evidence.
Moreover, the interview er who judges hotspot, rather than liar will
be more likely to continue to ask questions and gather inform ation,
rather than succum b to the human tendency to assum e if he or
she caught the person lying that person m ust be guilty - and this
prem ature conclusion can result in more haphazard and incom plete
inform ation collection from that point.
248
Conclusions about detecting deception
The IIE approach suggests the most effective way to detect deception
from behaviour is to look for changes in baseline - an expressive
person suddenly becomes much less expressive for a particular topic,
but then becomes expressive again for different topics - an d /o r to
note when the verbal and non-verbal information do not match -
subtle or micro happiness when talking about a murder, or fear when
talking about an innocuous topic like lunch, or even micro shrugging,
which indicates uncertainty, when talking about something he or she
claims he or she definitely did. The IIE approach trains investigators
to recognize these changes in baseline - or times when the verbal
and non-verbal behaviours are discrepant - and teaches investigators
to understand thoroughly why the person is showing these hotspots.
However, the IIE approach discourages investigators from making a
judgment of 'lie' when he or she sees these changes or discrepant
behaviours but, instead to make a judgment of hotspot. Given that
there are no universal clues to deceit, an investigator who renders a
judgment of 'lie' might be wrong; however, given the years of work
on emotion and cognition, an investigator who instead renders a
judgment of 'hot spot' will not be wrong. Moreover, a judgment of
hotspot encourages the investigator to keep gathering information,
whereas we have noted in the past that investigators who make a
judgment of liar tend to slack off in their information gathering,
because now they assume they have the right person - despite
evidence that shows most people, including trained law enforcement
officers, should exercise caution about their abilities to spot lies (Kraut
and Poe 1980; DePaulo and Pfeifer 1986; Ekman and O'Sullivan 1991;
Ekman et al. 1999).
The IIE approach recognizes that an oppressive, pressured push
towards a confession does not generate the best information or
make the strongest cases as they are put forward in a court of law.
It recognizes the importance of uninterrupted accounts. It recognizes
a careful consideration of the means of putting forth questions to
the subjects and also recognizes the use of behavioural indicators to
help generate areas of inquiry and to facilitate the vetting of such
information. However, as stated earlier, it views these behavioural
indicators and techniques to be a means towards helping the
investigator gather information, and not as evidence in and of
itself. The only way to know with 100 per cent certainty is to have
unimpeachable corroborating evidence. That sort of evidence is only
gained by a close examination of the physical evidence, and through
249
a com parison of the stated accou nt of the su sp e ct/w itn e ss/in fo rm a n t

to the physical evidence and other statem ents.
E p ilo g u e
In 2005 the scientists (deception experts, Ekm an, Frank and O 'Su lliv an,
and m em ory and verbal statem ent expert, Yuille) and m ost of the
law enforcem ent officers (Fretter, H arm s and Yarbrough) form ed a
separate organization called 'Im p roving Interpersonal Evaluations
for Law Enforcem ent and N ational Secu rity ', w ith the acronym IIE.
The prim ary focus continu es to be on interview ing and com bining
scientific know led ge w ith law enforcem ent experience. J.J. N ew berry
continu es to direct the Institute of A nalytic Interview ing, b u t w ithout
the participation of the individuals nam ed above.
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255
Part 3
Developments in Regulation
C h ap ter 13
Recovered memories
James Ost
W hen she was 27, Alice, a successful businessw om an, embarked

upon a course of hypnotherapy to help her overcome an
eating disorder. The hypnotherapist told her, 'you will start to
rem em ber things - things that you w on't want to rem em ber
but they still com e flooding back'. After six or seven sessions
of hypnotherapy, Alice indeed began to recover m em ories of
being sexually abused by her uncle sixteen years previously.
W hilst Alice claim ed to have alw ays been aware that som ething
w'as not right in her life, she also claimed that, prior to the
hypnotherapy, she had had no m em ory of any episodes of
abuse (Ost 2000).
T h e m e m o ry w a rs
In the last decade and a half psychologists were involved in

the 'm em ory w ars', one of the m ost contentious debates to date
- contentious enough that Pezdek and Banks refer to it as close to
a 'religious w ar' (1996: xii; see also Brow'n et al. 2000; Ost 2003).
The question that has caused such a divide in professional opinion
concerns the extent to which m em ories, such as those 'recovered'
by Alice, reflect events that actually occurred. Partly due to the
uncertainties surrounding cases like these, the statutes of lim itations,
previously barring such cases from being tried in court, were lifted
in many states in Am erica (although there are no time restrictions
to bringing such charges under UK law). These changes enabled
259
individuals like Alice to sue, or bring crim inal charges against, their
parents (or other alleged abusers) where the only evidence was
previously 'repressed' or 'dissociated' m em ories of childhood abuse
that individual had allegedly 'recovered' in adulthood (Underw ager
and Wakefield 1998). One problem with allow ing such testim ony is
that there is, in fact, no reliable evidence that individuals 'repress' or
'dissociate' m em ories of traum atic events (although they may choose
not to report such events; see M cN ally 2003; cf. Brown et al. 1998). A
further problem is that, as w e shall see in this chapter, research has
show n that it is possible for people to com e to report com pelling and
vivid 'm em ories' of events that never occurred (Hym an et al. 1995;
Loftus and Pickrell 1995; Pezdek et al. 1997; Porter et al. 1999; Ost et
al. in press). This raises the serious possibility that at least some of
these 'recovered m em ories' might, in fact, be iatrogenic productions
of the therapeutic process itself (hence the term 'false m em ories').
Indeed, there have been a num ber of high-profile m alpractice
cases in the USA where patients have taken legal action against their
form er therapists, accusing them of im planting 'false' m em ories of
abuse, som etim es w inning considerable damage settlem ents (see
Loftus 1997). Furtherm ore, in one case an accused father was allowed,
as a third party, to bring m alpractice charges against his daughter's
form er therapist and was awarded $500,000 in dam ages (see Johnston
1997). In a recent case in the UK, the General Medical Council (GMC)
disciplined a general practitioner for using inappropriate questions
and suggestions to lead a 13-year-old patient to believe falsely
that she had been sexually assaulted (Catchpole 2003). These, and
other cases like them, highlight the im portance of raising awareness
am ongst practitioners and policy-m akers of the issues surrounding
such cases in order that potential m iscarriages of justice are avoided
and that genuine victims of abuse receive the support they need.
However, the issues are far from straightforward.
One concern is that claim s of childhood abuse are som etim es
made follow ing, or during, an individual's participation in so-called
'recovered m em ory therapy'. Recovered m emory therapy, although a
contentious term to some, is a blanket term covering any therapeutic
treatment in which the prim e goal is to uncover repressed, dissociated
or otherw ise unavailable 'm em ories' of traum a, in order to resolve
present-day psychological problem s (Lindsay and Read 1994, 2001).
Professional opinion, however, is sharply divided over the risks
associated with such therapy. On the one hand there are researchers
who claim that certain traum atic experiences are perm anently stored
in one form or another, that it is possible to revive 'm em ories' of
260
Recovered memories
these long-forgotten events and that such 'm em ories' are generally
accurate (see Brown et al. 1998; Cam eron 1996; Freyd 1998; Salter
1998). If this argum ent is wrong then fam ilies can be torn apart,
individuals falsely branded as paedophiles and, som etim es, wrongly
incarcerated (see Pendergrast 1996) on the basis of such 'recovered
m em ories'. On the other hand are researchers who claim that some
of these 'recovered m em ories' arose as a result of inappropriate and
highly suggestive therapeutic techniques (Brandon et al. 1997; Hyman
and Loftus 1997; Tsai et al. 2000; Lindsay and Read 1994, 2001; Lynn
et al. 2003; see also Hyman 2000). But if this claim is wrong the
results are equally as tragic, not only in individual cases, but also at
a w ider level. As Conw ay (1997) states, one serious concern is that
genuine victim s of childhood sexual assault will be less w illing to
com e forward if there is a risk that their testim ony may be dismissed
as a case of 'false m em ory'. Despite the polarized nature of the debate
there is some evidence that a 'm iddle ground' is em erging (Read
1999; Shobe and Schooler 2001; Ost 2003) with researchers on both
sides acknow ledging the possibility that som e long-delayed claims
of childhood abuse are genuine, w hilst some are not. W hilst it is
unethical to test the specific claim that participants can be led falsely
to report that they were victim s of abuse, a num ber of laboratory
m ethods have been developed to exam ine how, and under what
circum stances, people m ight com e falsely to report other, som etim es
traum atic, events from their past. The purpose of this chapter is to
review critically 1) laboratory studies that have exam ined how people
can com e to report 'm em ories' of childhood events that did not
occur; 2) the effect of certain 'm em ory recovery' techniques on the
accuracy of m emory reports; and 3) the possible effects of support
groups on rem em bering. We will see that, although m uch research is
still required, the available evidence clearly show s that it is possible,
under certain circum stances, for people to com e to report falsely that
they rem em ber entire events that did not occur, or that they did not
experience.
T h r e e m a in ‘false m e m o r y ’ m e th o d s
There are three main m ethods that psychologists have used to

exam ine the circum stances under which individuals m ight com e
to report events, or details of events, that they did not experience:
1) the DRM m ethod; 2) the m isinform ation method; and 3) the
parental m isinform ation method. As will be seen, there are strengths
261
and w eaknesses with each method. For exam ple, whilst the parental
m isinform ation method appears to be directly m easuring the
likelihood that an individual will report an entire memory of an
event he or she did not experience, the DRM method exam ines the
likelihood that an individual w ill falsely recognize a lure as being
part of a previously presented list of sem antically related items. This
means that these m ethods do not speak equally to the question of
w hether an individual can com e to report that he or she remembers
an entirely false, autobiographical, em otionally charged childhood
event (see Sm eets et al. in press). There is also a further problem atic
distinction concerning w hether these m ethods are tapping into, or
changing, memories of past events, beliefs about past events, confidence
about w hether a past event occurred or not, or sim ply reports about
past events (Sm eets et al. in press; see also Ost 2003; Loftus and
Bernstein 2005). Furthermore, whilst it has been argued that a false
belief is an im portant (and necessary) precursor to developing a false
memory (Gudjonnson 2003), it does not follow that a false belief will
alw ays lead to a false m em ory (Ost 2003). Therefore some caution is
w arranted in interpreting these findings as a w hole. N evertheless, all
three m ethods are widely cited in the literature as providing evidence
that 'false m em ories' can occur. With these im portant caveats in mind,
each method will now be critically examined.
The D R M m ethod
Roediger and M cD erm ott (1995) adapted a m ethod previously

developed by D eese (1959; referred to as the DRM method). In a
typical study, participants are asked to rem em ber a list of words,
such as mad, fear, hate, rage, temper, fury, ire, wrath, happy, fight,
hatred, m ean, calm, em otion, enrage. Som e time later, participants
are recalled for a 'surprise' mem ory test and are asked to indicate
w hether the word 'a n g er' was contained in the original list. M any
of them frequently report rem em bering the critical non-presented
word (e.g. 'anger') as having been present in the original list.
Several studies have successfully replicated this effect, with various
different experim ental m anipulations (see, for exam ple Gallo et al.
1997; Brainerd and Reyna 1998; Sm ith and H unt 1998). Roediger and
M cD erm ott (1995: 803) claim that the results of these studies 'reveal
a powerful illusion of memory: People rem em ber events that never
happened'.
There also appear to be individual differences that leave certain
participants more likely to succum b to the DRM effect. For example
262
Recovered memories
Winograd et al. (1998) found that participants who scored more highly
on m easures of dissociation (high scorers on this measure have a
tendency to experience problem s in the integration of thoughts and
feelings) and vividness of mental imagery (high scorers report having
more vivid im aginative abilities) were more likely to claim to rem em ber
the critical non-presented words. However, as Freyd and Gleaves
(1996) note, there are im portant differences betw een m isrem em bering
words that have not been presented in a list and m isrem em bering
an otherw ise happy childhood as being abusive. Similarly, Wilkinson
and Hyman (1998) dem onstrated that, in laboratory experim ents,
there are im portant differences betw een participants' perform ance on
w ord-list tasks and their perform ance on autobiographical memory
tasks. They found that self-reported dissociative tendencies were
related to errors on both the word list and autobiographical memory,
but that self-reported vividness of mental imagery was only related
to errors on the w ord-list (DRM) task. W ilkinson and Hym an (1998)
argue that this is because rem em bering words and rem em bering
autobiographical events rely on different underlying psychological
processes. They argue that it is therefore unwise to assum e that
participants who are susceptible to the DRM are also more vulnerable
to developing false autobiographical memories.
The m isinform ation method
The second method that psychologists have used exam ines whether
subtle changes in the way in which questions are asked about an
event can change what participants subsequently claim to remember
about that event. The classic studies of the m isinform ation effect,
conducted by Loftus and colleagues, examined w hether m isleading
post-event inform ation could alter eyew itness' m em ories of events
they had recently w itnessed (Loftus 1979). In two studies by Loftus
and Palm er (1974), participants were show n a film of an accident
involving two cars. Participants were then questioned to find out
how m uch they could rem em ber about the event. Loftus and Palm er
found that the question 'A bout how fast were the cars going when
they sm ashed into each other?' elicited higher estim ates of speed than
questions in which the verbs collided, bumped, contacted or hit were
used (see also Loftus et al. 1978). This is a robust and easily replicated
effect although there are still disagreem ents as to the m echanism s
that cause the m isinform ation effect (e.g. Bekerian and Bow ers 1983;
M cCloskey and Zaragoza 1985; Zaragoza et al. 1987; W eingardt et al.
1995). N evertheless it seem s that subtle changes in wording can lead
263
participants to report non-existent details of events that they have

experienced (see also Nourkova et al. 2004).
In a novel tw ist on the m isinform ation m ethod, Crom bag et al.
(1996) asked participants w hether they remembered seeing a film of
a plane crashing into a block of flats in Am sterdam . No film of the
crash existed so we can be sure that any participants who claimed
to have seen it m ust be m istaken. N evertheless, 5 5 -66 per cent of
the respondents to Crom bag et al.'s questionnaire claim ed to have
seen such a film. Participants were so convinced that they had seen
the film that they were willing to give details such as the angle at
which the airplane hit the buildings, how long before fire broke out
and how long it was before the em ergency services arrived. Crom bag
et al. (1996) suggest that perhaps the vivid and em otionally charged
nature of the event led people to think about the event, picture it
in their heads and then subsequently com e to m isrem em ber the
resulting im aginations as if they were real m em ories. This is referred
to as a 'source m onitoring' error and occurs when w e m isrem em ber
the source of inform ation (Johnson et al. 1993).
Ost et al. (2002b) replicated this effect using a different event - the
car crash in Paris in which Diana, Princess of Wales, Dodi Fayed and
their driver were killed. W hilst no film of the actual event exists,
there had been reports in the press that D iana's car was being
pursued on m otorbikes by paparazzi that were allegedly filming the
chase. O st et al. (2002b) therefore asked participants w hether they
had seen the paparazzis' video recording of the m om ent of the crash
on television. W hilst it has never been established w hether indeed
such a film exists, it has certainly never been show n on television.
Nevertheless, 44 per cent of Ost et al.'s participants claimed to have
seen it. Furtherm ore, m any participants even w ent as far as to say
on which television channel they had seen the film. Ost et al. found
that participants who scored higher on a m easure of 'eagerness to
please' (the self-m onitoring scale; Snyder 1974) were more like to
claim to have seen the film than participants who scored lower on
this m easure (for more recent exam ples see Jelicic et al. 2005; Wilson
and French, submitted).
In a replication of the Crom bag et al. study, Granhag et al. (2003)
asked participants w hether they had seen a (non-existent) film of
the sinking of the Estonia ferry. Again they found that 52 per cent
of their participants claimed to have seen the film. They also had a
confederate present when the participants com pleted the questionnaire
who either claim ed to have seen the non-existent film or claim ed not
to have seen it. Granhag et al. found that participants either increased
264
Recovered memories
or decreased their levels of false reporting in line with the social

influence exerted by the confederate. We will discuss their study, and
a recent replication (Ost et al. 2004) in more detail in the section on
the effects of support groups below.
Parental misinform ation method
The studies m entioned above show that some individuals will, when
misled by subtle changes in wording, or by a confederate, com e to
report that they rem em ber events (or details of events) that they
did not witness. However, they are limited in generalizability when
applied to cases of allegedly false or recovered m em ory of childhood
events. The events in the Crom bag et al., O st et al. and Granhag et
al. studies were all relatively recent, and had occurred whilst the
participants in their studies were adults. In contrast m ost delayed
claim s of childhood abuse concern events that, by definition, occurred
many years beforehand (see Pendergrast 1996). Can individuals be
misled to report false events from their childhood?
Loftus and Coan (cited in Loftus and Pickrell 1995) describe a
study in which a 14-year-old boy (Chris) was asked to recall details
over five days regarding four events involving fam ily members.
One of the events was false and three of them were true (as verified
by the family). Chris was interview ed in the presence of a sibling
(who was a confederate of the investigators) about these events. The
sibling provided verbal corroboration that all the events (including
the false event) had taken place. Over time Chris began to report
more about the four events, even rating the false event (becoming
lost in a shopping mall as a child) as more likely to have occurred
than all but one of the three true events.
Loftus and Pickrell (1995) replicated this effect with a larger sample
of undergraduate students. In this study participants were asked to
com plete a booklet concerning four events, the third of which was
false (becom ing lost in a shopping mall). Parents, w'ho confirmed that
their child had never becom e lost in a shopping m all as a child, also
provided details of the real events. Participants were interview ed
three times over three weeks and also asked, betw een interview s,
to write down in their booklets anything that came to mind about
the events. Loftus and Pickrell (1995) found that after three weeks,
6 out of 24 participants (25 per cent) erroneously believed part or all
of the false event. However, as Pezdek et al. (1997) argue, becom ing
lost in a shopping mall is a fairly com m on event that many people
w ould have a 'script' (or 'schem a') for such an event around which
265
they could construct a convincing narrative. Therefore it w ould be

relatively easy for an individual to create a convincing report of
an event like this.1 Pezdek et al. (1997) argue that an event that is
lower in plausibility, and for which we are less likely to have 'script
relevant' know ledge (such as childhood sexual abuse), is less likely
to be implanted (although see Scoboria et al. 2004).
Hyman et al. (1995) therefore attem pted to suggest to their
participants that they had experienced more unusual events.
Follow ing the m ethodology devised by Loftus and Pickrell (1995),
they asked their participants to try to rem em ber three events (two of
w hich had occurred and one of which had not). Hym an et al. (1995)
conducted two studies in which they suggested that their participants
had experienced one of the follow ing false events when they were
children:
• An overnight hospitalization with a possible ear infection (study 1).

• A birthday party with a visit by a clown and pizza (study 1).
• Spilling a punch bow l at a w edding (study 2).
• Evacuating a grocery store w hen the sprinklers w ent off (study 2).
• Releasing the handbrake of a car in a parking lot and hitting
som ething (study 2).
Their participants were interview ed three times over a three-week

period and after each interview participants were asked to think
about the events and to try to rem em ber more details before the next
session. By the third and final interview 8 9 -95 per cent of the 'real'
events were recalled along w ith 25 per cent of the 'false' events (see
also Hyman and Loftus 1997). This dem onstrates that participants
can be misled to report more unusual events from their childhood.
However, critics argue that having a false mem ory of spilling a
punchbow l at a w edding does not com pare to having a memory
of being abused as a child, as the latter is a much more negative,
traum atic and em otionally charged event. N evertheless one study
has exam ined whether it is possible to m islead adult participants to
report that they falsely rem em ber negative, traum atic and em otionally
charged events from their childhood.
Porter et al. (1999), using a sim ilar m ethodology to Loftus and
Pickrell (1995) and Hym an et al. (1995), suggested to participants that
they had experienced serious negative events as children, such as:
• a serious m edical procedure;

• getting lost;
266
Recovered memories
• getting seriously harm ed by another child; and

• a serious anim al attack.
Porter et al. also verbally encouraged their participants to remember

the events ('m ost people are able to retrieve lost m em ories if they
try hard enough'; Porter et al. 1999: 522), as well as asking them to
think about this for five m inutes every night between interviews. By
the third and final interview, Porter et al. (1999) found that 54 per
cent of participants reported a 'fu ll', or 'partial', false memory.2 Taken
together these studies indicate that, when misled by information
provided by siblings or parents, participants w ill report that they
rem em ber unusual, negative, em otionally charged and traumatic
childhood events.
In all the studies above some kind of verbal instructions were
used to encourage participants to try to rem em ber the events (the
only exception to this is H ym an et al. 1995, experim ent 1). However,
it is unclear the extent to which, in the case of false reports of
childhood events, the behaviour of the interview er influenced the
m anner of recall. For exam ple, Loftus and Pickrell (1995: 722) noted
that 'the interview ers m aintained a pleasant and friendly manner
w hilst pressing for details'. In order to explore the possible role of
social pressure in the developm ent of false m em ories, Ost et al. (in
press) follow ed a sim ilar m ethodology to these previous studies but
trained their interview ers to interview in an appropriate and non
pressuring manner. Participants were asked about both positive and
negative false events, sim ilar to those used in previous studies, for
example:
• becom ing lost;

• a trip to the hospital;
• a serious accident;
• an eventful birthday party; and
• winning a contest.
Levels of social pressure in the interview s were monitored both by

the participants (who were asked to rate, am ongst other details,
how pressured they felt) and by independent judges (who rated
videotapes of the interview s). Overall levels of social pressure
reported by both participants and independent judges were low.
D espite the low levels of social pressure, Ost et al. (in press) found
that 7 out of 31 participants produced a 'fu ll' or 'partial' report of
a childhood event that did not occur. This study suggests that even
267
minimal social pressure and repeated interviewing are sufficient to

lead some individuals to come to report events from their childhood
that never occurred.
Limitations o f parental misinformation studies
There are, however, several criticisms of the above studies that limit
their generalizability to cases of delayed reports of childhood trauma.
As already noted, Pezdek et al. (1997) argue that most of the false
events that participants are asked to recall are events for which
participants are likely to have a 'script'. An event that is lower in
plausibility, and for which participants are less likely to have 'script
relevant' knowledge (such as childhood sexual abuse), is less likely
to be falsely reported.
Pezdek et al. (1997) tested this hypothesis by suggesting to Jewish
and Catholic participants that they had taken part in both a Catholic
ritual (receiving Communion) and a Jewish ritual (Shabbot), neither
of which had actually occurred. Pezdek et al. (1997) argue that the
plausibility of having taken part in a Catholic ritual would be low
for Jewish participants, that they would have less script-relevant
knowledge to draw upon and vice versa. They found, in line with
their predictions, that seven of the Catholic participants but none of
the Jewish participants reported the false Catholic event and three
Jewish participants and one Catholic participant reported the Jewish
false event. This shows that participants were more likely to remember
the plausible false event than the implausible false event (i.e. Jewish
participants were more likely to remember the false Jewish ritual than
the false Catholic ritual). In a second experiment, Pezdek et al. (1997)
replicated the study by Loftus and Pickrell (1995) and extended it by
suggesting to participants that they had 1) been lost in a shopping
mall (a plausible event); and 2) that they had received an enema as
a child (an implausible event). Again, all events were suggested as
having occurred by a close relative or sibling who confirmed that no
events of this kind had ever occurred to the participants. Pezdek et
al. (1997) found that whilst 3 out of 20 participants falsely reported
becoming lost in a shopping mall, none of the participants falsely
reported receiving an enema. These experiments therefore suggest that
the probability that participants can be misled to report false events
from their childhood is likely to be a function of the plausibility of,
or familiarity with, the event concerned (although see Scoboria et
al. 2004 for a discussion of the differences between plausibility and
script-consistency).
268
Recovered memories
However, certain 'scripts' are more fam iliar in w estern culture

than m ight at first be im agined. Lynn and Pezzo (1994; cited in
Lynn and Kirsch 1996) found that participants were able to construct
very convincing narratives of having been abducted by aliens, even
w hen given relatively little w arning or further inform ation. Lynn and
Kirsch (1996) argue that narratives of alien abduction are so com mon
in western culture that individuals are likely to have access to 'script
relevant' know ledge (see also Arndt and Greenberg 1996). Given the
large num ber of self-help books, media program m es, news articles
and the like dealing with abuse, it is not inconceivable that some
individuals could construct a narrative of having been abused.
A second limitation of the parental m isinform ation studies is that
they rely on parents or siblings to verify that certain events did, or
did not, occur to participants when they were children. This may be
unwise. W hilst it is probable that parents w ill be able to remember
events in the lives of their young children w ith more confidence than
the children them selves (see O st et al. in press), this in itself is no
guarantee that they will rem em ber them with great accuracy (Conte
1999). Indeed, in the study by O st et al. (in press), a few participants
stated outright that their parents m ust have m isrem em bered events,
or confused the participant with another sibling. Indeed there is
literature to suggest that parents are not the best at rem em bering
events from their children's past (Wenar 1961; Wenar and Coulter
1962; see also Halverson 1988). The problem , then, is that there is no
way of know ing the 'ground truth' (i.e. w hether indeed an event did,
or did not, occur) with any great certainty.
A third, often-cited, lim itation with parental m isinform ation
studies is that the events participants are misled to report are not of
an abusive or traum atic nature. However, the study by Porter et al.
(1999) showed that participants could be misled to report negatively
charged and traumatic events (such as being victim to a serious animal
attack). Although untestable in the laboratory, the possibility remains
that participants in situations other than a psychology experim ent
could be misled to report abusive events that did not occur (see also
Hym an and Loftus 1997). In fact evidence from retractors (individuals
who have repudiated their earlier claim s of abuse) suggests that this
does occur (see de Rivera 1998; Ost et al. 2001, 2002a). Retractors are
individuals who have m ade claims of childhood abuse, only later
to claim that those events did not, in fact, occur (hence the term
'retractors'). Studies have show n that these individuals developed
what they now believe to have been false beliefs about having been
abused as a child, som etim es becom ing so convinced of the truth of
269
their false beliefs that they initiated legal proceedings against their
alleged abusers (de Rivera 1998; Ost et al. 2001, 2002a). Worryingly,
retractors reported that they experienced levels of social pressure, and
inappropriate questioning techniques, not dissimilar to those that can
lead to false confessions in police interrogations (Wrightsman and
Kassin 1993; Kassin 1997, 2005; Ost, et al. 2001; Gudjonnsson 2003).
A fourth limitation with parental misinformation studies is that it
is not clear what degree of social pressure is required in order to
lead participants to make false claims about the past (Ost et al. in
press). For example, Loftus and Pickrell (1995: 722) note that their
interviewer 'maintained a pleasant and friendly manner, whilst
pressing for details' yet do not provide details of how participants
were 'pressed for details'. Porter et al. (1999) state that they employed
a degree of verbal encouragement ('most people can remember details
if they try really hard'; 522) but the specific effects of this part of
their methodology are not clear. Malinoski and Lynn (1999) found
that positive verbal encouragement led participants to report earlier
(and more implausible) memories. Ost et al. (in press) found that,
even when social pressure was kept to a minimum (by appropriately
training interviewers not to pressure participants), a number of
participants still came to report false events from their childhood (see
also Erdmann et al. 2004 for similar findings with child witnesses).
The role of social pressure in the genesis and development of false
reports of childhood events is an important avenue for future research
(Ost et al. 2001 in press).
A final limitation with the parental misinformation studies concerns
the complexity of the experimental set-up that is required:
Loftus's research paradigm has little if any applicability to a

typical psychotherapy encounter ... the story of an indexed
event ... is deliberately planted in scripted detail by a trusted
family member. The clinical parallel would require not the naive,
inadequately trained, and overzealous therapist suggested by
Loftus and others, but rather a highly skilled and malevolent
practitioner who is capable of deliberately planting a highly
detailed, wholly inaccurate, scripted tale in the suggestible mind
of an exceedingly trusting patient (Flarvey 1999: 23).
W hilst the limits to generalizability are well noted there are also a
number of similarities between the experimental and therapeutic
contexts that mean some conclusions can be drawn (Hyman and
Loftus 1997; Bekerian and O'Neill 2001; see also Ost 2003). For
270
Recovered memories
exam ple, in both cases there are strong social dem ands to remember,
either from a participant's m otivation to be a good experim ental
participant (see Ost et al. 2002a), or from a client's m otivation to get
better from whatever current problem s he or she is suffering.
In addition to the social dem ands to rem em ber in both the
experim ental and therapeutic contexts, therapists som etim es suggest
that certain techniques m ight help individuals to 'recover' m emories
of childhood sexual abuse (referred to by Lindsay and Read 1994 as
m em ory recovery therapy, or MRT). Exam ples of such techniques
are: hypnosis; guided im agery; the use of fam ily photographs;
instructions to give your im agination free rein; dream interpretation;
interpreting physical sym ptom s; w ritin g/artw ork; and participating
in support groups w ith other individuals who have 'recovered'
m em ories of abuse (see also Poole et al. 1995; Andrew s 2001). Poole
et al. (1995) surveyed British and North Am erican practitioners and
found that over two thirds of them used such techniques in order
to assist clients recover suspected m em ories of childhood sexual
abuse. A sim ilar survey by Andrew s (2001) found that 67 per cent
of a British sam ple of practitioners reported using such techniques
either before, or after, the client reported his or her first m em ory of
abuse although, as Andrew s (2001) notes, in only 21.5 per cent of the
cases reported in this survey were the techniques used before a client
reported any m em ory of abuse. As Hyman and Loftus (1997) note, in
some cases such techniques m ight act as appropriate m em ory cues in
order to help clients recover m em ories they had not thought about
for a long time. However, they also strongly caution that many of
the techniques could lead to false m em ories of abuse by, for exam ple,
encouraging clients to im agine abuse occurring. The problem with
this, as outlined below, is that it m ay encourage clients to evaluate
their recovered m emories using very lax source-m onitoring criteria.
The following section exam ines research that has investigated the
effects, that various m em ory recovery techniques have on reports of
past events (for another recent review, see Lynn et al. 2003).
M e m o r y re c o v e ry te c h n iq u e s
H ypnosis
There is a conflict in the literature about the efficacy of hypnosis as

a therapeutic tool to help recover 'm em ories' (Brandon et al. 1997).
For exam ple, Lynn et al. (1997b: 309) note that 'the available evidence
271
provides no warrant for the use of hypnosis as a memory aid'.

Surveys of clinicians have shown that the use of hypnotic procedures
is reasonably common. For example, Poole et al. (1995) found that 25
per cent of qualified clinical psychologists, both in the UK and the
USA, routinely used hypnosis as part of their treatment programmes.
However, surveys have also revealed that some respondents report
beliefs about the power of such procedures that are not supported
by any empirical research. Yapko (1994) found, for example, that 18
per cent of his sample believed that it was not possible to lie whilst
hypnotized and 28 per cent believed that it was possible to use
hypnosis to recover accurate memories of past lives. Suffice it to say
that there is no empirical evidence to support these beliefs (Yapko
1994; Spanos 1996).
Research has highlighted a number of factors that are important
determinants of what is reported whilst a participant is 'hypnotized'.
For example, there is strong evidence to suggest that what people recall
whilst hypnotized is strongly influenced by their own expectations
and by those of the person hypnotizing them (Spanos et al. 1991).
Spanos et al. (1991) conducted a series of studies of alleged 'past-
life regression'. In one experiment, Spanos et al. (1991; experiment 2)
suggested to one group of participants that their 'past-life' identities
were likely to be of a different sex and race from themselves and that
they would be likely to live in an exotic culture. When compared
to a control group, these participants were more likely to have
incorporated this information into their descriptions of their past lives.
In another experiment, Spanos et al. (1991: experiment 3) informed
participants in one condition that children in earlier historical times
were more likely to have experienced some kind of abuse or neglect.
Again they found that participants in this condition were more likely
than controls to report instances of abuse or neglect in the biography
of their past-life identities.
Lynn et al. (1997a) argue that, although the use of hypnosis
increases the amount of information a participant reports about
events he or she has witnessed, much of that extra information is
erroneous. Newman and Baumeister (1996) also argue that one effect
of hypnosis is to increase participants' subjective confidence in both
the accurate and inaccurate aspects of their recall. However others
argue that such increases in confidence are typically fairly small and
cannot be reliably replicated (Lynn and Kirsch 1996). Furthermore,
Lynn and Kirsch (1996: 153) argue that 'the production of new
memories, accurate or not, is not much different with hypnosis
than it is without hypnosis'. Spanos et al. (1993), for example, found
272
Recovered memories
that the elaborateness of UFO experiences was not correlated with

hypnotizability but with the propensity of participants to have
unusual bodily sensations and to be fantasy prone. In other words, it
may be that a person who is more likely to respond positively to the
social demands of hypnotic suggestions is more likely to respond to
social demands in other suggestive contexts. McConkey et al. (1998)
therefore argue that it is not hypnosis per se that is the problem.
Rather, it is a complex interaction between individual (e.g. his or
her 'hypnotizability' or willingness to play the role of a 'hypnotized'
participant; Wenegrat 2001), interpersonal (e.g. the relationship
between the client and the therapist) and contextual factors (e.g. the
beliefs of the client and therapist) that are strong determinants of
what is reported during hypnosis. Therefore, whilst hypnosis itself
may not lead to the creation of false memories, the use of hypnosis
or pseudo-hypnotic procedures (e.g. relaxation, guided imagery) in
a context where individuals are trying to recall allegedly 'hidden'
memories of trauma may be extremely problematic - people who are
more likely to go along with suggestions that they are 'hypnotized'
may be more likely to respond positively to other suggestions (see
also Wenegrat 2001 for a discussion of how people adopt different
'illness roles').
Guided imagery
Loftus and Ketcham (1994: 157-8) give the following example of a

guided imagery exercise suggested as useful to help an individual to
recover memories of abuse:
Take an event in your family history that you can never actually
find out about. It could be your father's childhood or the
circumstances in your m other's life that kept her from protecting
you. Using all the details you do know, create your own story.
Ground the experience or event in as much knowledge as you
have and then let yourself imagine what actually might have
happened.
However, Loftus and Ketcham (1994) criticize such exercises on the

grounds that research has shown that giving free rein to our imagination
in the context of trying to recall a past event is problematic. For
example, Hyman and Pentland (1996) asked participants to imagine
childhood events that they could not remember and compared the
recall of these participants with a control group who were simply
273
asked to think about events they could not remember. Hyman and
Pentland (1996) found that 40 per cent of participants who were
asked to imagine the event created a false memory, compared with
15 per cent of participants who were simply asked to think about
the event. One possible reason for this, as Hyman and Loftus (1997)
argue, is that people generally do not monitor the source of an image
that comes to mind. In other words, people may confuse something
they imagined for something that actually happened in the past
(Johnson 1988). Furthermore, as Hyman and Loftus (1997) note, we
usually associate vivid mental images as being indicators of accurate
memories (Johnson 1988; Johnson et al. 1988). Indeed Hyman and
Billings (1998) found that a self-reported tendency to experience vivid
mental imagery (as well as a self-reported tendency to dissociate)
was related to the creation of false reports of childhood events.
In fact, people can report very vivid 'm emories' that are totally
inaccurate even without instructions to imagine. For example, a
number of studies have been conducted on so-called 'flashbulb
memories', in which individuals claim to have vivid recollections of
highly charged events (usually surrounding the death of a famous
person such as John F. Kennedy or Princess Diana; see Conway
1995). The results of these studies have shown that, despite claiming
to remember them vividly, people sometimes misremember these
events. For example, Neisser and Harsch (1992) studied undergraduate
students' recollections of how they heard the news about the explosion
of the Challenger space shuttle in 1986. Over a hundred students
completed a questionnaire on the morning after the explosion, which
asked them to provide details such as 'where were you', 'who told
you' and 'what time was it'. Two and a half years later, 44 of these
undergraduates were recontacted and asked to complete the same
questionnaire for a second time. Neisser and Harsch (1992) compared
participants' responses to these two questionnaires and found that, in
fact, only three participants gave the same information on the second
questionnaire as they had on the original questionnaire completed on
the morning after the explosion. Eleven of the 44 participants were
wrong about every single aspect of the information they had provided
in their original questionnaire. Neisser and Harsch (1992) then
invited 40 of these participants to attend an interview during which
their attention was drawn to discrepancies between their responses
to the two questionnaires. Many participants were surprised when
confronted with their own original reports and the responses they
had given to the second questionnaire two years later. One participant
was so surprised by the discrepancy between the two accounts that
274
Recovered memories
they claimed that their responses to the original questionnaire must

have been incorrect. This dem onstrates that individuals can com e to
report vivid and com pelling 'm em ories' about events that, in some
cases, are alm ost com pletely incorrect (a phenom enon to which even
presidents of the USA are not im m une; see Greenberg 2004). The
studies by Crom bag et al. (1996), Granhag et al. (2003) and Ost et al.
(2002b, 2004), mentioned earlier, also show that individuals can be
misled to report having seen highly charged events that they could
not possibly have witnessed. Crom bag et al. (1996) suggested that
participants in their study m ay have made a source-m onitoring error
and m istaken a vivid im agination of having seen these events as an
accurate memory.
O ur ability to im agine can therefore be a pow erful tool w ith which
we can trick ourselves. As will now be discussed, research has shown
that the mere act of im agining non-perceived events can increase a
person's subjective confidence or likelihood that such events did
occur.
Im agination inflation
Garry et al. (1996) asked participants to com plete a life events

inventory (LEI) which asked them to indicate the likelihood that a list
of 40 events had happened to them before the age of 10. Participants
were asked to provide a rating for each event on a scale from 1 to
8 (where a score of 1 m eant 'definitely did not happen' and a score
of 8 m eant 'definitely did happen'). The list of 40 events contained
such item s as:
• got in trouble for calling 911;

• found a $10 bill in a parking lot;
• gave som eone a haircut; and
• broke a window with your hand.
Two weeks later participants were asked to picture (i.e. imagine)

some of the events and answ er questions about them. These events
were referred to as 'critical item s'. Participants were then asked to
com plete the LEI again (on the pretext that the original had been lost).
Garry et al. (1996) found that the likelihood ratings were more likely to
change for those events that had been imagined com pared with those
that had not been im agined. In fact, events that participants initially
rated as being very unlikely to have happened to them were more
likely to be associated w ith a positive increase in subjective ratings
275
of likelihood. Garry et al. (1996) conclude that the act of im agining

an event that was reported by participants not to have occurred
increased their subjective confidence that it had occurred.
This effect is called the imagination inflation effect. Although some
researchers question w hether these findings can be generalized to
the debate over false and recovered m em ories (see Pezdek and Eddy
2001 and the reply by Garry et al. 2001), it nevertheless appears to be
robust (Goff and Roediger 1998; Heaps and Nash 1999; Thom as and
Loftus 2002). One could argue that it is not particularly surprising
that participants' ratings of subjective likelihood m ight change
because they are being asked about events that occurred a long time
ago. Therefore it m ight be more difficult for participants to identify
the source of their m em ories. As older m em ories would be expected
to be less vivid and clear, it m ight be that it is sim ply more difficult
to distinguish betw een childhood m em ories and recently imagined
childhood events. However, G off and Roediger (1998) dem onstrated
that the im agination inflation effect also occurs when participants are
asked about recent events. Participants in Goff and R oed iger's (1998)
study heard descriptions of 96 actions (e.g. sharpen the pencil; bounce
the ball; look in the mirror). Som e participants then either perform ed,
or im agined perform ing, som e of those actions. At varying intervals
ranging from 10 m inutes to two weeks, participants were asked to
im agine perform ing the actions one, three or five times. Two weeks
after the first session, participants were asked w hether they had
'heard', 'perform ed' or 'im agined' each action. G off and Roediger
(1998) found that the more participants had imagined the events,
the more likely they were to report that they had 'perform ed' those
actions. Thom as and Loftus (2002) also found that the imagination
inflation effect even occurs w hen participants are asked to imagine
bizarre events (e.g. tap the flower on your forehead; sharpen the
shoelace with the pencil sharpener; kiss the m agnifying glass).
D ream interpretation
Som e forms of therapy suggest that clients keep a diary in which to

record their dreams. These dreams are then interpreted by a therapist
who searches for hidden meanings and unconscious themes that may
be relevant to the client's presenting problem . However, there is no
reliable evidence that the content of dreams reflect anything other than
an am algam ation of the day's events along with other im ages and
recent thoughts that the person has been having. In a novel twist to
the im agination inflation study, M azzoni and Loftus (1998) examined
276
Recovered memories
whether a suggestion made by an 'expert' in dream interpretation

would lead participants to change their subjective ratings of likelihood
that certain childhood events had occurred to them. In line with
previous imagination inflation research, Mazzoni and Loftus (1998)
also asked participants to complete a standard life events inventory
relating to events from their childhood. The 'critical' items were
'getting lost in a public place', 'being abandoned by parents' and
'finding oneself lonely and lost in an unfamiliar place'. Participants
were then asked to return two weeks later to complete the LEI for
a second time. However, in contrast to the standard imagination
inflation study, participants were not asked to imagine any of the
events in the intervening time. Instead, in an apparently separate
study, participants took part in a study on sleep and dreaming in
which they were required to bring along an example of a recent dream
to be analyzed by a clinical psychologist. The clinical psychologist
then interpreted the participant's dream as strongly supporting the
idea that certain events had happened to the participant as a child
(specifically the three critical items mentioned above). Mazzoni and
Loftus (1998) found that participants who had had their dreams
'interpreted' were more likely to increase their likelihood ratings of
the critical items when they completed the LEI for the second time.
For example, they found that the likelihood ratings of the 'getting
lost in public place' event increased by 88 per cent in participants
who had participated in the dream interpretation, compared with
43 per cent of the non-dream interpretation participants (see also
Mazzoni et al. 1999).
Use o f family photographs
Therapists sometimes recommend looking through old family

photographs as a way of recovering memories of childhood events.
On the surface this seems to be a reasonable suggestion. Photographs
contain visual cues that can elicit memories of events that have not
been thought about for a long time and can therefore be seen as a
potentially powerful way of accessing the past (Schacter et al. 1997)
Wade et al. (2002) examined whether faked photographs could be
used to convince participants that they had experienced events in
their childhood that had not occurred. Twenty participants were
shown four photographs of themselves, taken when they were
between 4 and 8 years old (the photographs had been obtained from
family members). One of the photographs showed the participant and
another family member taking a ride in a hot-air balloon. However,
277
Wade et al. (2002) had created this false photograph using com puter
software. After three interview s 50 per cent of participants reported
'partial' or 'clear' false 'm em ories' of having been taken for a ride in
a hot-air balloon.
Although this study dem onstrates that photographs are powerful
cues that can lead individuals to rem em ber events that did not occur
the obvious limitation is that individuals are unlikely to encounter
doctored photographs of them selves (especially in a therapeutic
context; Lindsay et al. 2004). However, even real, undoctored
photographs are pow erful cues that can lead individuals to recall
events that did not occur. Lindsay et al. (2004) asked participants
about a num ber of childhood events - one of which was false
(putting 'slim e' in a teacher's desk). Lindsay et al. (2004) show ed half
their participants a school class photograph (which was taken in the
sam e year as the suggested false event) in order to help them 'jog
their m em ory' for the events. In line with previous research, 27 per
cent of participants in the 'no-photo' group were judged to have a
false m emory for the 'slim e' event (e.g. H yman et al. 1995; Loftus and
Pickrell 1995; H ym an and Billings; 1998; Porter et al. 1999). However,
in the 'photo' group, 65 per cent of participants were judged to have
developed a false m em ory for the suggested event (Lindsay et al.
2004). This dem onstrates that even real, undoctored photographs
are, if used in conjunction with m isleading suggestions, extrem ely
powerful cues that can lead to the developm ent of false reports of
childhood events.
Support groups
Som e therapists recom m end that one way to help clients recover
mem ories of abuse is to participate in support groups with other
people who have also recovered such m em ories. For exam ple,
Herm an (1992: 224) states that:
The group provides a pow erful stim ulus for the recovery of
traumatic memories. As each group m em ber reconstructs her
own narrative, the details of her story alm ost inevitably evoke
new recollections in each of the listeners. In the incest survivor
groups, virtually every m em ber who has defined a goal of
recovering m em ories has been able to do so.
As H erm an's exam ple suggests, participation in group therapy may

act as a pow erful cue to enable clients to access previously unavailable
m em ories of abuse. However, psychological research also suggests
278
Recovered memories
that the social demands of such groups may also act to encourage
individuals to report falsely events that did not occur. Consider the
example below, provided by a retractor (an individual who came to
believe she had been abused, only later to repudiate that belief). She
claims that members of her support group, as well as her therapist:
exerted pressure to remember 'repressed' memories ... I felt

pressured to recover memories as a result of hearing all the other
people recover their memories ... participating in support groups
contributed to making me very dependent on my therapist ...
encouraging me to enter group therapy and participate in self-
help groups contributed to [me] recovering 'm emories' of abuse'
(Ost et al. 2001: 564).
Yet, what if this individual really had been abused as a child?

Would the (presumably) confirmative social influence of the other
members of the group have encouraged and enabled her to report
more accurately her experiences (Herman and Schatzow 1987) or
would it have encouraged her to embellish and possibly confabulate
events that did not occur (McNally 2003)? Surprisingly, there is
relatively little research that has examined the possible asymmetric
effects of social influence on memory reports - if the social influence
is disconfirmative, rather than confirmative, does this lead people to
suppress reports of events that did occur (Wright et al. in press)? A
body of psychological literature that may be able to provide answers
to these questions is the research examining the circumstances under
which individuals are more likely to go along with (i.e. conform to)
the decisions of other people (e.g. Asch 1951; Cialdini 2001; Milgram
1963; Pratkanis in press). For example, participants in Asch's famous
conformity studies were asked to make judgments about the qualities
of certain perceptual stimuli (e.g. whether a particular line was
longer or shorter than those next to it were). M ilgram's studies of
obedience focused on whether participants would follow the orders
of an experimenter to increase the level of an electric shock that
was allegedly being administered to another participant (who was
actually a confederate of the experimenter). W hilst these studies
show that individuals will, under certain circumstances, act in ways
that accord with the decisions, or requests, of others they are of
limited generalizability because they do not tell us whether people
are likely to alter autobiographical memory reports in the same way.
In other words, can one person influence another to report that he or
she remembers events that did not occur?
279
There is a growing body of literature that has examined precisely

this issue. These studies of what has come to be called memory
conformity or social contagion examine whether other people might be
able to influence the memory report of one individual (see Bless et al.
2001). For example, Roediger et al. (2001) asked participants to study
slides of common household scenes and then recall them with a
confederate who, unbeknownst to the participant, would occasionally
incorrectly recall items from the scene. When participants were
subsequently asked to recall the items from the scene, they made
errors in their recall that were consistent with the misinformation
provided by the confederate. Similar 'social contagion' effects have
also been found with other stimulus materials (see Betz et al. 1996;
Hoffman et al. 2001). These effects also appear to be robust when
examined with more ecologically valid stimulus material (Wright et
al. 2000; Gabbert et al. 2003; Gabbert et al. 2004; Shaw et al. 1997). For
example, Gabbert et al. (2003) found that 71 per cent of witnesses
to a video-presented staged crime would incorporate non-witnessed
details from a co-witness into their own account. However, the other
side of the coin has typically been neglected as only a handful of
studies have examined whether post-event information can inhibit
memory of witnessed events (Wright et al. 2001; Wright et al. in
press). Only one study has examined whether disconfirmative social
influence presented by a confederate can decrease the likelihood
that participants will report an event that they have not witnessed
(Granhag et al. 2003).
Participants in Granhag et al.'s (2003) study were asked to complete
a questionnaire concerning their recall of a non-televised disaster
(the sinking of the cruise ship Estonia).3 In addition, Granhag et al.
(2003) assigned participants either to a confirmative, disconfirmative
or neutral 'social influence' condition. In the 'confirmative' social
influence condition a confederate said out loud 'Estonia - of course I
remember that film,' in the 'disconfirmative' social influence condition
the confederate said out loud 'Estonia - I can't remember such a film'
and in the neutral (control) condition no confederate was present.
In line with previous research (i.e. Crombag et al. 1996; Ost et al.
2002a), Granhag et al. (2003) found that 52 per cent of participants
in the control condition reported having witnessed the non-existent
film. However, it is their findings regarding social influence that are
more relevant here. They found that 76 per cent of participants in
the 'confirmative' social influence condition reported witnessing the
non-existent film compared with 36 per cent of participants in the
'disconfirmative' social influence condition. Therefore, in addition
280
Recovered memories
to dem onstrating that confirmatory social influence increases the

likelihood of 'false alarm s', Granhag et al. (2003) also dem onstrated
that disconfirmative social influence could act in the opposite direction,
leading to more 'correct rejections'. This effect has been replicated
using a different target event (the explosion at the Sari nightclub
in Bali; Ost et al. 2004). N evertheless, neither of these two studies
answers the question of whether confirm ative or disconfirm ative
social influence can lead individuals to increase or suppress reports of
ecologically valid events they have w itnessed (W illiams and Banyard
1999). Furtherm ore it is not clear w hether participants respond in this
w ay due to inform ative or norm ative influence. In other words, do
participants respond in this way because they want to provide accurate
inform ation and assum e that the other person (the confederate) has
a better m em ory than they do (inform ative influence; see Deutsch
and Gerard 1955; see also Bless et al. 2001), or do they sim ply not
w ant to appear deviant by contradicting the confederate (normative
influence; Asch 1951; D eutsch and Gerard 1955)? A further question
concerns w hether there are certain characteristics of the confederate
that m ight m ediate this effect by, for exam ple, m aking them seem
more credible (Lampinen and Smith 1995; Pornpitakpan 2004). For
exam ple, research has dem onstrated that m isinform ation is more
likely to be accepted when it is presented by an authority/expert
figure (Smith and Ellsworth 1987; Paddock and Terranova 2001;
Roper and Shew an 2002), by an interview er who adopts authoritative
verbal, or non-verbal, behaviour (Alm erigogna et al. 2004; Bain and
Baxter 2000; Bull and Corran 2003; Templeton and Hunt 1997; Tobey
and G oodm an 1992), or even by a confederate wearing dark clothes
(Vrij et al. 2005).
C o n c lu s io n
The psychological research presented in this chapter has shown that,

under certain circum stances outside therapy (e.g. repeated suggestive
interview ing in a psychological laboratory), som e people will come
to report that they rem em ber events that did not occur. Further
research is still needed to exam ine w hat it is about these people, or
the circum stances in which they find them selves, that leads them
to m ake false m em ory reports, which can be vivid and com pelling,
yet entirely inaccurate. We have seen, for exam ple, that techniques,
which are som etim es em ployed by therapists to help clients access
long-lost m em ories, have also been show n to lead to the creation of
281
false beliefs and false reports about the past. However, we do not
yet know if everyone is equally susceptible to the m isleading and
suggestive nature of such techniques. Finally, a review of recent
evidence suggests that participating in support groups may place
particularly strong social dem ands on an individual to alter his or
her m em ory reports in line with the social influence exerted by other
people, although aspects of this hypothesis have yet to be directly
tested and remain an im portant avenue for future research. Overall
this suggests that using certain techniques to help individuals
rem em ber events from their distant, or even recent, past is best
approached with extrem e caution. At best the resulting report is
likely to be a distorted version of what did happen and, at worst,
it may w ell be a com pelling and vivid report of an event that never
actually occurred. Practitioners and policy makers therefore need
to be sensitive to these issues if we are to deal appropriately with
cases like A lice's, to prevent future m iscarriages of justice, to ensure
that genuine victim s of abuse receive the support they require and
ultimately, to reduce the num ber of casualties on both sides of the
'm em ory w ars'.
N o te s
1. A lth o u g h , as L o ftu s (1 9 9 7 : 18 0 ) a rg u e s , th e im p o rta n t p o in t is n o t th at

p a rticip a n ts m ig h t b e able to c o n s tru c t a g e n e ra l n a rra tiv e of s u c h an
e v e n t b u t th at th ey re p o rt sp ecific d etails su g g e ste d b y the exp erim en ter.
In th ese s tu d ie s p a rticip a n ts 'w e re n o t ask ed a b o u t A N Y e x p e rie n ce of
b ein g lost. T h e y w e re ask ed to re m e m b e r bein g lo st a ro u n d the ag e of five,
in a p a rticu la r lo ca tio n , w ith p a rticu la r p e o p le p re sen t, b ein g frig h ten ed ,
a n d u ltim a te ly being re sc u e d by an e ld e rly p e rs o n ' (L o ftu s 1997: 180).
2. In th e final in terview , P o rte r et al. (1 9 9 9 ) also ask ed p a rticip a n ts d elib erately
to fab ricate an a c c o u n t o f an e v e n t th a t did n o t o ccu r. A ll th ree ty p e s of
m e m o ry re p o rt (real, false an d fa b rica te d ) w e re ra te d u sin g a tech n iq u e
called th e m e m o ry a s se s s m e n t p ro c e d u re (M A P ) to in v estig ate p o ssib le
q u a lita tiv e d ifferen ces b e tw e e n th em . P o rte r et a l. (1 9 9 9 ) fou n d th a t real
a n d fa b rica te d m e m o rie s w e re ra te d a s m o re v iv id , m o re c o h e re n t an d
w e re g iv e n h ig h e r c o n fid e n ce ra tin g s th an false m em o ries. F a b rica te d
m e m o rie s w e re also ra te d a s m o re stressfu l an d co n ta in e d m o re d etails
th a n b o th real an d false m e m o rie s (P o rte r et al. 1 9 9 9 ; see also P ezd ek and
T alyo r 2 0 0 0 ; D av ies 2 0 0 1 ; H e a p s an d N a sh 2 0 0 1 ; L o ftu s an d B ern stein
2 0 0 5 ; O st et al. 20 0 2 b ).
3. G ra n h a g et al. (2 0 0 3 ) a lso ask ed p a rticip a n ts a b o u t a telev ised d isa s te r (an
a irp la n e cra s h ) b u t th eir fin d in g s a rc n o t d iscu sse d here.
282
Recovered memories
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C h a p t e r 14
Investigative interviewing: suspects’

and victims’ rights in balance
Robert Roy
What are the ethical stakes in police interviewing? Answering this

question requires a consideration of ethics. Traditionally, the ethical
approach to policing has been based on a code of rules to enforce
certain behaviours. Respecting these rules is considered an absolute
duty and, consequentially, any derogation becomes a fault and is
sanctioned as the code stipulates. One of these rules is, of course,
the respect by police officers themselves for the rule of law.
After five years of close and practical involvement with different
police institutions in Quebec and Switzerland, I believe we must
change this approach and focus on the improvement of moral
judgment, for at least two reasons. First, in a rapidly changing world,
trying to provide a rule for precisely each situation is not the solution
- it is, in fact, part of the problem we are facing in becoming more
efficient in policing. Multiplying rules inevitably leads to these rules
being put in conflict with the reality in specific situations. In such
a context, derogation is the only way out and should no more be
automatically considered a fault. Secondly, in such a world, police
officers often face situations that did not exist when the law was
passed. I do accept that rules are a necessity (they set the bottom
line of police professionalism), but they are not the best way to target
the best practice in difficult and complex situations.
The ethical concept at work in this chapter is related to one of the
trends forming what is known in Quebec as ethique appliquee. These
trends are unified by a concrete preoccupation for professional and
institutional ethical decisions and practices. The ethical framework
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Investigative interviewing: suspects’ and victims’ rights in balance
in use may, however, be quite different from one trend to another.

I am actively involved with a trend that relies on deliberation - a
philosophical approach to practical judgment. Georges A. Legault has
briefly presented the psychological and philosophical backgrounds
to this approach (Legault 1999: 225-70). In May 1999, at the 67th
annual conference of the Association Canadienne Franâise pour
l'Avancement des Sciences (ACFAS), many practitioners and law,
education, health, philosophy, sociology and theology academics
gathered to discuss the validity of the methodology and practices
put forward by ethique appliquee. The presentations were published
in May 2000 (Lacroix and Letourneau 2000). I will briefly present
the specificity of this approach and outline how it is different from
other approaches to moral judgment. To do so, I will first make some
comments on moral judgment in general. I will then try to demonstrate
how ethique nppliquee's concept of such a judgment differs from other
ethical frameworks, including Kantian and utilitarian ones.
M o ra l ju d g m e n t in genera l
The act of judging refers to two different activities. We first have to

form an opinion and, then, a decision must be made. We form an
opinion about a given situation, in a given context at a specific time.
The decision is then the starting point of an action. Judging is the
mental processing of information emanating from reality and aimed
at transforming this reality by an action resulting from a decision. In
this chapter we are discussing moral judgment, and morality here
refers to an evaluation between right and wrong or fair and unfair.
If we describe moral judgment in a more philosophical way, we
can say that at least three different operations are involved:
1. An operation of knowledge, selecting all the facts that are

relevant.
2. An operation of evaluation that cannot be done without a certain
concept of right and wrong or fair and unfair, without referring to
some values (goals that we consider to be valuable).
3. An operation of will; we must have the motivation to put into
action the intention we formed at the previous stage. Motivation
can be triggered by emotion, reason, interest or a combination of all,
or certain, of these elements.
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All ethical frameworks are designed in a specific way to consider

the relationship between knowledge, concept of good and justice,
and motivation. They are also designed differently with regard to
the relationship between interest, emotions and reason as triggers
of willpower. Behavioural compliance to rules enforced by sanctions
supposes that after an officer has gathered proper information the
rules always provide a clear concept of rightness or fairness. Moral
judgment is here limited to the selection of the appropriate rule for
the case. Once the rule is identified, there is no subjective evaluation
of rightness or fairness. The duty is now clear, and motivation lies
either in the fear of a sanction that can harm the officer's interests or in
securing obedience to the rule by virtue of reason and understanding.
Such a framework is trying to transform moral judgment into an
act of knowledge that requires no subjective evaluation. The only
way this could work is to have a rule for each single case and no
contradictions amongst the rules. This is completely impossible.
We will now consider well-known ethical frameworks and why
ethique appliquee departs from these approaches.
Ethique appliquee as an eth ica l fra m e w o rk
As we saw in the preceding section, any practical judgm ent is

actualizing values (putting in action valuable moral goals). Many
ethical frameworks are trying to discover which value or principle must
be used to dictate the action. All these frameworks basically function
in a similar way to the rule-oriented framework I have already
presented. Just like it, they are trying to reduce moral judgment to
an operation of knowledge and the will. In these approaches we do
not choose the values to put in action, we discover them. The duty
is the obligation logically deduced from a moral principle which is
considered as a 'universal truth'. These are different from the rule-
oriented frameworks because they refer to general principles that
must be applied correctly to a situation. Here, moral judgment is not
questioning the concept of good or justice, it is using it to clarify
the situation. In my view such models have a cognitive approach to
moral judgment that pretends to objectivity. Ethique appliquee is not
such a framework.
In the school of ethique appliquee I am referring to, there is no such
thing as a 'universal moral truth'. Values cannot be discovered; they
are subjective choices made in specific cultural contexts. For such
frameworks, moral judgment is not a logical rational operation (one
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of pure formal logic based upon facts) but a reasonable choice of a

subjective preference of values supported by several good reasons that
may be accepted by some people but not by others. Such frameworks
have no pretension to objectivity - they assume moral judgment is
partially subjective. But their pretension to validity rest on a rigorous
argument that shows that choices are not arbitrary or partial but are
decisions based on principles that can be explicitly presented and
that support an argument showing sensible motives for acting in the
way chosen. These frameworks develop understandings of good and
justice that have no pretensions to universality, even if they are trying
to show they are not a door wide open to individual subjectivity. I will
call these approaches 'constructionist' because they are trying to set a
construction of goodness or fairness that is not universal and eternal.
We will now consider how these frameworks of 'constructionism'
and cognitivism work in contemporary democracies.
Not so long ago, most western democracies were connected with
a Christian concept of morality that was considered the universal
foundation of moral judgment. The Holy Book was the ultimate
reference of moral principles revealed by God himself. Today, it
is generally admitted that a specific faith cannot be the universal
foundation of a concept of goodness and fairness. Most democracies
recognize freedom of religious expression and admit pluralism as
a good thing. Recent political situations in different countries (the
USA, Israel and many Islamic states) show that fundamentalism is
still alive. Fundamentalism, no matter what faith is involved, is a
cognitivist approach to moral judgment. It supposes that fairness and
goodness are not a subjective conviction but a fact to be discovered
in holy books. These religious principles, when discovered, play
exactly the same role as legal or social rules in a rule-oriented
framework. Or, if less rigorous, that the faith-oriented framework
will lead to a cognitivist approach that will still give undeniable
principles that require moral judgments to be implemented logically
in specific situations. Such an ethical framework can surely guide
personal choices in a democratic society, but it seems too restrictive
as a concept of goodness and fairness for a professional, institutional
or social ethical framework in a pluralist democratic country. Relying
on it as a social framework could harm the rights of people who
have different faith perspectives.
Utilitarianism is a common non-faith-based and constructionist
ethical framework largely in use in western democracies. Utilitarian
concerns relate to the consequences of actions or of the rules that
govern actions. The main goal here is to ensure the greatest good for
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the greatest number. It is a constructionist fram ew ork because it has

no universal and eternal pretension to define goodness or fairness.
U tilitarians take as granted a specific cultural concept of goodness
and fairness that is tied to the interest of the majority in a specific
society at a given time. Because it is based on collective interest,
this fram ew ork avoids some of the problem s related to the faith-
oriented fram ew ork. The specific convictions of some individuals
are not raised to the level of a social standard. It is certainly more
suitable for pluralistic societies since the interests of all m em bers
of society are taken into account to define the greatest good for
the greatest number. But a utilitarian fram ew ork is not a guarantee
of individuals' or m inorities' rights - it can, and has, led to their
com plete negation. In a context of rising insecurity, it is very risky
to rely only on a utilitarian fram ew ork. It can becom e the political
justification for torture or for the m assive preventive detention of
m em bers of specific com m unities. Will Kym licka is critical of an
underlying concept of equality that can go som e way to explain how
a utilitarian fram ew ork can lead to such abuses (Kym licka 1999:
17-59).
In fact, such abuses were so obvious during the Second World
War that they gave rise to a strong desire to protect the individual's
rights. The horrors of Auschw itz perm itted the Kantian approach to
hum an dignity a second birth. Thierry Pech presents a very good
analysis of dignity, and he recognizes Kant's m ajor contribution to
the m atter: 'Kant was the first to set out the idea of human dignity as
of invariable value, universal and directly related to the existence of a
person, a dignity that cannot be lost even if a person has com m itted
crime and lost his or her civil rights' (2001: 96, my translation). The
Kantian fram ew ork is definitely cognitivist. Through the pow er of
reason it claim s we can find an absolute duty that can be formulated
in different ways, one of which is 'not to use an other hum an being as
a sim ple m eans to achieve a goal'. In the Kantian ethical fram ew ork,
being ethical supposes a voluntary obedience (not fear of sanction) to
this reasonable duty. This principle is a universal and eternal moral
truth, logically produced. Here, also, moral judgm ent is reduced to
an operation of know ledge and willpower.
H istory has taught us, the hard way, that we cannot ju st bear in
mind the com m on welfare inherent in an ethical fram ew ork, but
neither can an idealistic and absolutist version of individual rights
be the only preoccupation of an ethical fram ew ork. People are not all
motivated by reason, the Kantian fram ew orks suppose - interests and
passions are also a m otivation to individual actions. Luc Begin, in an
296
interesting paper, explains how individual rights and freedoms can

also interfere with laws and moral principles: 'these norms are setting
up individual private life as an inviolable sphere. This situation can
be turned by some individuals to their economic or other personal
interests somewhat incompatible with common welfare' (2001: 11).
Ethique appliquee tries to bear all these lessons in mind. At the same
time, the ethical framework attempts to avoid:
• setting up individual or specific moral concept as a standard for

social practices as faith-oriented frameworks do;
• over-valuing the power of reason, as the Kantian approach does;
and
• a mathematical approach to human goodness and fairness that
reduces ethics to a calculation of human interest to maximize
common welfare, as the utilitarian framework does.
Ethique appliquee puts forward a constructionist and consequentialist

approach to good and justice in the same way the utilitarian
approach does. But it also gives a role to some moral principles in
the same manner as the Kantian framework. We cannot just take
into account the collective interest. We have to ponder reasonably
individual rights and common welfare on the basis of explicit
principles and values. But these principles are not universal duties
deduced by pure rationality. Neither are they the values and principles
of each individual or of the majority. They are not discovered by a
simple application of knowledge. They have to be collectively and
reasonably established by an evaluation via a social deliberation. The
ethical framework of ethique appliquee, as used in the latter analysis, is
inspired not only by the Habermassian ethical framework of dialogue
(Habermas 1997, 1999) but also by the pragmatic criticism of that
approach made by Jacques Lenoble (Lenoble 1994) and co-author
Marc Maesschalck (Lenoble and Maesschalck 2003). The general idea
put forward by these authors is that we cannot find efficient principles
to govern social action if we do not, when they are elaborated, take
into account the pragmatic context in which these principles will be
applied.
The ability to conduct a dialogue is definitively tied to some
attitudes, but ethique appliquee does not basically rely on virtues.
Virtues are personal qualities that are supposed to dispose a person
to do good, and they can be cultivated by good habits. In the
framework I am putting forward, all personal qualities favouring
297
dialogue are cultivated, not as a goal in them selves but as a means

to achieve a dialogue through which we can identify the relevant
sensible principles to guide our actions. An ethical fram ew ork
focused on virtue, in my opinion, accords too m uch room to such
em otions as com passion and can im pair the adequate positioning of
reason within m oral judgm ent.
Ethique appliquee is, then, an application of:
• know ledge by the im portance given to the concrete analysis of

facts and eventual consequences;
• evaluation by the im portance given to the social construction of

principles and to the selection of values on the basis of sensible
m otives; and
• m otivation by the im portance given to the practical context in

w hich the decisions will be im plem ented. The process of collective
deliberation takes into account interests, em otions and reason as a
source of m otivation to turn intentions into actions since it relies
on a collective pragm atic agreement.
This chapter aims to contribute to the social deliberation required by

ethique appliquee by identifying on the basis of sensible motives:
• the goals and values to pursue; and

• an efficient m eans legitim ately to achieve them.
Therefore, in analyzing the ethical stakes in police interview ing, I will

not em phasize the legal limits set for behaviours whilst interview ing.
I will first set out som e of the principal factors that generate ethical
pressures on interview ing. Secondly, I will try to clarify the values that
need to be balanced w hen interview ing a suspect. Finally, I propose
som e criteria by which to evaluate the legitim acy of interview ing
m ethods.
F a c to rs th a t g e n e ra te e th ic a l p re s su re s on in te rv ie w in g
Ethical pressures on interview ing com es partially from the political,

econom ical and sociological nature of contem porary dem ocratic
societies. The rest inhere in certain aspects of police activities in
dem ocracies and, in particular, in the im portance of a suspect's status
and confession in obtaining a conviction.
298
Political, economical and sociological factors
These factors create ethical pressures on police interview ing because

they generate two contradictory social trends. One seeks to increase
and the other to decrease the protection of suspects.
The first of these factors is the growth in terrorist attacks and
conspiracies. This form of violence can no longer be regarded
as a political scapegoat. Terrorism is a real threat, and obtaining
inform ation on terrorist activities before crim es occur is an urgent
need. Since mass killing is often a consequence of terrorist attacks,
some people believe it reasonable to decrease the protection afforded
to suspects. Others, however, believe we should increase it. Suspect
protection was established because, for exam ple, a person may be
wrongly suspected of com m itting a crime. But when we are dealing
with a threat, we are facing the risk of an intention to com m it a crime.
H ence, we m ust be extrem ely cautious, especially since insecurity
increases the incidence of racism so that, in the eyes of som e people,
all m em bers of certain com m unities are seen as terrorists. Finally, the
alleged treatm ent given to some Iraqi prisoners by the US m ilitary
also dem onstrates that abuses are no longer the province of non-
dem ocratic states.
The rise of new forms of gratuitous violence represents the second
ethical pressure. 'Wild gunm en' who shoot innocent people are a
w ell-know n phenom enon in the USA, and there have been sim ilar
experiences in Canada, Scotland, England, Tasmania and Germany.
In Canada, there are some street gangs for whom killing or assault is
almost an initiation rite. The gravity of the consequences of or threat
of such actions works in favour of decreasing suspect protection.
However, the rise of intolerance towards all marginal groups can
work in the opposite direction: some sectors of society call for an
increase in protection. Insecurity can also lead to false allegations or
even false testim onies.
The publicity given to violent crimes is a third factor. Sensationalism
sells newspapers. The Am erican film-maker, M ichael Moore, in his
recent picture Bowling fo r Columbine, claim s that the m edia's coverage
of violent crime has increased exponentially whilst, at the same
time, the rate of these crim es was actually decreasing. It would be
interesting to undertake em pirical research on this m atter to assess
it scientifically.
This increase in a sense of insecurity is tied up with these three
factors, and it is a real concern that works in favour of restricting
suspects' rights and increasing police powers. But the racist or
299
intolerant trend it favours increases the risk of turning som e suspects

into scapegoats, and thus it works in favour of m aintaining or
increasing suspect protection. The Wolgang Dascher case that shook
Germ any in February 2003 shows that the fear of abuses is not just
imaginary. In this case, Frankfurt police's num ber-tw o chief of police
planned to torture a suspect he was interview ing, and he openly
threatened him he would do so. The man was suspected of holding
an 11-year-old student in a secret hideout. The officer wanted to save
the boy's life, and obtain a confession that would lead to the discovery
of the boy's body. The officer then surrendered him self to a judge,
having recognized his abuse of power. As a defence, he argued that
the torture would have been undertaken under medical supervision
and would have been done in such a w ay as to leave no after-effects.
In the 25 February electronic issue of G eneva's Temps (Temps.ch),
Francois M ondoux reported that the president of the German Judge's
A ssociation concurred w ith the officer's defence. In the press, a great
m any letters referred to the 'inspector's courage' (my translation).
The Germ an Interior M inister reaffirmed the com plete prohibition of
torture, whilst the Conservative Party leader sang the praises of the
inspector's 'hum an and understanding behaviour'.
The last factor I w ant to present is less obvious but none the less
pernicious: the side effects of the increasing num ber of rules that
are employed to enforce respect for hum an rights. W hile they are
intended to prevent the arrest, detention or conviction of innocent
people they are, at the same time, increasing the burden carried by
police officers in their fight against organized crim e and recidivist
crim inals because they make it more and more difficult to obtain
sufficient evidence that leaves no reasonable doubt of guilt. Suspects'
rights are som etim es responsible for the increasing sense of injustice
felt by victims. In Canada, som e female victim s of sexual assault
have generated considerable controversy over this issue. They have
claimed that suspects' rights have, in fact, transform ed the accused's
trial into that of the trial of the victim . Such an exam ple am plifies
the basic ethical dilemma at the root of all police interview ing, as is
discussed in the next section.
The suspect’s status
During an investigation, police officers will interview' m any people

(victims, w itnesses and suspects), but, in m ost dem ocratic societies,
ethical pressures are at their maxim um when they interview suspects.
This is the result of three fundam ental principles:
300
1. The separation of legislative, adm inistrative and judicial power.
2. The presum ption of innocence.
3. Conviction only occurs when no reasonable doubt remains of the

suspect's guilt.
With these principles in place, and no m atter at w hat stage in

the investigation the interview occurs, an absolute uncertainty
characterizes the suspect's legal status. The burden of suspicion will
change from one suspect to another as the investigation progresses,
and suspicion will increase or decrease as a result of the inform ation
gathered.
The investigator's suspicions may be aroused by sim ple intuition,
by circum stantial proof or by com pelling evidence. Intuition is an
im portant quality all investigators should possess. However, basing
a moral conviction of guilt merely on intuition is nothing more
than prejudice. In Canada, m ost police work relies on motives and
on beliefs that are based on credible evidence. Even if there is no
hard evidence, it is clear that the police operate on more than mere
intuition. W hen they evaluate police officers' conclusions, Canadian
tribunals use two criteria. The first, which is subjective, requires the
police officer to evaluate the w eight of the evidence he or she has
relied on to take action. In so doing, they m ust take into account
any facts that may invalidate their conclusions. The second criterion,
which is more objective, refers to 'any reasonable person's point of
view'.
Two Canadian Suprem e Court decisions have established the
m eaning of the latter criterion. According to Strorrey c. La Reine
([1990] 1 R.C.S 241), w e can say a police officer has reasonable
grounds for belief if a reasonable person, in the sam e situation, also
had reasonable grounds to believe. The police officer does not have
to rely on concrete evidence to reach this conclusion. R. c. Collins,
([1987] 1 R.C.S 265) defines a reasonable person as an average citizen.
The court here referred not to the average citizen's opinion but to
the average citizen's reasoning abilities. Indeed, even the objective
criterion allow s for considerable interpretation. One thing is sure,
how ever - police officers do not have to rely on evidence that
leaves no reasonable doubt as the only way in which to obtain a
conviction.
The legal requirem ent for such a conviction was set by the Canadian
Suprem e Court in R. c. Lifchus ([1997] 3 R.C.S. 320, para. 36):
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• reasonable doubt is inextricably link to the presum ption of

innocence. So, the burden of proof is always on the accuser and
shall never be transfer to the accused;
• a reasonable doubt can never rely on sym pathy or prejudice;
• doubt m ust be logically linked to evidence or lack of evidence;
• the conviction w ithout reasonable doubt cannot be assim ilated to

an absolute certitude; it's not a certitude beyond any doubt; but
neither is it an im aginary or frivolous doubt;
• it takes more than a probability of guilt - if it is no more than the

presence of probability, the jury m ust acquit the defendant.
Follow ing on from these rem arks, it is obvious that, even if an

investigator (on the basis of testim onies, m aterial proof or confession)
is morally com pletely sure of a suspect's guilt, as a representative of
adm inistrative power he or she is not legally responsible for raising
queries regarding the suspect's status. This is the legal responsibility
of the judge and jury. W here the suspect's status is one where guilt
or innocence is not obvious, this factor will be of great im portance
w hen the interview 's legitim acy is evaluated.
The confession’s im portance
No m atter w hether a confession is the explicit or main goal (as in

the Reid Technique) or w hether it is the welcom e side effect of a well
prepared interview (as in the PEACE approach), the confession is
often the key elem ent in a conviction at trial even if som e other factors
could lead to a different conclusion. For exam ple, im provem ents in
science and technology may lead us to think that confessions are no
longer im portant. Sm all, pow erful m icrophones and cam eras are used
covertly to record conversations. Similarly, w e are now able to link a
suspect to a crime scene by forensic evidence obtained through the
careful analysis of hairs, DNA, finger and footprints, tissues, dust,
etc. We are even able to deduce some of the crim e's action (distances,
the protagonists' positions, etc.) from m aterial evidence left on the
scene. Not so long ago, however, an investigator had to rely mainly
on testim onies and confessions.
Alternatively, the reliability of testim onies and confessions is
frequently challenged, and courts have alw ays been aware of the
possibility of lying: sw earing on a holy book was more than sim ply
sym bolic in countries where faith in God was the rule. Sw earing an
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oath is surely more sym bolic today, however, and a suspect who
is facing a m ajor sentence will often be willing to risk a perjury
conviction to increase his or her chances of an acquittal. Scientific
research has also highlighted the great differences that exist in the
accuracy and reliability of visual and auditory recollections, along with
the existence of selective and even creative m em ory (Laurence 2004)
and people's propensity to give the existence of false confessions even
from norm al individuals (Scheck et al. 2000; St-Yves 2004a). Finally,
alleged abuses com m itted w hilst interview ing have also underm ined
people's trust in the reliability of the confessions and testim onies the
police have obtained. Video recording is proof of this lost credibility
but, at the sam e time, is a way to restore it.
Confessions, however, are still very important. First, many
investigations rest on circum stantial evidence or on contradictory
versions put forward by the victim and suspect. Secondly, confessions
often lead to the discovery of new evidence: a body, a weapon, a
disguise, etc. Finally, because the suspect's rights are protected by
the law, this secondary evidence is often the only way to establish
proof beyond reasonable doubt. In these circum stances a confession
is a key elem ent for conviction, and the ethical pressures to obtain a
confession during an interview continues.
V a lu e s to ba lan ce w h ils t in te rv ie w in g a su sp e ct
W hilst interview ing a suspect, there is a great deal of tension

betw een tw o general goals. On one hand, there is the legitim ate
desire to get inform ation from som eone who is suspected of a crime
or of the intention to com m it a crime. But getting inform ation is not
a goal in itself - it is only a way to achieve two further valuable
goals. The first is to assure the security of persons, institutions and
property. Inform ation can prevent or stop an offence such as m urder
or kidnapping. If the inform ation leads to a conviction, it will also
assure justice by punishing the offender, and som etim es, by redressing
the damage to a victim , it will restore his or her rights or prevent a
mistrial.
On the other hand, there is the legitim ate desire (w hich has been
prevalent since the Second World War) to protect individuals who are
the targets of the state. At least three reasons explain this. First is the
m agnitude of the abuses com m itted by totalitarian regimes. Secondly,
there is evidence of police abuses in dem ocratic societies. Finally,
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scientific progress has demonstrated that miscarriages of justice are

more frequent than we thought. Protection is therefore required,
first of all, to prevent abusive pressures on persons who may be
innocent. The basic right here, as we saw above, is the presumption
of innocence. Secondly, even if a suspect is subsequently convicted,
we must never forget that we are investigating the behaviour of
a person who remains a human being and who must therefore be
treated with the dignity he or she deserves.
The ethical pressures on interviewing lie in democratic societies'
rejection of the idea that 'the ends always justifies the means'.
The key ethical question in police interviewing, therefore, is 'How
can we legitimately balance the victim's rights to justice and security
with the suspect's rights to dignity and to the presumption of
innocence?'
C r ite r ia to e valuate th e in te rv ie w in g m e th o d ’s le g itim a c y
The ethical legitimacy of interviewing methods is now assessed in

relation to the need to balance the suspect's and victim's rights as
proposed in the above question. From this point of view, some legal
interviewing methods may be ethical but others not, and some ethical
methods may be legal but others not.
This evaluation of methods will be conducted at different levels.
The legislator creates laws on interviewing practices, whereas police
organizations are responsible for conducting investigations, for
training and coaching investigators and for conducting interviews.
Finally, investigators make important decisions when they are
conducting interviews. At each level the question of the legitimacy of
interviewing methods may be raised but the ethical issues involved
will be different. Differences are also apparent between countries
since the ways different countries protect individual rights vary.
We should take into account these differences when we evaluate
an interviewing method's legitimacy. The contentious question of
confessions must also be considered. Since confessions are important
in many trials, we must ask ourselves: 'Should obtaining a confession
be a goal of interviewing suspects?' We should then be in a position
to present some evaluation criteria and to make some remarks on the
legal limits to interviewing in Canada.
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In te rn a tio n a l d iffe re n ce s in e n fo rc in g in d iv id u a l rig h ts ’

p ro te c tio n
The ethical pressures on police organizations and investigators will

be different according to the institutional balance betw een individual
rights and the law. W here individual rights are not guaranteed by a
constitutional Act, it will be more difficult to enforce them. Laws will
have priority over rights. It will also be harder for organizations and
individuals to oppose m ethods they may consider illegitim ate from
an ethical point of view but that are accepted by law.
In such countries as Canada, where rights are covered by a
constitutional Act, things are different. Laws may be challenged and
eventually invalidated on the basis of rights. Even in countries that
have such Acts, the situation will be different if laws are reviewed
before they are passed to verify their com pliance with the protection
of hum an rights. In France, for exam ple, all laws are evaluated in
this way, but this is not the case in Canada or the USA. In these
countries, to avoid a judicial review of legislative activity, laws are
passed im m ediately and the courts will decide their com pliance with
individual rights only if there is a com plaint. This way of doing things
places a great deal of pressure on organizations and investigators
because it is alw ays possible that a m ethod currently in legal use will
be declared unconstitutional because of resulting harm s to individual
rights. Day-to-day practice is therefore uncertain.
Should obtaining a confession be a goal o f suspect interview s?
This was a very contentious question at the 2004 international

conference on police interview ing. Representatives from Canada,
Quebec and the USA were all using or inspired by the Reid Technique
and seemed to agree that confession is one of an interview er's goals.
Representatives from the UK, who are using the PEACE interview ing
approach, were opposed to this idea (for a sum m ary of these two
approaches, see Landry and St-Yves 2004). W hat are the views of those
who support these opposing stances? Confession supporters focus on
the idea that som e suspects are intentionally hiding the truth, and
they are doubtful that a sim ple interview will allow them to uncover
the truth. No one can contest this. Confession opponents, on the
other hand, claim that, if obtaining a confession is the m ain goal of
an interview, this will increase the chances of undue psychological
pressures being put on suspects, thus increasing the risk of obtaining
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a false confession and, perhaps, ultim ately of a m iscarriage of justice.

In my opinion, both supporters and opponents of confession-oriented
interview ing underestim ate part of the reality of the situation, but not
the same part of that reality. Supporters uphold the victim 's rights as
a goal sufficiently valuable to negate the harm that could be done
to the suspect's rights. O pponents uphold suspect's rights and thus
negate the harm to the victim 's rights. The ethical position, in my
view, should aim to balance these rights. Individual rights cannot be
considered as absolute principles: in specific situations these rights
may be, and often are, in conflict and therefore have to be balanced.
The first article of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedom s is
quite clear on this matter. It 'guarantees the rights and freedoms set
out in it subject only to such reasonable limits prescribed by law as
can be dem onstrably justified in a free and dem ocratic society'.
The Canadian Suprem e Court judges - in Oakes (R . c. Oakes,
[1986], 1 R.C.S. 103) - defined a three-step procedure to evaluate
these 'reasonable lim its'. First, it must be decided if a law or practice
is harm ing a right as recognized by the Canadian charter. Secondly,
it m ust be decided if it is reasonable to harm this right, taking into
consideration the specific circum stances of the situation. Finally, it
m ust be decided if the harm done, w hilst not respecting the right, is
lesser than the harm done if it is respected. With this in mind I will
present those criteria with which to evaluate the legitim acy of police
interview ing methods.
C riteria to evaluate the legitim acy o f police interviewing methods
The interview and the interrogation: a useful distinction

In Quebec, we m ake a clear distinction betw een interrogations and
interview s. The word 'interview ' is used when an investigator wishes
to obtain inform ation from a victim , a witness or a person suspected
of a crim e but only on an intuitive basis. Confession here is not a
goal, and the person is not under arrest or in detention. Suspects can
refuse to answer questions or can stop doing so. They can leave the
interview room or can ask the investigator to leave their house or
office, etc. Unlike some countries, in Canada people are not detained
on the sim ple intuition of guilt or involvem ent with a crime and then
interview ed to try to obtain a confession.
To guarantee the presum ption of innocence, a suspect can only be
interrogated after he or she has been detailed or arrested and both
these m easures can only be applied if the officers have reasonable
grounds to believe (i.e. not m erely feelings or intuitions) that a
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suspect is connected with a crime. This distinction can help to avoid

putting undue pressure on those who are guiltless (as the PEACE
supporters insist) but perm its the protection of victim s' rights (as
the Reid supporters dem and). It perm its interview ers to pressurize a
suspect w hen they have som e evidence that leads to the reasonable
conclusion that the suspect is involved in the crime. However, since
investigators are not allowed to arrest or detain a suspect sim ply to
obtain a confession, it is alm ost im possible to use the Reid Technique
legally with people suspected on an intuitive basis. M ost suspects
who know they can, at any time, put an end to an interview will not
participate in the central steps of the Reid Technique. A psychological
confrontation with the suspect is alm ost im possible to achieve if the
suspect is not in detention or under arrest. This distinction is not,
however, alw ays clear cut. For exam ple, it is not always obvious
whether a person is under detention or not, and this situation can
only be resolved through a careful consideration of the legislation
(see Roy 2004: 428-30). Similarly, it leaves unansw ered the question
of how m uch pressure can be legitim ately applied to suspects who
are being subm itted to interrogation.
Criteria to evaluate the legitimacy o f police interrogations

W hen interrogating a suspect, an investigator m ay face any one of
the follow ing scenarios:
1. The suspect is totally innocent and therefore has nothing to say, or

does not rem em ber the inform ation the investigator is asking for.
2. The suspect will not reveal inform ation because he or she is in a

situation that may lead the investigator to think he or she is guilty
w hen in fact he or she is not. For exam ple, the suspect may have
visited the scene before the crime was com m itted or may have a
motive to have com m itted the crime.
3. The suspect has nothing to do with the crim e but will not reveal
inform ation because he or she has been threatened by someone.
4. The suspect is innocent but will not reveal inform ation in order to
protect a friend or relative.
5. The suspect is innocent of the crim e under investigation but

com m itted a crime related to the one under investigation. For
exam ple, an accom plice com mitted a rape or m urder that is now
under investigation w hilst the suspect com m itted a burglary.
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6. The suspect is guilty but cannot recall the events because of shock,
alcohol or drug abuse.
7. The suspect is guilty and refuses to reveal inform ation or lies to

protect him or herself.
In the first and second scenarios, the suspect is com pletely innocent.
In the third, he or she is innocent and is him or herself the victim
of a crime. In the fourth, he or she is not guilty but is ham pering
progress in achieving justice. In the fifth, the suspect is innocent of
the crime he or she is suspected of, but guilty of a different one.
In the sixth and seventh, he or she is guilty but will only divulge
inform ation as a last resort.
The first question these scenarios raise is: 'Is it legitim ate to submit
a suspect, who may be totally innocent, to some pressure because we
have reasonable grounds to believe he or she is involved in a crim e?'
To assure the protection of those who are innocent, w e should answer
'no'. But, in certain circum stances, such an answ er could lead to a
com plete denial of the victim 's rights. For exam ple, the police receive
a phone call that bom bs have been set along a railway line. The police
succeed in tracing the call and arrest the caller because he claims
to be the person who placed the bom bs. M aterial and instructions
regarding how to build such bom bs are found in the house where
the arrest was made. The suspect refuses, however, to give details of
where bom bs are placed. In theory, individual rights are not in conflict
but, in practice, they are. Protecting the suspect's rights in such a case
places at risk the right to life of m any other people. Article 7 of the
Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms stipulates that 'Everyone
has the right to life, liberty and security of the person and the right
not to be deprived thereof except in accordance with the principles
of fundam ental ju stice'. In reality, com plex ethical dilem m as do not
oblige us to choose betw een right and wrong. The choice we have, in
such situations, is often to decide which of two positions we would
prefer to avoid, and hence creating the less evil. If we adm it less evil
choice situations exist, the question we now face is: 'W hen, and up to
which point, can we legitim ately put pressure on a suspect we have
reasonable grounds to believe is involved in a crim e? A ccording to
Michel St-Yves: 'N o m atter what the model is we are referring to, one
factor is a must: pressure. Should it com e from the suspect him self
(internal) or from another source (external), this pressure show s
that a confession, even if it is som etim es provided by a suspect, is
never really free and voluntary' (2004b: 49, my translation). Internal
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pressure here refers to the suspect's emotions, and external pressure

to the legal context, to the quality of the proof or to the relationship
with the investigator.
Landry and St-Yves argue that, in the UK, the PEACE approach
avoids putting psychological pressures on suspects because pressure
was already applied through the legal warning issued at the time
of the arrest: 'You are not obliged to say anything. But it may harm
your defence if you do not mention when questioned something
you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in
evidence.' These authors conclude: 'This supports a thesis that claims
that some pressure is required, before or during interrogation, to get
a confession' (2004: 25, my translation).
The Canadian Supreme Court's position on the legitimacy of police
interviewing is largely set out in R. c. Oickle ([2000] 2 R.C.S.). The
following paragraphs (based mostly on an analysis of that decision)
attempt to assess whether the Canadian legal point of view tallies
with those ethical preoccupations.
The court was clearly aiming to reconcile rights and obligations
from common law rules of confession with those issuing from the
Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Such a reconcilliation had
never been attempted by the court since the creation of the charter, and
so a great deal of confusion was evident. Hence the judges thought
'It is therefore necessary to broaden the discussion to deal with these
issues'. The court first tried to define the scope of the charter: 'it
represents a bare minimum below which the law must not fall. A
necessary corollary of this statement is that the law, whether by statute
or common law, can offer protections beyond those guaranteed by
the Charter. The common law confessions rule is one such doctrine.'
The judges thought it important to restate the rule for confessions
for two reasons. The first was to bring more coherence into courts'
decisions. 'Second, and perhaps more important, is our growing
understanding of the problem of false confessions.' It is important
to understand the main purpose of the rule if we are to judge
specific interviewing situations. 'In defining the confessions rule, it
is important to keep in mind its twin goals of protecting the rights
of the accused without unduly limiting society's need to investigate
and solve crimes.' This general goal is compatible with the balance
of values I identified previously and, for the judges, the rule is well
suited to achieve its 'twin goals' and to prevent false confessions:
The common law confessions rule is well-suited to protect

against false confessions. While its overriding concern is with
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voluntariness, this concept overlaps with reliability. A confession

that is not voluntary will often (though not always) be unreliable.
The application of the rule wall by necessity be contextual.
Hard and fast rules simply cannot account for the variety of
circumstances that vitiate the voluntariness of a confession, and
would inevitably result in a rule that would be both over- and
under-inclusive. A trial judge should therefore consider all the
relevant factors when reviewing a confession.
The relevant factors are grouped into four major categories. As

indicated by the above quotation, the focus must be set on the
'voluntariness of a confession'. The moment a judge believes the
accused's freedom of will has been overridden, the judge should not
accept the confession. The distinction must be made between coercion
and voluntariness. Only the first is prohibited by law. Judging by the
examples given of what is prohibited and what is not, a confession
should be rejected if it is obtained by force rather than persuasion.
The examples given are grouped into general categories:
Threats or promises. The court referred here to Ibrahim v. The King

([1914] A.C. 599). The state's agent must be actively trying to influence
using 'fear of prejudice or hope of advantage'. The agent can do so
directly or in a veiled manner ('you'd better tell the truth'). Threats
to a relative or a person important to the accused are also prohibited.
The court considered that moral or spiritual inducements cannot be
considered as threats or promises, because relief is not in the hands
of the state's agent. The court even tolerates some inducement. The
court refers here to R. v. Rennie ([1981], 74 Cr. App. R. 207 (C.A.), at
p. 212):
Very few confessions are inspired solely by remorse. Often the

motives of an accused are mixed and include a hope that an early
admission may lead to an earlier release or a lighter sentence. If
it were the law that the mere presence of such a motive, even if
promoted by something said or done by a person in authority,
led inexorably to the exclusion of a confession, nearly every
confession would be rendered inadmissible. This is not the law.
Oppression. The court referred here to the general context in which the
interview is conducted. Was the suspect questioned for too long or
too aggressively? Was the suspect deprived of clothing, food, drink,
sleep, medication? Was he allowed to talk to an attorney?
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Operating mind. This refers essentially to the agent's ability to

understand what the suspect is saying, and that this could be used
against the suspect.
Other police trickery. The court referred here to all the tactics
investigators may use to obtain inform ation from som eone (for
exam ple, planting an undercover agent in the same cell or, as in R.
c. Corak ([1994], 29 C.R. (4th) 388 C.A. C.-B.), where the investigators
left a hat found at the scene of the crime well within the suspect's
view, hoping he would claim it as his own). The court is clear about
this last group of factors: 'U nlike the previous three headings, this
doctrine is a distinct inquiry. W hile it is still related to voluntariness,
its more specific objective is m aintaining the integrity of the criminal
justice system .' The court is not prim arily interested in the validity
of the confession but in the role the state's agent played to obtain it.
It is in this context that the court quoted the often referenced Judge
Lam er decision in Rothman c. Reine ([1981] 1 R.C.S. 640, 697):
The investigation of crime and the detection of crim inals is not

a game to be governed by the M arquess of Q ueensberry's rules.
The authorities, in dealing w ith shrewd and often sophisticated
crim inals, m ust som etim es of necessity resort to tricks or other
forms of deceit and should not through the rule be hampered
in their work. W hat should be repressed vigorously is conduct
on their part that shocks the community.
Lies are considered by the court as one form of police trickery that
cannot be totally prohibited. In another decision (R. c. Cook, [1982],
2 R.C.S.), the court recognized that 'policem en m ust som etim es lie.
In m any situations, it is not only appropriate but necessary and
obviously acceptable' (my translation).
We m ust alw ays bear in mind that, from a legal point of view, the
stress is on voluntariness. Som etim es one factor will be sufficient to
vitiate it w hilst in another situation, m any factors m ay contribute to
the same result. In yet other situations, many small factors will harm
voluntariness w ithout being sufficient to vitiate it.
We are now in a position to com pare the law with the ethical
position as I see it. To do this, I offer eight guidelines. First of all,
since we are interview ing a hum an being, hum an dignity requires
the prohibition of som e practices. Because, even in w artim e, the
international com m unity has agreed to prohibit torture as an
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acceptable means to achieve a goal, it is obviously reasonable to

do the same for suspects facing interrogation - and all the more so
when some of them may be totally innocent. I find no disagreement
between the ethical and legal views on this matter. This guideline
conforms to the rule of confessions as presented in Oickle and in
Article 12 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedomsm which
claims: 'Everyone has the right not to be subjected to any cruel and
unusual treatment or punishment.'
The second guideline seeks to prohibit the interrogation of a
person who is mentally ill or who is disturbed by alcohol or drug
abuse - the risk of obtaining invalid information that may lead to
a miscarriage of justice is too great. Again, there is no disagreement
here.
The third guideline is always to use the least pressure or as few
tricks as possible to obtain the necessary information. Since we are
interrogating a person who may eventually prove to be completely
innocent, we must do more than preserve dignity - we should
conduct the interrogation with the minimum stress possible.
However, because we have reasonable grounds to believe the suspect
is involved in a crime, it is also reasonable to subject the suspect
to stress in order to be sure he or she is not lying or withholding
important information. Here also the ethical and legal points of view
appear to coincide.
The fourth guideline is to question whether an interrogation is
the only way to obtain the required information. If not, and we are
not facing an emergency, we should try another method. Realism,
however, is important because all investigators know time is against
them: some evidence may disappear, witnesses may forget information
and the guilty party may have the time to run away or to construct
an alibi. Oickle did not address this specific issue, but nothing in the
law seems to oppose such a precaution. We can even say it respects
the spirit of the law.
The fifth guideline is that we must be sure that the harm resulting
from not getting information is greater than the one resulting from the
stress occasioned to the suspect. Are we trying to obtain information
to stop an ongoing crime or to build a body of evidence for a crime
that has already been committed? The consequences are not the same
when we are interrogating a suspect in relation to a kidnapping if
the child is still missing or if the child is safely back home. Are
we investigating a crime against property or a crime against a
person? Obtaining a conviction for a stolen video camera seems less
important than obtaining a conviction for murder or sexual assault.
312
Here again, we can say this guideline is a concrete exam ple of the
general preoccupation of what Oickle presented as the 'tw in goals' of
the rule of confessions.
The sixth guideline is to be aware of psychological distress. It
is relatively easy to avoid physical torture because the relationship
betw een physical intervention and physical pain can be anticipated.
But, w'hen trying to avoid psychological cruelty, things are not so
sim ple: the sam e treatm ent w'ill have different effects on different
suspects, and even on the same suspect at different times. The
im portant thing is not to avoid a specific treatm ent but to observe
the suspect's reactions. The ethical and legal im plications for each
case must be judged on an individual basis.
The seventh guideline is to be wary of lies. If one looks at the
literature some im portant Canadian police organizations follow, there
seems to be a tendency to rely on lies. Stella Gabino has made an
inventory of the interview ing tricks that seem to be accepted by
Canadian courts. Am ongst these, we find that police officers have
lied about the evidence they have, about w itnesses being willing to
testify against suspects and about confessions made by accom plices
(Gabino 1997). The Montreal Police have cited Gabino and the
Canadian Suprem e Court (in R. c. Cook, [1982], 2 R.C.S.) in literature
widely distributed to police investigators as a vindication for the use
of such measures. UK law s and PEACE supporters, however, are
com pletely opposed to the use of lies during interview's. Indeed,
some research has show n a link betw een the police's use of lies and
false confessions (Scheck et al. 2000). Because lying is often the only
way to break the 'code of silence' that may exist am ongst organized
crim inals, to abandon lying com pletely may display a lack of realism.
Nevertheless, it should only be used as a calculated risk and not
as part of norm al practice. A close analysis of the Oickle decision
shows that this ethical position is also the one proposed by Canada's
Suprem e Court.
The eighth guideline is to assess w hether there are limits to the
presum ption of innocence and w hether these are appropriate. It is
this guideline that probably raises the m ost controversy because of
the neat difference betw een the ethical and legal positions. According
to the Canadian Suprem e Court, the presum ption of innocence is
guaranteed to a suspect if, and only if:
• guilt has been established with no reasonable doubt (R. c.

Vaillancourt, [1987] 2 R.C.S. 636; and R. c. Starr, [2000], 2 R.C.S.
144);
313
• proof, or part of the proof, obliged the suspect to prove his or her
innocence (R. c. Downey, [1992] 2 R.C.S. 10); a n d /o r
• criminal prosecution was unfair or partial (R. c. S. (R.D.), [1997]
3 R.C.S. 484).
Since miscarriages of justice still happen, even with the necessity

to establish guilt without reasonable doubt, it would perhaps be
too great a risk to change current practice. Earlier comments on the
necessity to, cautiously, rely on lies in occasional situations and on
victims' and police officers' objections to criminals using suspects'
rights to avoid justice are serious enough to require that the legal
limits be given a second thought. Because there is an inequality
between the individual's and the state's power, the presumption of
innocence, actually, requires that the complete burden of proof rests
on the state. All the arguments in the Oickle decision are based on
the principle of voluntariness. In Canada, therefore, it is impossible
to place an undercover agent of the state in a suspect's cell and to
ask him or her to elicit information from that suspect if the suspect
clearly expresses the will to remain silent. To act in this way is to
transfer the burden of proof from the state to the suspect because it
asks the suspect to incriminate him or herself. For similar reasons, all
legal presumptions are now considered unconstitutional. For example,
it is now impossible to presume that a person caught with a great
quantity of drugs has the intention to traffic in drugs. Is it completely
unreasonable, therefore, to assume that a suspect already convicted
several times for drug dealing should have the burden of proof that
he or she does not intend to traffic the large quantity of drugs he
or she has been caught with? Would it, in such circumstances, be
completely unreasonable to ask a judge for permission to use an
undercover agent to obtain some information, even if this does not
respect the suspect's right to remain silent? Whilst it is uncertain
whether such restrictions should be changed, questions such as these
permit us to examine and restore the legitimacy of these restrictions
in the public's mind.
C o n c lu s io n
This chapter has tried to demonstrate that all interviews, especially

those defined as interrogations, put in question the balance between
the victim's right to security and justice and the suspect's right to
314
dignity and the presum ption of innocence. This balance is alw ays in
question in dem ocracies because a suspect's status, at the time of an
interview, is alw ays marked by uncertainty. The contem porary nature
of social, econom ic and political trends is building two contradictory
stances. The first favours increasing the suspect's protection w hereas
the other favours the opposite. The legitim acy of interview ing
m ethods cannot be enforced by instituting uniform procedures for
all interview s in all dem ocratic countries. Each country has its own
institutions, each investigation is different and each suspect is a
unique individual with his or her own psychological profile and past.
All these differences m ust form part of the interview 's legitimacy.
Such com plexity dem ands that we have a better chance of m aking
the correct decision if w?e rely on guidelines to analyze a specific
situation instead of fixed rules.
This chapter has developed the general idea that interview s must
not have confession as a goal, and that they m ust not rely on tricks,
lies or psychological pressure. They should be directed at obtaining
inform ation from non-custodial victim s, w itnesses and suspects who
are under investigation on an intuitive basis only. A n interrogation,
on the other hand, may have a confession as its goal, and may use
m eans prohibited in interviews. Interrogation m ethods are aimed at
getting inform ation from suspects we have reasonable evidence to
believe are related to the crime under investigation and, thus, can
be held in detention or arrested. But, for the sake of hum an dignity,
interrogations should never rely on physical or psychological torture
or on the threat of such, and should only be undertaken if the
suspect is in a conscious state of mind. The chapter has also asked
for a re-exam ination of the limits to a suspect's presum ption of
innocence, especially when the burden of proof always rests on the
state's shoulders, no m atter w'hat the circum stances or the suspect's
criminal past or acquaintances. Such a re-exam ination would at least
restore the public's respect for the presum ption of innocence or, at
best, avoid the situation where notorious crim inals use suspects'
rights to escape justice.
R e fe re n ce s
B egin , L . (2 0 0 1 ) 'L 'e x p a n sio n d u p o u v o ir d e s ju ges: en jeu x e t lieu x c o m m u n s ',

t t h iq u e publicjue, 3: 7 -1 6 .
B eliv e a u , P. an d V auclair, M . (2 0 0 0 ) T raite g e n e r a l d e p r eu v e et d e p ro c ed u re
p e n a les . M o n tr e a l: E d itio n s T hem is.
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Bellemare, J. (1996) Les pratiques eti matiere d'enquetes criminelles au sein des
corps de police du Quebec. Rapport fin al depose au ministre de la Securite
publique M onsieur Robert Perreault. Quebec: Publications du Quebec.
Cournoyer, G. and Ouimet, G. (2002) Code crimine! annote 2002. Cowansville:
Editions Yvon Blais.
Division des affaires juridiques de la Police de la Com m unaute urbaine de
M ontreal (1995) 'Le droit a l'avocat', Le conseiller juridique, 3.
M ontreal (1996a) 'Le droit au silence', Le conseiller juridique, 6.
Montreal (1996b) 'Le policier doit offrir au detenu la possibility raisonnable
de com m uniquer avec l'avocat de son choix', Le conseiller juridique, 8.
M ontreal (1997) 'Le pouvoir de detention', Le conseiller juridique, 17.
Montreal (1998) 'Les motifs raisonnables', Le conseiller juridique, 24.
Gabino, S. (1997) Interrogatoire sur video, aspect legal. Nicolet: Institut de police
du Quebec.
H aberm as, J. (1997) Droit et democratic. Entre faits et normes. Paris:
Gallimard.
H aberm as, J. (1999) De Vethique de la discussion. Paris: Champs, Flammarion.
Kymlicka, W. (1999) Les theories de la justice. Quebec: Editions du Boreal.
Lacroix, A. and Letourneau, A. (eds) (2000) M ethodes et interventions en ethique
appliquee. Quebec: Fides.
Landry, J. and St-Yves, M. (2004) 'La pratique de l'interrogatoire de police',
in J. Landry et M. St-Yves (eds) Psychologie des entrevues d'enquite: de la
recherche a la pratique. Cowansville: Editions Yvon Blais.
Laurence, J.-R. (2004) 'H ypnose et memoire: un bref survol de la litterature
scientifique', in J. Landry et M. St-Yves (eds) Psychologie des entrevues
d'enquete: de la recherche a la pratique. Cowansville: Editions Yvon Blais.
Leblond, C. (ed.) (2002) Droit penal, procedure et preuve. Collection de droit
2001-2002. Volume 10. Cowansville: Editions Yvon Blais.
Legault, G.A. (1999) Professionnalisme et deliberation ethique. Quebec: Presses
de l'Universite du Quebec.
Lenoble, J. (1994) Droit et communication. La transformation du droit contemporain.
Paris: Les editions du Cerf.
Lenoble, J. and M aesschalck, M. (2003) Toivard a Theory o f Governance: The
Action o f Norms. The H a g u e/L o n d o n /N ew York, NY: Kluw er Law
International.
M odoux, F. (2003) 'Un policier allemand ordonne la torture pour extorquer
des aveux a un suspect', Le Temps.ch, online, 25 February: 2.
Pech, T. (2001) 'La dignite humaine. Du droit a l'ethique de la relation',
£thique publique, 3: 93-120.
Roy, R. (2004) 'Enjeux ethiques des entrevue d'enquete', in J. Landry et
M. St-Yves (eds) Psychologie des entrevues d'enquete: de la recherche a la
pratique. Cowansville: Editions Yvon Blais.
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Investigative interviewing: suspects’ and victim s’ rights in balance
Scheck, B., Neufeld, P. and Dwyer, J. (2000) Actual Innocence: Five Days to
Execution and Other Dispatches from the Wrongly Convicted. New York, NY:
Random House.
St-Yves, M. (2004a) 'Les fausses confessions: comprendre et prevenir', in
J. Landry et M. St-Yves (eds) Psychologie des entrevues d'enquete: de la
recherche a la pratique. Cowansville: Editions Yvon Blais.
St-Yves, M. (2004b) 'La psychologie de l'aveu', in J. Landry et M. St-Yves (eds)
Psychologie des entrevues d'enquete: de la recherche cl la pratique. Cowansville:
Editions Yvon Blais.
317
C h a p te r I 5
Regulating police interrogation
David Dixon
In tro d u c in g re g u la tio n
This chapter considers possibilities and problems in the regulation

of police interrogation, drawing for its perspective on my research
on the legal regulation of policing (Dixon 1997) and on audio-visual
recording of interrogation (Dixon 2004b forthcoming), as well as
on recent work in regulatory theory (Baldwin et al. 1998; Parker
and Braithwaite 2003; Parker et al. 2004). The potential connections
between policing and regulation have been generally neglected. The
growing literature on regulation is predominantly concerned with
corporations or privatized utilities.1 Police are more often seen as
those who impose regulation than its recipients, as regulators rather
than regulatees. Here, the focus is on police practices in interrogating
suspects as the subject of regulation.
This approach to regulation has two general characteristics. First,
the term 'regulation' is used broadly. The focus is not just on rules,
but on the broader range of resources which are available to control,
direct, sanction and influence. Sections below consider aspects of
judicial control, rules, training, electronic recording, supervision and
management. Regulation here is taken to mean 'the sustained and
focused attempt to alter the behaviour of others according to defined
standards or purposes with the intention of producing a broadly
defined outcome or outcomes, which may involve mechanisms of
standard-setting, information gathering and behaviour-modification'
(Black 2002: 26). Laws and other types of rules are just one set of
tools. As Parker et al. suggest, this approach 'incorporates three
318
basic requirements for a regulatory regime: the setting of standards;

processes for monitoring compliance with the standards; and
mechanisms for enforcing the standards' (2004: 1).
Secondly, this chapter is concerned with the positive potential
of regulation. Regulation is all too often identified with negatives
- restriction, discipline, sanction. W hilst such forces can be effective
when appropriately deployed and are usually a necessary component
of a regulatory regime (Parker and Braithwaite 2003: 135), a key
lesson of contemporary regulation scholarship is that regulation can
be a positive, constitutive force. This is particularly likely if regulation
involves persuasive and educative shaping of behaviour, only moving
to more coercive methods if resistance is met:
A large body of empirical sociological and psychological

research converges on the finding that non-coercive and informal
alternatives are likely to be more effective than coercive law in
achieving long-term compliance with norms and coercive law is
most effective when it is in reserve as a last resort (Parker and
Braithwaite 2003: 134).
It perhaps must be emphasized that this is not a soft or idealistic

approach: it includes developing and deploying coercive methods
which have a preventative and deterrent effect. Punishment and
persuasion, coercion and compliance are not alternatives: 'compliance
is optimized by regulation that is contingently cooperative, tough
and forgiving'. The 'trick of successful regulation' is their 'synergy'
(Ayres and Braithwaite 1992: 51, 25).
A restriction of focus is that my concern is primarily with the
interrogation of suspects by public police officers. W hilst acknowl
edging their importance, I deal with neither the questioning of
victims or witnesses nor the interrogation of suspects by other state
agencies or private contractors. However, I do draw on some of the
current debates surrounding interrogation of 'detainees' captured in
Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere which vividly illustrate some issues
of relevance to regulating police interrogation.
W h y in te rro g a te ? W h y regulate? W h y deviate?
A problem which needs to be acknowledged at the outset is the

identification of what the goals of interrogation and its regulation are
and should be. These have to be considered together: a regulatory
319
regime has to fit with the aims and purposes of the activity to be
regulated.
Doing so may seem unnecessary: isn't interrogation obviously about
getting a suspect to tell the truth? When police officers are asked to
explain their purpose in interviewing suspects, they typically refer
to the process as 'a search for the truth'. This is attractive rhetoric.
However, it has two flaws. First, it is almost trite to say that any
account involves selection and construction. Accounts provided
in police interrogations are selected and constructed primarily not
because police routinely use ploys to trick suspects (McConville et
al. 1991), but because this is how memory, recall and account-giving
work:
memory for a complex event is largely constructive. What a

person encodes is not recorded in memory ready to be played
back like a video-recording. Instead the event is reconstructed
using the information the person has encoded about the event
and also by using information that the person has about the
world in general (Milne and Bull 1999: 17).
Ploys may be used improperly, but it is a mistake to equate doing

so with the unavoidable nature of account giving. Even a full,
freely given confession is an account constituted by selection, not an
unmediated view of reality or 'truth'. More than one account may be
available: an adversary system of justice deals in contested versions
of reality, not in absolute truths. Police interviewing of suspects
involves a very particular form of account construction, 'legalization',
which involves the interviewer organizing and 'fram ing' the suspect's
account according to legal criteria (Dixon 1997: 270-4).
Secondly, 'searching for the truth' has too often been the gloss on
a method of interrogation which consists of the interrogator seeking
the suspect's confirmation of (confession to) an account of events
(a truth) to which the interrogator is already committed. Take, for
example, these exchanges in the interrogation of George Heron about
the murder of Nikki Allen:
Q Well let's start telling the truth George, I'm just asking you
a simple question, right, I believe Iknow the answer to it
and I'm asking you to tell the truth
A I am telling the truth ...
A I didn't kill her
320
Q You can keep saying that over and over again but that
doesn't mean to me that you didn't do it and you know,
sat there, the tru th ... all the evidence is pointing straight in
your direction...
A I am not admitting to som et't [I didn't do]
Q We are not asking you to admit that you didn't do, we are
asking for the truth about the murder of Nikki Allen.2
The interviewing officers' commitment to the 'truth' that Heron

was a murderer produced a confession so unreliable that the trial
judge excluded it. Heron was acquitted, and Nicki Allen's killer has
never been brought to justice. As will be further illustrated below,
premature, inflexible 'case theories' (McConville 1989) have been a
significant cause of miscarriages of justice (and unsuccessful criminal
investigations).
In this respect, the Quebec conference vividly illustrated the divide
between approaches to interrogation in the USA and in the UK (and
Australia). The Inbau and Reid method, which dominates US policing,
focuses on persuading the suspect to confirm an account to which
the interrogator is already committed as a result of pre-interrogation
interviewing and other investigation (Inbau et al. 2001). By contrast,
British and Australian police are expected to interrogate with an
open mind. The potential for unreliable case theories, hunches and
inadequate preliminary inquiries to form the driver of persuasive,
psychologically coercive interrogation makes British interrogation
experts critical of the Inbau and Reid method (Gudjonsson 2003).
From another perspective, finding the 'truth' may not be a realistic
aim. Success in an interrogation may not be marked by the production
of a confession. If the prosecution has other evidence, then silence
or a supposedly exculpatory statement which police can prove to
be a lie may well be more useful than an admission qualified by
justification or excuse. In such cases, the statement (or lack of it) will
appear in the prosecutor's case, allowing at least the potential for
judicial supervision. But in some circumstances, the purpose of the
interrogation may not be to produce evidence for use in court. In
the extreme case of military intelligence interrogations, success for an
interviewer may mean much less than obtaining a confession:
Interrogators find tiny bits of the truth, fragments of information,

slivers of data. We enter a vast desert, hundreds of miles across,
in which a few thousand puzzle pieces have been scattered. We
spend weeks on a single prisoner, to extract only a single piece
321
- if that. We collect, and then we pass the pieces on, hoping that
someone above us can assemble them (Mackey 2004: xxv).
In response to 9 /1 1 , 'the interest of investigators has shifted from

obtaining viable evidence for prosecution to obtaining credible
information for preventing future acts of terrorism' (Strauss 2003:
206).
The implications for interrogation of this shift into a 'forward-
leaning' approach (Golden 2004) are likely to go far beyond
investigation of terrorism: such experience is increasingly relevant in
the broader context of criminal justice. Similar considerations apply
in the policing of organized crime, particularly drug trafficking.
More generally, informed commentators discern trends in criminal
justice (away from its traditional commitments to concepts of guilt,
rights, conviction and towards concepts of risk, security, prevention)
which will have significant implications for criminal investigation.
According to Maguire, current developments 'may prefigure a
major shift towards genuinely new strategic and "risk oriented"
approaches, driven by threat assessments, prioritisation, forward
planning and "problem -solving" objectives' (2003: 364). In England
and Wales, a notable expression of this approach is the National
Intelligence Model which, if it is able to 'overcome familiar obstacles
to translating intentions into reality' (Maguire 2003: 388), may lead
to a significant shift away from 'the traditional individualistic, case-
based approach' to the investigation of crime (Maguire 2003: 387).
For present purposes, the key issue is that if an interrogator has no
expectation that the products of interrogation will be presented in
court, then methods of regulation other than judicial control will be
needed.
If the purpose of interrogation is not always clear, nor is it clear
what regulation is intended to achieve. Answers could include:
• maximizing the number of confessions from suspects;

• increasing the reliability of confessions;
• improving the quality of interrogations;
• preserving the integrity of the justice process;
• minimizing miscarriages of justice; and
• protecting suspects' rights.
This list is simply an elaborated version of Packer's familiar distinction

between crime control and due process (1968). As in Packer's analysis,
it is obvious enough that, in practice, criminal justice will have more
322
than one objective and that some combination of contrary pressures

will be required.
Finally, why do problems of police deviance occur in the context
of interrogations? This question raises broader issues of reform in
policing (Chan 1997; Dixon 1999). Some academic commentators
portray the police as dominated by a change-resistant culture,
dedicated to crime control and obsessed with the production of
confessions (McConville et al. 1991). This approach, not surprisingly,
leads to the conclusion that attempts to change interrogation practices
by rules, supervision and training are doomed and that regulatory
pressure for change has to be applied to other parts of the justice
process. As explained at length elsewhere (Dixon 1997: 155-69), this
approach is excessively pessimistic. W hilst change never comes easily
in policing, police culture is not immutable. If police officers are
shown how to improve their practices (rather than simply told what
not to do), their response is often more positive and diverse than
pessimists would allow. Positive regulation can work.
This approach does not mean lurching on the rebound into a naive
optimism. Crucially, change in police culture regarding interrogation
(or anything else) will depend substantially on the impact of broader
legal, social and political contexts on policing (Chan 1997). So, if police
are pressured to operate according to managerialist dogma in which
their mandate is narrowly defined as crime control and performance
is measured by indicators such as rates of arrests, confessions and
clear-ups, pressure on officers to 'perform ' can slip (and all too often
has slipped) into 'cutting corners... routine by-passing of suspects'
rights or even fabrication of evidence' (Maguire 2003: 379).
In high-profile (particularly homicide) cases, there can be great
pressure to produce results. In several notorious miscarriages of
justice in Britain, interrogators' urgency to obtain confessions led to
wrongful convictions. Some of the regulatory strategies discussed in
this chapter have been developed in response to such cases. My focus
here is on the positive potential of regulation. If we move beyond the
counter-position of suspects' rights and police powers which blights
understanding of criminal justice, regulation may be seen as a vital
means of ensuring effectiveness and efficiency in policing to the
benefit of all concerned. 'Efficiency' means not only convicting the
guilty, but also not convicting the innocent.
Particular risks in interrogation need to be acknowledged. The
relations of power between interrogator and prisoner mean that the
temptation to abuse people who are vulnerable and isolated may
be hard to resist, particularly when interrogator-prisoner relations
323
are coloured by resentment, hatred, fear or racism. At play are 'the

gravitational laws that govern human behavior when one group of
people is given complete control over another in a prison. Every
impulse tugs downward' (Mackey 2004: 471). The treatment of
detainees in Iraq provides the obvious current example: Parry notes
that American soldiers 'did not engage in torture solely to assist
interrogators. At least some of them tortured for psychological and
aesthetic reasons - that is, because they could, because others were
doing it, because they enjoyed it, or because they were good at it'
(2005: 828). Regulation must seek to constrain the effects of external
demands on interrogators, cultural and job-related pressures, and
group and individual impulses - and, of course, must appreciate that
these are inter-related.
Finally, if police interrogation is to be regulated effectively, a
series of myths have to be confronted and dispelled. According to
popular (and all too often professional) understanding, typical police
interrogations have the following characteristics:
• Suspects resist questioning and interviews are tense, difficult

encounters.
• Police dominate interaction in interviews.
• Suspects crack, shifting from denial to full confession.
• Police are expert interviewers.
• Interviews involve a search for truth.
• Interviewers can detect deception from body language.
• Innocent people do not confess to crimes.
The reality of police interrogation is very different: at least in Britain

and Australia, these entrenched beliefs bear little relation to empirical
reality. In this respect, my research (Dixon 2004b, forthcoming)
strongly confirms the findings of other researchers (Baldwin 1993;
Pearse and Gudjonsson 1996).
Ju dicial c o n tro l as re g u la tio n
Perhaps the most familiar mode of regulating interrogation is the

authority exercised by judges and magistrates over proceedings
before them. Such authority is exercised in various ways. For
example, in interpreting the substantive criminal law, judges can
indirectly influence police evidence-gathering practices. When courts
demand that the prosecution prove beyond reasonable doubt that
324
a defendant intended an act, the police are strongly encouraged to

obtain confessions, which provide the direct way of establishing
intention.
O f particular relevance here is judicial control over adm issibility
of evidence of confessions and adm issions. Courts can insist that
a confession has been obtained by m ethods which m eet standards
such as voluntariness, reliability, lack of oppression and fairness. In
England and Australia, such standards originated in the com m on law
and have been adapted and developed by statutes. Alternatively, as
in the USA, courts may be called upon to interpret rights provided
in a written constitution or bill of rights. Increasingly, international
conventions on human rights will have to be considered. Judges
have potentially potent, but essentially defensive pow ers w ith which
to regulate police interrogation. However, there are a num ber of
intrinsic lim itations stem m ing from the nature of the judicial function
and the actual (rather than the rhetorical) position of judges in the
criminal justice process.
First, judicial power focuses on the regulation of court proceedings.
A court can regulate how its processes are used, but m ay not be able
to go beyond this to control police activity which is not intended to
produce evidence for court. This lim itation has been illustrated by
recent US Suprem e Court cases in which individuals have tried to
use constitutional rights, not to have evidence excluded, but as the
basis for civil actions against the police. Notably, Chavez v. M artinez3
concerned a police officer's questioning of Oliverio M artinez, a suspect
who had been shot five times by another officer. This questioning,
over a period of 45 m inutes in the am bulance and at the hospital, was
apparently intended to get M artinez's account of what happened for
the inevitable inquiry into the shooting rather than for a prosecution,
because he was not expected to survive his injuries. However,
Martinez did survive, was not charged and w ent on to bring an
action against the police for violation of constitutional rights during
this interrogation. The significant factor for present purposes is that
the Court had not previously ruled on the question of w hether the
right to due process and the privilege against self-incrim ination were
substantial or merely procedural: previous cases had all concerned
the adm issibility of evidence (Strauss 2003: 227). Chavez v. M artinez
did not resolve the m atter: whilst the court indicated that there was a
substantive right, its extent and nature were left uncertain by a series
of six separate opinions.
Secondly, courts cannot ensure the im plem entation of changes
which they recomm end or rule as necessary. The dom inance of
325
executive-controlled legislatures in contemporary states makes most

judges take a realistically modest view of what they can achieve.
For example, in a crucial decision by Australia's Fligh Court, Justices
Mason and Brennan refused to interpret the common law so as to
provide authority to the police to detain suspects for questioning,
arguing that it was the legislature's responsibility to deal with such
matters both as a matter of constitutional principle and because it
'is able - as the courts are not - to prescribe some safeguards which
might ameliorate the risk of unconscionable pressure being applied
to persons under interrogation'.4
As a mode of positive, prospective regulation, judicial control is
confined by the vagaries of the case law process. Judges have to
wait for a case to come before them. In criminal justice processes
characterized by heavy reliance on guilty pleas and financial as well
as legal barriers in appeal processes, an appropriate vehicle for an
attempt at judicial regulation of policing may not come along. When
it does, any judicial interest in regulating the police may be tempered
by the prospect of acquitting or allowing an appeal by someone they
think is factually guilty. This familiar dilemma can be recognized by
anyone other than ostrich-like legal formalists. For example, in Kelly,3
the Australian High Court insisted on a narrow interpretation of the
phrase 'in the course of official questioning', allowing the police to
use in evidence their claim that, after a formal interview had ended,
Kelly had made a (very dubious) incriminatory remark which was
not electronically recorded. It was no coincidence that there was very
strong circumstantial evidence against the defendant (as well as an
earlier inadmissible confession, which Kelly agreed to having made,
but now repudiated). Kelly was a particularly unfortunate vehicle for
a crucial statutory interpretation. Even at the highest level, courts
have to balance doing justice in the specific case and meeting the
general public interest in the broader regulatory implications of the
issues raised.
All too often, the result is frustrating for those seeking clear
regulatory guidance. Constrained by the case at hand, appeal
courts often fail to deal with a topic comprehensively. A legalistic
slice through issues which are complex and inter-related is often
unsatisfying for those whose concerns go beyond the individual
case. Particularly problematic in regard to interrogation is the court's
practice of giving the police broad, vague instructions on what they
cannot do, rather than specific guidance on what they should do. Take
the key issue of defining 'oppression', the category of behaviour
which will render confessional evidence inadmissible under English
326
law. Characteristically, when facing problems of definition, courts say

that words should be given their ordinary meaning, and turn to the
dictionary.6 Doing so is unlikely to be much help to an officer planning
an interrogation of a difficult suspect. In a much-quoted ruling in
Heron,7 Mitchell J said that police questioning can be 'persistent,
searching and robust'. But an officer seeking guidance on what this
means will be disappointed: 'Where the line is to be drawn between
proper and robust persistence and oppressive interrogation can only
be identified in general terms.' The interview must be considered
as a whole: 'occasional transgressions will not necessarily convert
an otherwise properly conducted interrogation into an unfair one,
let alone an oppressive one.' The 'age and character' of the suspect
will also be relevant. W hat might lead a court to determine that
'the admission of the evidence would have such an adverse effect
on the fairness of the proceedings that the court ought not to admit
it'8 is even less capable of convenient definition. Self-evidently, such
rules require judicial and other elaboration. Similar problems are
evident in Australia: despite the High Court's hearing of a series of
cases about interrogation, 'this has certainly not produced any great
clarification of the law. Issues remain unresolved, doctrines imprecise,
new uncertainties introduced' (Odgers 1990: 220).
But inadequate coverage is not due only to the legal form. A
striking characteristic of judicial decisions on police interrogation
at least until the closing decades of the twentieth century was
the evident lack of knowledge about how the processes of arrest,
detention, questioning, charge and bail worked (Dixon 1997: chs. 4
and 5). If judges were ignorant about policing, then the police were
also often ignorant about judicial decisions. The communication of
decisions to operational officers has not received the attention that
it deserves. Complex appeal court decisions given in a variety of
judgments need careful interpretation and translation. If not, the
police may simply pick out what they want to hear. In an extreme
example involving the police reception of a High Court decision on
detention for questioning, the NSW Police based its instructions to
officers on the Chief Justice's judgment. The problem was that the
Chief Justice had been in a minority of one.9
As the Kelly case suggests, weak judicial regulation of police
interrogation is a matter not just of legal form, or judicial ignorance,
but also of judicial politics. Despite the persistent complaints from
some police officers and many conservative media commentators
about judicial liberalism and 'softness to criminals', the historical
record in England and Australia tells a very different story (Dixon
327
1997: chs. 4 and 5). First, between 1900 and the 1980s, judges stepped
back from active regulation of custodial interrogation. Secondly,
they often made clear their strong disapproval of defence lawyers
who criticized the police. This history was ignored by critics of the
statutory reforms of the 1980s and 1990s, who looked back through
rose-coloured glasses to common law control of policing.
What impact judicial regulation had on police practice and
effectiveness has been the subject of much controversy in the
USA. The most convincing interpretation of the extensive research
evidence is that heroic Supreme Court cases such as Miranda did not
significantly reduce police ability to investigate crime, with officers
soon finding ways to minimize their impact (Walker 1993: 44-6; Leo
1996: 287). Specifically, they hastened shifts already under way in
police interrogation, as techniques of persuasion and psychological
coercion were developed in training manuals by Inbau and Reid, and
others. However, they did have some beneficial effects: these cases led
police organizations to improve their training, supervisory practices
and general professionalism (Walker 1980: 229-32; Leo 1994: 114) and
encouraged a cultural shift towards the acceptance of accountability
and legality. Skolnick writes of a 'legal archipelago... sets of islands
of legal valu es... distributed throughout the broad experience of
policing' (1993: 196).
This experience suggests broader lessons about potential judicial
contributions to regulation of interrogation. To date, judicial control
has shared many of the undesirable characteristics of com m and/
control regulation - it is distanced, unwieldy, non-responsive. If
judges want their decisions to have more positive impact, they have
to know more about the world they seek to regulate and to express
them more clearly and more positively, and with more emphasis on
policy and less on the individual case. (Appeal courts, particularly at
more senior levels, are obviously more able to do this than are trial
judges.) They should be aware of the need to communicate decisions
and to participate in processes which review their impact. Attention
should be paid to indirect as well as direct effects.
Despite the convenient divisions within this chapter, regulatory
measures should not be considered in isolation from each other.
Judicial regulation will be affected by other pressures, particularly
the structure of rules provided for the detention and interrogation of
suspects which are considered in the next section. It is appropriate to
point out here that there was a significant shift in judges' approach
to the regulation of interrogation following the introduction of the
Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE) in England and
328
Wales. Clearer statements of what was expected contributed here. But

a change in rules is unlikely to be enough in itself: in both Britain
and New South Wales, new legislation provided the tools, but it was
disclosures of police malpractice which impelled judges into a more
critical and active regulation of interrogation.10
So far, this discussion has assumed an Anglo-American model
of adversarial justice, with the judiciary as a notionally distanced
referee. There are of course other models, notably the inquisitorial
procedure of continental Europe in which judicial officers may be
more directly involved in the direction and management of criminal
investigation. Problems arise when the messy reality of adversarial
systems is compared to an idealized representation of inquisitorial
systems. As Hodgson's invaluable empirical research on French
criminal justice makes clear, we must compare like with like, and
in doing so must be aware of specific legal cultures and systems of
state organization. The fact that, in practice, French judicial officers
neither attend nor actively supervise interrogations does not mean
that such supervision might not be feasible and desirable elsewhere
(Hodgson 2001: 359). What is striking about Hodgson's account of
police interrogation practices in France is not the contrast between
an inquisitorial and an adversarial system, but the similarity between
police practices in France and those in England and Australia before
the regulatory changes of the 1980s and 1990s. Hodgson's picture
of the police single-mindedly trying to get confessions, mistreating
suspects and recording only a brief, retrospective, partial account is
very familiar. Whilst the principles of inquisitorial justice may provide
a valuable alternative perspective, it is not surprising that in France
there has been interest in (as well as opposition to) the introduction
of PACE-like measures which provide suspects with some protection
and are likely to produce more reliable results.
R e gula tin g by rules
The regulation of interrogation has to be placed in a broader context

of shifts in the regulation of police investigations. Academic work
on the regulation of criminal investigations has been dominated
by a critical perspective which has emphasized regulatory failures
and patterns of malpractice. Given the history of miscarriages of
justice and other misconduct, this is hardly surprising. However,
concentration on these crucial matters has tended to draw attention
away from some significant trends in the regulation of policing.
329
As Karl Alderson (2002) demonstrates, the final third of the twentieth

century saw the development of a new and distinctive approach to
police powers in Britain and Australia. In the mid-twentieth century,
such regulation as there was came from common law administered
by the courts and from internal police management. The law was
anachronistic in crucial areas, failing for example to acknowledge the
crucial shift of responsibility in the investigative stages of the criminal
justice process from magistrates to the police. As suggested above,
those who administered it often displayed ignorance of policing
practice. However, by the end of the twentieth century, the law of
criminal investigation was a complex structure of laws, subsidiary
rules and codes of practice. They provided clear authorization to the
police to intrude on individual liberty in various ways - including
stop/search, search of premises and detention for investigative
purposes. The police had routinely done these things before the new
laws, exploiting the gaps and uncertainties in the common law and
local legislation, and relying on their targets' ignorance of or inability
to enforce their rights. What was new was that the police now had
clear authorization for such practices.
It is wrong to focus only on the 'negative' aspects of police powers
as increasing power. The provision of powers may also be positive in
defining what police may and may not do: law 'has the great virtue
of limiting what it grants'.” As Finnane suggests, regulation 'of any
kind is a two-fold process: it not only constrains but opens up a
field of action' (1994: 90). If a police practice is recognized by legal
authorization, there may also be recognition that the rights of those
subjected to powers need to be formalized and given substance. For
example, if it is acknowledged that the police detain suspects for
questioning, then specified limits on detention and correlative rights
(e.g. to legal advice) become significant issues. Whether the extension
of powers is accompanied by positive rights in any particular instance
is an empirical matter. The point for present purposes is that it is
usually misleading to see power as working in purely a negative
way: it may also have positive and unpredictable effects.
Why did such regulatory developments occur? First, they were part
of a general shift towards formalization and extension of regulation.
Secondly, they accompanied professionalization of policing functions.
Thirdly, increasing political interest in matters of crime and crime
control pushed them on to the political agenda. Fourthly, there
were changes in the status of the objects of police attention: social
democratization in the mid-twentieth century meant that 'informality'
in dealing with suspects became less appropriate.
330
Issues raised by the 'authorize and regulate' strategy have been

brought sharply into focus in the debate about torture as a tool of
interrogation in the wake of 9 /1 1 (e.g. Levinson 2004). Dershowitz
attracted a hail of criticism for suggesting the introduction of a
'torture w arrant' w hich would provide judicial authorization for
torturing a suspect in particular circum stances. This was not, as is
often suggested, advocacy of the introduction of torture itself. Rather,
D ershow itz claims that 'at least m oderate form s of non-lethal torture
are in fact being used by the United States' (2003: 277), that 'if we
ever confronted an actual case of im m inent mass terrorism that could
be prevented by the infliction of torture we w ould use torture' (2003:
277), and that the US already subcontracts torture by 'rendering'
suspects to Egypt, M orocco or Jordan (2002: 138; cf. C IH R /C H R G J
2004). He argues that it is better to acknow ledge these realities and
to control the practice by bringing it within the law than leaving it
outside - in other words, to use the authorize and regulate strategy.12
If torture is being and will be used, it would be better 'to have such
torture regulated by som e kind of warrant, with accountability,
record-keeping, standards, and lim itations' (2003: 277). This is both
as a m atter of principle (tolerating extra-legal action is unacceptable;
we should not rely on the discretion of junior officials to decide w hen
torture should be used) and instrum entally (regulating 'its frequency
and severity' might reduce its incidence), whilst not legalizing will
allow 'continuing and ever-expanding sub rosa em ploym ent of the
practice' (2003: 278). W hilst Dershowitz believes that legal regulation
would reduce the use of torture, his critics argue that legalizing
torture will lead to an increase. His response is 'This, of course, is
an em pirical claim, which if true, would cause me to reconsider my
proposal, since my goal is to cabin the use of torture' (2003: 281).
My point here is to consider in detail neither the use of torture nor
the dispute betw een Dershowitz and his critics,13 but rather to identify
the latter as a sharply focused exam ination of the authorize and
regulate strategy. First, those opposed to authorizing and regulating
tend to understate the prevalence of the relevant practice and the
problem s associated with it. They may w ell do so not deliberately, but
because the practice is not open to public scrutiny. So, for exam ple,
pre-PACE opposition to giving the police a power to detain suspects
for questioning often assum ed that this would be to authorize the
police to do som ething that they did not already do, when in fact,
such detention was routine (Dixon 1997: ch.4).
Secondly, they tend to assum e that the police w ill use any power
given to the fullest extent legally possible, and will strain to extend it.
331
'If rules are prom ulgated perm itting torture in defined circum stances,
som e officials are bound to w ant to explore the outer bounds of the
rules. Having been regularized, the practice will becom e regular'
(Posner, quoted in Dershow itz 2003: 279). Posner was echoing claims
m ade in debates around the introduction of PACE: 'The problem
is that if the law is to “inhibit" police officers then it m ust always
diverge to some extent from the rules that officers would write for
them selves' (Baldwin and Kinsey 1985: 91). From this perspective if,
metaphorically, the police are given authority to drive at 30 mph,
they will drive at 35. 'To increase the lim it to 35 m ph will not close
the gap', but will sim ply lead to 40 mph driving (Baldw in 1985:
21). Such accounts can slip too easily into what Reiner calls 'a law
of inevitable increment: w hatever powers the police have they will
exceed by a given m argin' (Reiner 1992: 217).14 Reiner goes on to
provide a good critique of such formulations:
police abuse is not the product of som e overw eening constabulary

m alevolence constantly bursting the seam s of whatever rules
for regulating conduct are laid down. It is based on pressure to
achieve specific resu lts... If the police can achieve their proper
objects w ithin the law then one strain m aking for deviation
disappears (Reiner 1992: 217-18).
If there is too great a gap betw een what police are expected to
achieve and the m eans allow ed to them, then they may go beyond
the rules, and the rules m ay follow. Regulatory decline under the
weight of 'objectives' is vividly illustrated by a participant's account
of interrogation in Afghanistan and Iraq:
The prohibition on the use of stress positions early in the war

gave way to policies allow ing their use to punish prisoners for
disrespectful behaviour. The rules were relaxed further by those
w'ho follow ed us at Bagram , and within a year stress positions
were a form ally authorized interrogation technique by the
com m and in Iraq. Rules regarding sleep deprivation, isolation,
meal m anipulation, and sensory deprivation followed sim ilar
trajectories (M ackey 2004: 471-2).
It is often claimed that authorization is a step on to a slippery slope:

'O nce torture is available for terrorists in extrem e circum stances,
som eone will inevitably dem and it in less extrem e circum stances,
and then for serial rapists or m urderers, or even for those accused
332
of lesser crimes' (Parry 2002: 763). They may well demand this, but
law making is not a slippery slope from which escape is impossible.
More positively, statutory regulation's provision to officers of
an authoritative statement of what is required can be significant
symbolically as well as instrumentally. Officers who want to do
'the right thing' are given a resource for use in arguments with
others about how suspects should be treated. Similarly, reducing the
potential for 'comeback' from a system often experienced as uncertain
and capricious is a significant benefit to officers.
The limits of regulation by rules have to be acknowledged. Those
favouring legal regulation are often over-optimistic about its likely
impact. A wide range of positions are included here, from the
simple legalistic-bureaucratic approach of the politician who thinks
that passing a law is the remedy for all ills (Dixon 1997: 1-2) to
the sophistication of Dershowitz's attempt to make liberal principle
connect with empirical reality.
We may not be able to set the limit at 20 mph, even if we want
to. So, when Dershowitz says that he hopes 'no torture warrant
would ever be issued, because the criteria for obtaining one would
be so limited and vigorous' (quoted in Parry 2002: 747) the realism
of his approach dissipates. Would no warrant mean no torture - or
just torture more carefully hidden in the gulag of Am erica's military
bases and the prisons of dependent states?15 His legalistic faith in
the power of law seems quaint: legality has never appeared to be a
particularly significant factor in the operations of the CIA. It is hard,
for example, to read the American government's list of approved
techniques of interrogation without concluding that it is largely for
presentational purposes (Department of Defence 2003).
The key lesson is that the impact of rules is contingent, not
determined. A review of the extensive literature on legal regulation
(Dixon 1997) leads to the conclusion that, whilst the potential of
rules should not be overstated, nor should it be underestimated: 'In
short, some things work' (Walker 1993: 150). Crucial factors include:
the nature of the activity; the degree of commitment to practice;
other cultural commitments and factors amongst practitioners; its
vulnerability to regulation; the nature of the rules and other regulatory
strategies deployed; the commitment of supervisors to implementation;
allocation of resources to supervision and accountability; countervailing
pressures from institutions on practitioners; and perceptions of the
likelihood and weight of punishment for breach. Such factors account
for the difference between stop/search and treatment of suspects in
police stations in England and Wales. The former involves a low-
333
visibility practice, limited potential for regulation, strong cultural

commitment, lack of fit between rules and working norms, and
countervailing pressures on patrol officers (to produce arrests). The
latter involves potential scrutiny and supervision (not least through
a paper trail); allocation of specific responsibility to custody officers;
perception that disciplinary action was a real threat; and cultural
factors (the tension between uniformed and detective officers).
The impact of a policy of authorizing and regulating depends on
contextual factors. W hilst in NSW protection of suspects' rights has
been insubstantial and largely rhetorical, in England and Wales some
substance was given by the provision of public funding for legal
advice in police stations and the organization of lawyers to provide
such advice.
Much rule-based regulation of interrogation is, by necessity,
indirect because of the nature of the activity. Specific rules are useful
at the extremes: a prohibition of torture may require interpretation
and application, but there would be widespread agreement about
its central meaning. What constitutes 'inhuman and degrading
treatment' or (as noted above) 'oppression' or 'unfairness' is more
contestable. One way of recognizing such problems is to focus on
the regulation of the interrogation's context. So, for example, PACE
includes a complex scheme of rules for the questioning of suspects:
it should be conducted in a police station so that rules activating
other mechanisms (supervision, openness and recording) can operate;
the length of detention and interrogation sessions is limited; the
welfare of the suspect is covered by rules on access to food, drink
and sleep; and access to legal advice and, in the case of vulnerable
suspects, appropriate adults such as parents and social workers
is available. Interrogation practice can be manipulated by using
regulation to change significant features in its context. In addition,
the symbolic impact of rules should not be underestimated: if (and
this is not necessarily the case) the regulatory change receives strong
endorsement from leaders (inside and outside police departments)
whom officers respect, then it is more likely to be effective.
There are other rules of which account must be taken. Increasingly,
criminal justice has to acknowledge human rights obligations. These
are usually written in such general terms allowing exceptions and
derogations that their impact on police practice will only come after
the courts have developed a jurisprudence of interpretation and
application.
334
T ra in in g as re g u la tio n
Learning how to interview suspects was long regarded as a matter

of absorbing a craft skill, one to be learnt by watching and learning
from senior colleagues. An Australian police inspector advised young
officers in the following terms:
Most outstanding interrogators will be able to help you with

certain advice, but rarely are they able to define themselves
just what makes them so successful in this field. It is an ability
developed over the years, coupled with experience of all types
of criminals, which enables them to sum up the suspect and
ask the right questions at the appropriate time (Crowley 1972:
419-20).
This was not a skill that all could acquire equally well: Innes found
that 'at the heart of police notions of "the good detective" was the
sense that certain individuals had a particular flair for the work. The
most valuable skills were held to be those developed through natural
instinct and experience' (2003: 9).
This approach to interviewing has come under increasing criticism.
In England, concerns about investigative weaknesses and miscarriages
of justice led to scrutiny of the quality of police interviewing. The
Royal Commission on Criminal Procedure recommended reform of
interview training (Philips 1981: 10.14), but this was 'the neglected
recommendation and little was done for nearly ten years to
implement it' (Williamson 1993: 92). In this vacuum, police officers
who were interested in improving their interviewing skills almost
inevitably looked to the USA. American interview training manuals
- notably Inbau and Reid's - were a significant influence in some
areas, encouraging officers to use persuasive interrogation techniques
(Williamson 1993: 92; Milne and Bull 1999: 156). American material
was used in training materials, police magazines, and strongly
influenced the first British police interview manual, W alkley's Police
Interrogation (1987). When such approaches to interrogation began to
be officially frowned upon, nothing was provided to replace them,
and so they continued to form a significant part of an informal
curriculum of material distributed amongst police officers.
Research on interrogation practice discovered significant
problems:
335
Questioning practice could be characterized as bland information

gathering... The level of questioning skill was quite low, with
officers capitulating at the slightest obstacle... Many interviews
appeared chaotic and unstructured. In a significant number the
allegation was never put to the suspect. In others the questioning
appeared to lack basic preparation and planning. Many of the
officers seemed more nervous than the suspect (Williamson
1993: 97-8).
Similar assessments were made by Baldwin (1993) and Moston

and Engelberg (1993). Such research had a major impact, directly
influencing a new National Investigative Training Course which was
launched in 1993 (Home Office 1993) and has subsequently been
revised and expanded. The outcome was a large-scale programme in
which police officers in England and Wales received basic training
in investigative interviewing, supplemented by four additional
tiers of training for investigators in more serious cases, specialists
and supervisors (Burbeck 2003: 50). The accredited approach is
'investigative interviewing', which was constructed around the
seemingly inevitable police use of a mnemonic acronym, PEACE.16
The new approach to police interrogation training was positively
appraised by the Home Office (McGurk et al. 1993), but a much more
critical assessment was provided by Clarke and Milne (2001). Officers
were found to be not using the specific techniques of PEACE: indeed,
there was little difference between the performance of officers who
were trained and those who were not. W hilst the results may be
disappointing, it would be a mistake to adopt Sanders and Young's
conclusion that 'miscarriages of ju stice ... would be more effectively
reduced by preventing confession evidence forming the sole basis of
convictions, and by providing the defence with the same resources as
are provided to the prosecution, than by trying to change interrogation
practices' (2003: 242). Given the poor record of corroboration
requirements and the impossibility of 'equality of arms' in criminal
justice, this seems unfortunately, if characteristically, negative.
The picture is not as bleak as Sanders and Young suggest. Whilst
Clarke and Milne found 'few statistically significant differences
between trained and untrained officers', they rightly note that 'the
possibility of finding an untrained sample that is naive and has not
been influenced in some way by PEACE interviewing is remote' (2001:
100). As they suggest, it would be more appropriate to compare the
interviews in their sample as a whole with those conducted before
1991. From this perspective, 'there was clear evidence... that since
336
the introduction of PEACE an improvement in the ethos and ethical

approach to interviewing has taken place' (2001: 100) and 'PEACE
training has developed the skills used by police officers to interview
suspects of crime' (2001: 113). Whilst 'ten per cent of the sample was
rated as possibly breaching PACE' (2001: 100), the picture presented
is very different from the pervasive misconduct and incompetence
found earlier by Williamson, Moston and Baldwin. PEACE is
more important for its impact in undermining previously accepted
strategies than for the specific techniques of information gathering and
checking which it incorporates. At its heart is a simple, but crucial,
shift of emphasis: rather than setting out to gain a confession which
confirms a case theory to which the officer is firmly committed, the
interrogating officer is encouraged to get the suspect's account and
then to check its authenticity by questioning and testing it against
other evidence.
Responding to perceived problems by seeking to train (or re
train) staff in newly approved techniques (often linked to new rules,
guidelines, or codes of practice) is a very familiar regulatory strategy.
It is, for example, the approach routinely adopted by university
managers who want to change research supervision practices. All
too often, insufficient attention is paid to the continuing causes of
the problem which the training is intended to rectify. If research
supervision is not structured into academic workloads and research
students are not culturally integrated into academic schools, training
in approved supervision practices is unlikely to have much effect.
Similarly, there is no point insisting in PEACE that preparation is
vital for good interviewing if officers' workloads are not managed so
that time for preparation is available.
The direct effect of training may well be limited. However, training
should be seen as a tangible expression of a more significant changing
of expectations and values in policing. W hilst police departments are
notoriously resistant to change, it would have been surprising if there
was no impact from, for example, a royal commission which exposed
an endemic process corruption (Wood 1997) or cases so damaging
from a crime control perspective as Heron17 or Paris.™ It is better to
see PEACE as an expression of and a contributor to a broader change.
Whilst officers may not structure their interrogations according to the
cognitive methodology of PEACE, more important is the fact that
many officers replace inefficient a n d /o r coercive techniques with an
approach which incorporates basic elements of effective interviewing
in any context, such as asking clear questions, listening to what the
interviewee has to say, responding appropriately and treating the
337
interviewee decently. Crucially, new role models for the young officer
become available: the tradition of arresting on hunches, interrogating,
and giving weak cases a run has been challenged by according status
to officers who investigate and collect evidence carefully, find ways
of working within the rules, interrogate skilfully and get convictions
which are not overturned on appeal (Dixon 1997: 163-4).19
From the regulatory perspective adopted here, PEACE is a form of
self-regulation induced by sustained external criticism. W hilst it was
encouraged by the Flome Office, PEACE was developed by the police,
working out a way of interrogating that would both withstand judicial
scrutiny and would produce results. Rather than imposing rules
backed by threat of sanction - the classic com m and/control mode -
PEACE provides a way of doing the job. The challenge was to provide
an alternative to established working practices which were connected
to cultural norms and values and beliefs - the imperative of obtaining
confessions, the working style of the detective, the expectation that
suspects will crack under coercive, persuasive questioning. The toe
hold that PEACE could exploit was the evidence that traditional
practices were inefficient, leading to the conviction of the innocent
and the evasion of justice by the really guilty. This provided an
opportunity for a new approach to interrogation, a partial application
of PEACE, to become the standard way of working, to make the
crucial transition from externally imposed standard to working norm
and self-regulation (Parker and Braithwaite 2003: 137). The need to
address existing norms was illustrated well at the Quebec conference
by Shaw 's and Griffith's insistence that investigative interviewing is
not a soft option and that it can incorporate searching and intensive
questioning of suspects.20
M anagerial and s u p e rv is o ry re g u la tio n
A corollary of the traditional individualistic approach to criminal

investigation which has been discussed above was the lack of
positive managerial control or supervision. This was part of a general
tendency of police organizations to operate as 'punishment-centred
bureaucracies': managers intervened, officers were disciplined and
rules were made or revised when things went wrong (Dixon 1997).
In our research on the implementation of PACE (Bottomley et al.
1991), we found that supervision was seen as an essentially negative
process.
In considering the potential role of managerial and supervisory
338
regulation of interrogation, it is particularly important to be clear

about the problem (if any) such regulation is intended to counter and
the purpose such regulation is intended to achieve. If policy-makers,
managers and supervisors are satisfied with their interrogators'
performance in what is perceived to be their role of getting confessions
and convictions, regulation may w'ell be loose. If however there is
concern about over-reliance on interrogation as an investigatory tactic
and disquiet about the means of production and reliability of such
confessions, regulation will be tighter. A number of possibilities are
available. Management may seek to undermine the cultural status of
interrogation (and interrogators) by emphasizing other investigative
methods. For example, the National Crime Faculty's text on
investigative interviewing challenges the traditional concentration on
suspects by emphasizing the importance of interviewing victims and
witnesses. Accounts given in such interviews provide a 'major source
of evidence' and should be fully investigated 'before interviewing
any suspect'. Interviews with suspects are given a secondary role:
'An admission from a suspect may go some way to supporting a
subsequent prosecution and conviction but should not be solely
relied upon to guarantee it' (1998a: 17).
Secondly, managers can affect the w a y crime is investigated by
their deployment of resources. Managers can provide the conditions
for change in practice: most obviously, time for the preparation and
planning which is intrinsic to PEACE (Clarke and Milne 2001: 99)
and w'hich is so often not found by officers. They can routinize good
practice by encouraging and requiring the use of standard form
interview plan documents. If these are well-designed and include
the caution and the wording of notices about recording, legal advice,
and the role of appropriate adults they will be attractively useful to
interviewers (see, for example, Northumbria Police 1998).
As Innes shows, the traditional structure for the investigation of
serious crime was to allocate a case to a senior investigating officer
and leave him (or, rarely, her) in charge. Successful as this may
often have been, a central flaw w'as its vulnerability to the senior
investigating officer's commitment to a 'case theory' (McConville
1989) which turned out to be mistaken: 'Several of the more
experienced officers interviewed were able to recall examples where
the officer leading an investigation had developed a theory or
"hunch" on a case and became fixated on this, ignoring contradictory
evidence or possibilities' (Innes 2003: 84). In this model, the SIO was
the only officer with an overview of the inquiry: 'The less senior
officers in an inquiry often had only a partial understanding of w'hat
339
they were investigating and, sometimes as a result of their limited

knowledge, significant items of evidence were missed' (Innes 2003:
84). There have been numerous documented cases in which officers
became convinced of their suspect's guilt and refused to consider
or suppressed exculpatory evidence. An Australian example is the
Blackburn investigation, which was almost a caricature of the police
improperly operating on a case theory. One officer's commitment
to his hunch that Blackburn (who was, ironically, himself a mid
ranking police officer) resembled descriptions of a serial rapist led to
'the falsification and distortion of virtually all the evidence brought
against him and complete suppression of the evidence pointing
to his innocence' (Lee 1990: 473). All this emerged only when the
senior investigator was injured in a road accident following the
celebration of Blackburn's arrest. The officer who took over exposed
the deficiencies in the investigation, and the ensuing scandal led to
the establishment of a royal commission.
Unable to rely on car crashes to disrupt case theories, police
managers in England have tried to spread responsibility from the
senior investigating officer to a group in which, it is hoped, case
theories will be more critically assessed. The autocratic model
of investigation has been challenged by a 'more systematic and
bureaucratic approach' in which knowledge of and responsibility for
an inquiry are spread through a team (Innes 2003: 85). If this approach
operates as intended, the decision to question a suspect is not that of
the SIO following his nose, but the outcome of a considered process.
Similarly, the product of an interview will be assessed by more than
one person. Indeed, the interrogation itself may be conducted not
by an officer previously involved in the case, but by a specialist in
interrogating suspects. Whilst other methods may help to limit the
impact of case theories during an interrogation, this organization can
impact at an earlier stage, preventing inevitable, possibly productive
hunches from degenerating into inaccurate, misleading case theories.
Several internal police projects showed that a precondition for
successful implementation of the investigative interviewing model is
managerial support and active supervision, but that such supervision
was often lacking even in forces with supervision policies (Clarke
and Milne 2001: 11-14). Having a supervision policy was found to
be significantly associated with better interviewing (2001: 117-18).
As Clarke and Milne suggest, if having a policy appears to have a
desirable effect, then its vigorous implementation should be more
beneficial: 'regular and good quality supervision of interviews would
lead to a dramatic improvement of skill transference' (2001: 118).
340
Clarke and M ilne's research and the work of key exponents of good
interviewing practice at force and national level (such as Gary Shaw,
initially in Northumbria Police, now at Centrex) have challenged the
individualistic model of criminal investigation by demonstrating the
value of active management and supervision of interrogation. This
approach is now expressed in a series of ACPO policies and national
training strategies which pass on the message that active supervision
can improve performance in suspect interviewing (Burbeck 2003:
52). Supervision is to be encouraged by the appointment of 'force
champions' for investigative interviewing, and 'interview advisers',
whose role is to give advice and assistance on a wide range of
matters to investigating officers in complex, volume and serious
crime and to improve the quality of interviewing (Centrex 2003:
4-5, 36-7). Crucially, these policies seek to spread best practice
which has been developed at operational level. This is an important
example of regulation working from the bottom up rather than the
top down. Notably, the role of 'interview adviser' was developed by
Northumbria Police and then adopted by several other forces before
being endorsed by ACPO. Quality is to be tested both by remote
monitoring of interrogations as they are being conducted (Home
Office 1995) and by emphasizing the importance of the retrospective
'evaluation' required by the PEACE model. The latter should involve
sampling of interview records.
At a basic level, the need for such supervision was demonstrated in
my research on audio-visual recording in New South Wales, Australia
(Dixon 2004b, forthcoming). A random sample of tapes showed that,
at some stations, the same technological problem recurred over
extended periods. In the worst case, six tapes recorded over a 12-
month period in one station suffered from what was apparently
the same malfunction, producing a badly blurred visual image. If
supervisors were not taking responsibility for simple processes of
tape quality control, then a fortiori they were not taking advantage
of the opportunity offered by audio-visual recording to monitor and
improve the interrogation practices of their officers.
As discussed above, police practice may bear little relation to
what policy or training requires: but there is now, at very least,
an authoritative endorsement of an approach to managerial and
supervisory regulation of interrogation which is very different
from what went before. The need for active supervision is bluntly
expressed:
341
Information from suspects is vital to any investigation. For

this reason, it is not acceptable for investigating or supervisor
officers to simply select interviewers and then stand back from
the planning and subsequent management of the interview.
Investigating or supervisory officers should be influential in
developing an interview strategy and must play an active role
in its implementation (Burbeck: 2003).
Internal police management and supervision increasingly takes place

within a regulatory framework in which the traditional devices of
political and legal accountability are replaced by more intrusive
managerialist regulation characterized by 'distinct systems of audit,
grievance-handling, standard-setting, inspection and evaluation'
(Hood et al. 1999: 4). For example in England and Wales since
the 1990s, a plethora of reports from the Audit Commission, Her
Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary, the Home Office and the
Association of Chief Police Officers has imposed new demands for
performance indicators, monitoring, audit, value, efficiency and
effectiveness (Dixon 2004a: 123-5). Such regulation - in theory at
least - is concerned more with improving performance than using
coercive means to enforce compliance (Hood et al. 1999: 6). However,
positive regulation is still finding its place in policing systems with
deeply engrained disciplinary cultures.
O p e n n e ss and a u d io -visu a l re c o rd in g
Since K.C. Davis's Discretionary Justice (1971), the need for openness
has been a key theme in public law and regulation: opening official
practices to scrutiny, complaint and praise are a vital part of regulation
and accountability:
In the nature of things it is not possible for the cellblock, charge

office and interview rooms of a police station to be open to
members of the public to come or go as they please. But the
procedures should provide satisfactory means of supervision
and review, in order that the suspicions of what goes on behind
those closed doors can be diminished (Philips 1981: 20).
This was how the (English) Royal Commission on Criminal Procedure

expressed the need for openness as one of its three 'standards
to be applied to investigative arrangements'. The opening of the
342
investigative process is a notable feature of the last two decades. The

secretive world (which I experienced in my early fieldwork in Sydney)
into which suspects used to disappear without supervision by senior
officers, intimation to a solicitor or family, or contemporaneous
recording of interviews have been challenged (at least for those
not suspected of terrorist offences) by electronic recording of cell-
blocks, 'custody suites' and interrogations rooms (discussed below),
and the presence (or potential presence) in stations of appropriate
adults, legal advisers, researchers and others. Of course, the station
and the interview room are still 'police territory', but the practical
and cultural impact of greater openness should not be under
estimated.
Of particular significance in the current context is electronic
recording of interrogations. Such recording is frequently presented
as a solution to the ills of custodial interrogation. Interest in such
recording is not new: there have been calls for its use from the
time that recording equipment was widely available. However, the
contemporary advocacy of audio-visual recording is more widespread,
united and urgent than before.
Notably, calling for the use of electronic recording has become a
standard component of proposed programmes to avoid miscarriages
of justice in the USA (e.g. Leo 2001; Drizin and Reich 2004). A
prominent example was provided in 2003 by the State of Illinois. In
response to concern about 13 people who had been convicted and
sentenced to death, only to be exonerated by proof (usually DNA
evidence) of their innocence, Illinois legislated to require police to
record electronically interviews with murder suspects. The reform
was designed 'to restore the integrity of the criminal justice system '.21
All too often, electronic recording is put forward as a panacea. There
is little consideration of how or why it will deal with the problem: it
is taken for granted that it will.
Criminal justice practitioners and researchers tend to be parochial.
In Anglo-American discussions of audio-visual recording, there is
little recognition that several Australian jurisdictions have been using
audio-visual recording for more than a decade, not just in field trials,
research experiments or selected cases, but routinely for questioning
about all indictable offences. This is in contrast to England and
Wales, where the caution led to a reliance on audiotaping (although
the sporadic interest in video is now being revived; Newburn et
al. 2004). In the USA, audio-visual recording is widespread, but is
generally used only for read-backs in the most serious cases (Geller
1992). The Australian experience provides important guidance for
343
other jurisdictions considering the routine, compulsory audio-visual

recording of police questioning of suspects.
The key findings of my empirical research (2004b forthcoming)
are that the concerns usually expressed about electronic recording
have not been substantiated. The interrogator's job has not become
impossible: suspects continue to make confessions and admissions.
As seems typical, police opinion has shifted from antagonism and
scepticism to acceptance and enthusiasm. The removal of the taint of
verballing has benefited the criminal justice process, both ideologically
by increasing public confidence and instrumentally by reducing the
court time spent on challenges to confessional evidence. However,
there are problems. W hilst audio-visual recording makes simple
verballing impossible, inadequate legal regulation of the process
means that recorded interviews are often preceded by unrecorded
questioning which may undermine the reliability of any subsequent
recorded confession. Secondly, there is a worrying tendency amongst
some criminal justice professionals to believe that they can use the
recorded image to read the suspect's body language.
Most importantly for present purposes, electronic recording has
two principal effects. First, it opens up the previously closed world
of the interrogation room - even if, as noted above, this opening
is not complete. Secondly, recordings provide officers with an
opportunity to see themselves at work. This is usually an excellent
way of challenging complacency about interview skills and inducing
self-regulation. Once the hurdle of introduction has been jumped,
electronic recording has distinct advantages as a regulatory device.
Unlike supervisors or, worse, external regulators, the technology can
be seen as neutral and unthreatening. Its use becomes the way that
the job has to be done.
C o n clu s io n
Looking at the cables of a suspension bridge, my son once asked me

'W hy are they holding that bridge down?' I explained that, in fact, they
were holding it up. A similar reversal of a commonsense perspective
is necessary to understand regulation. Good regulation does not just
negatively sanction and discipline: equally importantly, it positively
encourages, shapes and directs. The most significant impact of such
influences may be indirect: shifting expectations and values may
be the long-term contribution of a specific regulatory measure. As
suggested throughout this chapter, such influences have to compete
344
with many others: efforts to improve interrogation practices can be

undermined by other demands for change in criminal justice.
Regulation should seek positively to foster good policing, not
merely to sanction bad practice. A welcome emphasis in the work of
writers concerned with regulation is this stress on the positive, for
example Braithwaite's identification of what a 'good police service'
would look like (1992) or Lacey's emphasis on the need for 'reflection
and public debate on the normative political issues of what the role
of the police should be in a democratic society' (1992: 385). The main
objective of the regulation of interrogation is to redefine what is good
interrogating.
Police organizations must become as adept at identifying good
practice and rewarding officers for carrying it out as they are at
creating disciplinary rules and punishing officers for breaking them: 'a
programme of "positive discipline" stressing and rewarding integrity
is crucial' (Punch 1985: 196). This must involve both individual
rewards22 and organizational recognition (e.g. by the communication
of information about successes). Police organizations notoriously
rely on negative discipline. It is conventional to include them in
Gouldner's category of 'punishment-centred bureaucracies' (1954).
The difficulty of change should not be underestimated: Krantz et al.
found that 'many of the problems associated with the use of negative
sanctions also hampers the application of positive incentives' (1979:
61). The fate of reform efforts in the NSW Police shows how external
political pressures can stifle fundamental change (Dixon 1999).
This is not to underplay the role of sanction.23 In a setting where
there is pressure for results and the continuing influence of a
crime control culture, 'soft regulation' is unlikely to be enough. An
appropriate warning can be drawn from Hodgson's analysis of French
criminal justice where the non-adversarial approach is expressed in
relations of mutual trust and confidence between the police and their
supposed judicial regulators which, in practice, promote ineffective
supervision and highly undesirable police practices (Hodgson 2004).
Sanction may be hard to apply to individuals when, as in the
case of interrogating, norms are uncertain and developing. Whilst
punishment for individuals is certainly appropriate in clear cases,
it is more important to focus sanctions on the organization. Lessons
from corporate regulation are very relevant here. Fining a publicly
funded police department for malpractice in interrogation would not
be useful. Much more so would be a public shaming of a department
through public, media and political criticism. Removing the chief
officer and establishing an external inquiry are typical features of
345
such sham ing. However, recent experience in England and Australia

show s that governm ents will only tolerate this process for a limited
time before crim inal justice politics reverts to the rhetoric of crime-
fighting and law and order politics (Dixon 1999, 2004a). Just as a
corporation may respond to regulation in ways other than the simple
com pliance assum ed by a rational deterrence model (Baldw in 2004),
so it is wrong to assum e that concerted action to root out m isconduct
and introduce reform is the only 'rational' response to problem s in
interrogating suspects.
The conclusion is that regulating police interrogation is no easier
- or harder - than regulating m any other areas of policing. There
are som e conditions of successful regulation, only some of which are
subject to police control. Research and experience in other regulatory
settings indicate that a positive strategy which m akes clear what
officers should do in order to work efficiently may work. However,
its success depends on other factors: if the police are under irresistible
pressure to produce results, or if the type of person they question is
so stigm atized, or if the process is concerned with risk and security
so that justice concepts becom e irrelevant, then regulation is m uch
less likely to be effective.
N o te s
1. F o r an e x c e p tio n (a lth o u g h n o t co n sid e rin g p o licin g an d u sin g a n a rro w e r

d efin ition of re g u la tio n th an th a t a d o p te d h ere), see H o o d et al. (1 9 9 9 ).
2. R v. H ero n , u n re p o rte d , L e e d s C ro w n C o u rt, 1 N ov. 1 9 9 3 ; see D ixo n
(1 9 9 7 : 1 7 2 -6 ) , G u d jo n sso n (2 0 0 3 : 9 6 -1 0 6 ) .
3. 5 8 3 US 7 6 0 [1 0 03],
4. W illia m s v. R [1 9 8 6 ] 6 6 A L R 3 8 5 a t p .3 9 8 .
5. [2 0 0 4 ] H C A 12. See n o w N ic h o lls v T h e Q u een , C oa tes v T h e Q u een [2005]
H C A 1, in w h ich th e H ig h C o u rt sh ifted from n a rro w leg alism to a
p u rp o s iv e a p p ro a ch . C o n tin u in g con flicts b e tw e e n su ch m o d e s o f ju dicial
re a so n in g lim it th e v a lu e o f ca se law in re g u la tin g p o lice in terro g atio n .
6. See, e .g . F u llin g [1 9 8 7 ] 1 Q B 4 2 6 ; R v. P a ris et al. [1993] 9 7 C r. A p p . R.
99.
7. o p . cit., n. 2.
8. P o lice an d C rim in a l E v id e n c e A c t 1 984 s. 7 8 (1).
9. W illiam s op . cit., n . 4. See D ixo n (1 9 9 7 : 2 0 8 -9 ) .
10. In E n g la n d an d W ales, c a se s in v o lv in g a rro g a n t an d g ro ss m is co n d u c t,
s u ch as C a n a le ([1 9 9 0 ] 91 C r. A p p . R .l ) an d P a ris, w e re in fluential. In
NSW , a ro y a l c o m m issio n in to p o lice c o rru p tio n (W ood 1997) h ad
co n sid e ra b le sim ila r in fluence.
346
11. Jam es Boyd W hite, quoted Krygier (1990: 640). Self-evidently, this
depends on the breadth of those limits.
12. A problem for this argument is that the law, in the form of the Geneva
Convention against Torture, already deals with torture by im posing a
com plete ban. Dershowitz argues that the US adoption of the convention
w as subject to a reservation that the USA is bound 'only to the extent
that it is consistent with the Eighth A m endm ent' (2002: 136).
13. But for the record, I am with the latter. Note particularly Langbein's
historical dem onstration that 'efforts to accom modate the use of torture
within the Western legal tradition have a long history', which included
its abandonm ent because the resulting confessions were unreliable (2004:
93). It seem s that we are returning to the M iddle Ages in more ways
than one.
14. It is strange that Baldwin, who produces som e of the best work on
regulation, misread PACE so badly; see Dixon (1997: 169-70).
15. Note the limited im pact of Israel's attem pt to constrain torture by law
(Krem nitzer and Segev 2000).
16. PEACE = preparation and planning; engage and explain; account,
clarification and challenge; closure; evaluation.
17. op. cit., n. 2.
18. op. cit., n. 6; see also Sekar (1997).
19. O f course, some other less attractive role m odels are increasingly available
- for example, a police officer may feel that 'conversation m anagem ent'
is not enough when harsher m ethods are officially approved elsewhere
(e.g. Departm ent of Defence 2003). Hollywood also contributes - for
example, in the casting of Denzel Washington in Man on Fire, 'the first
authentic Am erican blockbuster in which the hero doesn't just go on a
killing rampage but on a torture spree as w ell' (Cox 2004). M eanwhile,
for the counter terrorism unit in the TV series 24, torture is as routine
and m orally unproblem atic as taking fingerprints.
20. Presentation given at International Conference on Police Interviewing,
Nicolet, Quebec, Canada, 9-11 February, 2004.
21. Governor Rod Blagojevich, quoted in '111. Law 1st to order taping
m urder confessions' (USA Today 18 July 2001: 3A). M aine has followed
Illinois, with more states to follow. Taping is required in Alaska and
Minnesota as a result of court rulings (Drizin and Leo 2004; Drizin and
Reich 2004).
22. See, e.g., the stress on the need for supervisors to identify what went
well and what could be improved (rather than negative criticism or
checking com pliance with PACE) in providing feedback on interviews
(National Crim e Faculty 1998b: 7 -8 ; cf. Audit Com m ission 1993:
27).
23. In criminal justice, there is, however, no indication of the drift towards
punitive regulation which Baldwin (2004) identifies in other fields.
347
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351
Conclu sion
Tom Williamson
A few months after the first International Conference on Police

Interviewing was held in Quebec, Canada in February 2004, pictures
of the ill-treatment of prisoners detained by the American military at
Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq were circulated around the world. More
recently photographs of the ill-treatment of prisoners by British
soldiers have also been widely circulated. In both cases courts martial
have been held and some of those directly involved have been
punished. Amongst the lessons to be learnt from these cases, two
seem to have a particular relevance for this book. First, it is difficult
to separate the treatment received by the detainees from the broader
challenge to human rights currently taking place that is supported at
the highest political levels in some democracies.
The notion quickly gained ground that the 'w ar on terror' represented
such a threat to nation-states that it is now appropriate to operate on
a means justifies the ends basis, where respect for human rights and
judicial safeguards that have been developed over many years can be
jettisoned. The rejection of a human rights framework for custodial
questioning has serious repercussions for liberal democracies, and we
see one consequence of this in the anti-terror legislation and extra
judicial arrangements states are currently putting in place.
Slowly but surely the courts in various countries and occasionally
government inquiries are looking into the abuses of fundamental
human rights that took place in the wake of the attacks in the
USA on 11 September 2001. The first 50 years after the Universal
Declaration on Human Rights in 1948 was spent on gaining
international acceptance of the principle of human rights and it was
353
hoped that the next 50 years could be spent on gaining acceptance

of the practice of human rights. It is too early to say what the
ultimate price will be for failing to protect human rights in the war
on terror. From a utilitarian perspective, will the price be worth it?
Is it an effective strategy? It is worth bearing in mind the words of
Kofi Anan, Secretary General of the United Nations at the Security
Council meeting on 18 January 2002: T h ere is no trade-off between
effective action against terrorism and the protection of human rights.
On the contrary, I believe that in the long term we shall find that
human rights, along with democracy and social justice, are one of the
best prophylactics against terrorism.'
The second major observation that can be made with regard to
custodial questioning is that not enough people are trained to enable
them to develop skills in questioning to do the job effectively. There is
now sufficient evidence from scientific studies of the key components
of effective methods for obtaining information through questioning.
There continues to be an over-reliance on confession evidence and
this has been a major contributor to miscarriages of justice in many
countries, which comes out time and again when these cases attract
the attention of a government inquiry. There are different training
programmes but many of them contain similar core competencies,
such as how to establish rapport. Studies in various countries have
shown that humane questioning is more effective than techniques
which are abusive. The psychological pressures on someone detained
for questioning were identified by the US Supreme Court in Miranda,
but there continues to be a great deal of ignorance about these
psychological processes, and especially when the individual being
questioned is vulnerable and may make a false confession. It is
important that training programmes provide a greater awareness of
the psychology of custody and interrogation as well as demonstrating
the skills to obtain information. Psychological research has made
an important contribution through developing methods that enable
reliable and accurate information to be obtained. It has demonstrated
that human memory is fragile and needs to be handled with care.
More enlightened ways of obtaining information through
questioning will not of themselves be sufficient. Custodial question
has often been an area devoid of supervision and regulation. Rules
formulated by judges have been found to be wholly inadequate. As
we enter the twenty-first century, the demand for more rigorous
regulation will increase. Regulation can be negative or a force
for good. For example, the introduction of audio and videotape
recording often demonstrates that there is an urgent need for
354
Conclusion
training. The issue is one of com petence as well as of safeguarding

against deviant behaviour. There are three basic requirem ents for a
regulatory regim e: the setting of standards; processes for m onitoring
com pliance with the standards; and m echanism s for enforcing the
standards (Parker 2004: 1). In order to produce a broadly defined
outcom e or outcom es, regulation may require not just m echanism s
of standard-setting and inform ation gathering but also program m es
that achieve behaviour m odification (Black 2002: 26). No practitioner
or academ ic fam iliar with this area of research would underestim ate
the size of the challenge if there is to be significant modification of
behaviour w hen it com es to custodial questioning. O ur collective
experience and the research discussed in the various chapters amply
dem onstrate that ethical and hum ane interview ing is also effective
interview ing. There is sufficient com m on ground in the academ ic and
practitioner com m unities to produce statem ents of w hat standards
should be set, of what approaches work that would reinforce ethical
values and respect for human rights and that increase investigative
effectiveness. Publication of such standards and gaining international
recognition for them represent the next big challenge for those
prom oting investigative interviewing.
At one point in the recent past there m ight have been optim ism
that investigators in a growing num ber of countries were learning
that ethical ways of eliciting inform ation were also m aking them
individually more effective. A quiet revolution appeared to be
underway. W ithout the im perative of increased effectiveness the
interest in investigative interview ing would have withered away. The
post-Septem ber 11 w orld has resulted in that ethic being challenged by
an ends justifies the m eans, utilitarian logic. This approach has never
been successful in law enforcem ent and is unlikely to prove successful
in the elicitation of inform ation by the m ilitary and intelligence
com m unities. In law enforcem ent it led to num erous m iscarriages of
justice, som e of which resulted in new form s of regulation that set
higher standards and required a significant investm ent to bring about
the behaviour m odification that was needed. M ight it be too naive to
dare to hope that some good may sim ilarly com e from the various
debacles that purported to be custodial questioning? It was not just
that w hat was done was wrong and reprehensible, worse it was
stupid and plainly ineffective. We hope that this book may go some
way to correcting the appalling ignorance that led to such excesses.
Third-degree m ethods of obtaining inform ation should have no place
in dem ocracies in the tw enty-first century. Sm art investigators are able
to dem onstrate this through their increased effectiveness, and justice
355
is better served which will contribute to a more stable foundation for

democracy in late modernity.
R eferences
Black, ]. (2 0 0 2 ) 'C ritical reflections on regu lation ', A u stralian Jo u rn a l o f L egal

P h ilosop h y , 27: 1 -3 5 .
Parker, C ., Scott, C ., Lacey, N . an d B raith ew aite, N . (2 004) 'In tro d u ctio n ', in
C . P ark er et al. (eds) R eg u latin g Law . O xford: O xford U n iversity Press.
356
Index
9/11 see September 11 terrorist Afghanistan, use of coercive

attacks techniques 51-2, 130, 332
Abu Ghraib prison age
combining the role of guard and effect on confession rates 112
interrogator 73-4 and matching interviewers and
interrogation methods 52, 53, 54 al-Qaeda-related subjects 32
links with interrogation in the al-Qaeda-related subjects 23-39
police environment 74-5 cultural contexts 25-6
understanding and Jihad and the history of Sunni
categorizing 75-80 extremism 27-31
use of untrained interrogators motivation and the importance of
15 relationship 26-7
accountability 19 raport-based interview approach
demand for 6 see rapport-based interview
active listening 93-5 approach
admissibility of evidence 325 alternative questions 127-8, 200,
admissions, distinguishing between 203-4
confessions and 130-1 America see US
advanced interview training 168, 'analytic interviewing' 230
171-2, 187 Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security
comparison with PEACE 172-4 Act (2001) 10, 14, 17-18
research into success 174-81 anti-terrorism legislation 17-18
using the Griffiths Question principles 9-10
Map (GQM) 183-5 appropriate adults 141-2, 155-6
adversarial criminal justice systems Arab culture 25
148-9, 151 Asch's conformity studies 279
see also common law criminal associative thinking 25, 36
justice systems audio-visual recording 341, 354-5
357
openness and 342-4 use of support groups 278-9

see also videotaping sensitivity of offenders to
aura effect 99 strength of evidence 118
authority, concept of 98-100 CIA facilities, secret network 52
authorize and regulate strategy Code o f Conduct fo r Law Enforcement
331-4 Officials 11
impact 334 coercive interrogation techniques
autocratic model of investigation 129, 130, 169
339-40 dangers of 125, 142
awareness in the IIE approach 232-3 cognitive clues to deception 213, 239
'cognitive interviews' 124
Baader-Mainhoff Gang 66 cognitive-behavioural model of
banality of torture 80 confession 136-7
baseline behaviour 233 cognitivist ethical frameworks 295
changes in 234 see also Kantian ethical
use as hotspot indicators framework
238-44 collateral informants 32-3
'behaviour provoking questions' combat electronic warfare
211, 213 intelligence (CEWI) 43
behavioural clues 210-11, 213, common law criminal justice
238-44 systems 148-9, 151, 330
in non-accusatory interviews 125 commonality, seeking out areas of
see also non-verbal cues 235-6
Birmingham Six 170 communication skills 88, 101-2
the 'boomerang effect' 142 communications revolution 5, 6
Britain see UK competency 99
competing identities 30-1
Canada conclude, knowing how to 100-1,
enforcing individual rights' 103
protection 305-14 confession corroboration 204-5, 238
miscarriages of justice 157-8 confession rates 143
police work 301-2 confession-oriented approaches 147
case law process 326 confessions 130-8, 208
case theories 339-40 admissibility 325
and miscarriages of justice 321 assessment of the credibility
Central Park jogger case 207-8, 205-6
222-3, 225 definition 130-1
CEWI (combat electronic warfare distinguishing between true and
intelligence) 43 false 218-21
child abuse effect of evidence 139-40, 153t,
confession rates 108, 109, 111 217-18
links between the offender and as a goal of suspect interviews
the victim 111-12 305-6
and recovered memories 259-61, importance of 150-1, 302-3
265, 266, 268, 269-70, 271 main reasons for 139-40, 143
358
Index
over-reliance on 147, 354 'cop culture' 158, 160

post hoc assessment 221-3 corroboration of confessions 204-5,
theoretical models 131-8 238
cognitive-behavioural model counter-transference 92-3
136-7 court proceedings, regulation 325
decision-making model 133-4 crime
interaction process model differentiating between the
135-6 narratives of war and 8-9
Ofshe-Leo model 137 see also offences; violent crimes
psychoanalytic models 134-5 Criminal Appeal Act (1995) 157
Reid model see Reid model of criminal background, effect on
confession confession rates 113
see also false confessions; written Criminal Cases Review Commission
confessions 157
confessions by sex offenders 107-19, Criminal Interrogation and Confessions
140 190, 202-3, 210-11
characteristics of the suspect criminal investigations
112-14 role of the police 150
age 112 see also police investigations
criminal background 113 criminal justice
ethnic group 112 acknowledgement of human
intelligence 113 rights obligations 334
marital status 113 militarization see militarization of
sense of guilt 113-14 criminal justice
effect of the attitudes of trends in 322-3
investigators 114, 119 Criminal Justice and Public Order
factors associated with 110-12 Act (1995) 171
crime characteristics 110-11 criminal justice systems 148-9
links between the offender in France 329, 345
and victim 111-12 Criminal Procedure and
modus operandi 111 Investigations Act (1996) 156
sex of the victim 111 crisis negotiations 100-1
frequency 108-9 cross-cultural dynamics 233
personality profiles of offenders cultural considerations 69, 233
who confess 115-17 and al-Qaeda-related subjects
dormant collaborators 116-17 25-6
reluctant collaborators 115-16 see also neuro-cultural theory of
submissive collaborators 115 emotions
promotion of confessions 117-18 custodial questioning 353-6
confrontation 216 and abuse by the police 150
confrontational interviewing style contribution of technology to
96-7 regulation 152-3
constructionist ethical frameworks
295 death penalty 159-60
see also utilitarianism deception
359
behavioural clues 125, 210-11, dominant interviewing styles 96, 97,

213, 238-44 139
and the rapport-based interview dormant collaborators 116-17
approach 38-9 dream interpretation 276-7
see also lies DRM method of examining false
deception detection 210-14, 219, memories 262-3
229-50 duping delight 248
and emotions see emotions that
betray deception Ekman and Friesen's Facial Action
and expression mechanisms see Coding System 245
expression mechanisms Ekman's definition of a lie 231
deception guilt 247 Ekman's neuro-cultural theory of
deception strategies 124-5 emotions 242
decision-making model of electronic recording 343-4
confession 133-4 see also audio-visual recording;
degradation 79-80 videotaping
delivery as an interrogation emotional clues to deception 239-44
technique 75-6 emotions that betray deception
democracies 245-8
challenges for organizations deception guilt 247
operating in 6 duping delight 248
choice between security states fear of being caught 246-7
and 3-4, 17-19 encouragements 94
and the militarization of justice engagement process in IIE 235-8
5 ethical approach to policing 292
denials ethical frameworks 294
distinguishing between true and and dialogue 297-8
false 218 ethique appliquee as 294-8
factors predictive of 141 see also cognitivist ethical
handling 126, 199 frameworks; constructionist
deprivation 77 ethical frameworks; rule-
see also sleep deprivation oriented ethical frameworks
detention, duration of 156 ethical legitimacy of interviewing
deviance, legitimization of 6-7, 9 methods 304
dialogue and ethical frameworks ethical pressures on interviewing
297-8 298-303
dignity see human dignity the confession's importance
disclosure 302-3
of crime details 218 political, economical and
of prosecution evidence 156 sociological factors 299-300
disconfirmative social influence suspect's status 300-2
280-1 ethique appliquee 292-3
discrepancies 235 as an ethical framework 294-8
use as hotspot indicators 238—44 ethnic group, effect on confession
display rules 241-2 rates 112
360
Index
European Convention on Human parental misinformation

Rights 10, 17 method see parental
European Convention for the misinform ation method
Prevention of Torture and role of social pressure in
Inhuman or Degrading Treatment developm ent 267-8, 270
or Punishment 14 family photographs, use for MRT
evidence 277-8
admissibility 325 fear of being caught 246-7
effect on confessions 139-40, 153t, Field Manual 34-52 46
217-18 first impressions 88-9
gathering 10, 124 five-tier interview strategy 155,
see also false evidence; forensic 167-8
evidence; prosecution evidence see also advanced interview
The Expression o f the Emotions in training
Man and Animals 241 'flashbulb m em ories' 274-5
expression m echanism s 240-4 follow-up in the IIE approach 238
how they betray deception 244-5 'force cham pions' 341
forensic evidence, use of 149, 161,
Facial Action Coding System, 215
Ekman and Friesen's 245 'forw ard-leaning' approach to
facial expressions, link between interrogation 322
emotion and 240, 241-4 'fourth degree' 217
faith-oriented ethical fram eworks France, criminal justice system 329,
295 345
false beliefs 262 'friendly-unfriendly' technique
false confessions 125, 143, 201-6, 208 126
distinguishing betw een true and fundamentalism 295
218-21
effect of the use of false evidence Gitmo see Guantanam o Bay
216-17 globalization 5, 19
inclusion of content cues good contact, initiation of 93
associated with truth-telling governance 19
220-1 see also regulation
induced by polygraphs 217 gratuitous violence 299
miscarriages of justice linked to Griffiths Question Map (GQM), use
168, 170, 208 of 175, 182-7
time as a risk factor 216 group therapy 278-81
and the use of the Reid Guantanam o Bay
Technique 129 com bining the role of guard and
false evidence, presentation of interrogator 7 3-4
216-17 image of detainees 65
false memories 260 interrogation methods 44-9,
examining m ethods 261-71 52-61, 130
DRM method 262-3 links with interrogation in the
m isinform ation m ethod 263-5 police environm ent 74-5
361
understanding and HUMINT (human intelligence) skills

categorizing 75-80 43, 59
treatment of detainees 12-14 hypnosis 271-3
use of untrained interrogators 15
guards, combining the role of identities, competing 30-1
interrogator and 54, 73-4 IIE 229-38, 249-50
guided imagery 273-5 basic processes 232-8
Guildford Four 170 IIE interviews, basic assumptions
guilt 230-2
effect of feelings of on confession imagination inflation 275-6
rates 113-14 impression formation 89
effect of feelings on confession Improving Interpersonal Evaluations
rates 135 for Law Enforcement and
presumption of 90-1 National Security (IIE) 230, 250
see also deception guilt Improving Interpersonal Evaluations
guilt-presumptive process, for Law Enforcement and
interrogation as 214-18 National Security technique see
IIE
halo effect 99 Inbau-Reid model see Reid
Heron case 152, 169, 170, 320-1, 327 Technique
hotspots 234, 248, 249 information gathering in the
use of changes and discrepancies rapport-based interview approach
as indicators 238-44 35-6
human dignity 311, 315 innocence, presumption of see
Kantian approach 296 presumption of innocence
human intelligence (HUMINT) skills inquisitorial criminal justice systems
43, 59 148-9, 329
human rights xi Institute for Analytic Interviewing
acknowledgement by criminal 230, 250
justice of 334 intelligence derived from electronic
arguments against the abuse of interception (SIGINT) 43
4 intelligence gathering 10, 17, 23
effect of the militarization of intelligence of sex offenders 113
justice 3, 9-10 intelligence-led risk models 19
key characteristics 11 interaction process model of
link between policing and 11 confession 135-6
military interrogation techniques interactional model of the
and the erosion of 10-16 interrogative process 138-42
violation of in Guantanamo Bay international law, effect of
12-13 September 11 terrorist attacks 8-9
in the war on terror 3-20, 353-4 interpreters see translators
Human Rights Act (1998) 17, 18 interrogation
human rights law, undermining of benefits of conducting an
6-7, 8 interview before 194-5
humane interviewing styles 97, 139 characteristics 192-4, 315
362
Index
distinctions between interviews interviewing 123

and 191-5, 306-7 ethical pressures see ethical
effect of September 11 terrorist pressures on interviewing
attacks on the purpose of 130, legitimacy of methods 304, 315
322 see also 'analytic interviewing';
electronic recording see electronic police interviewing; suspect
recording interviewing; witness
'forward-leaning' approach 322 interviewing
as a guilt-presumptive process interviewing styles 95-100, 139
214-18 interviews
impact 215-16 characteristics 191-2, 315
police training manuals 124-9, cross-cultural dynamics 233
335 distinctions between
primacy in detecting offences interrogations and 191-5,
150-2 306-7
problems 142, 335-6 factors influencing the outcome
psychology of 123-30 107
risks 323-4 obtaining confessions as a goal
see also military interrogations; of 305-6
police interrogations time limits and frequency 33
interrogation of terrorist suspects videotaping 155, 224-5
64-81, 129-30 see also 'cognitive interviews';
adoption of the perspective of IIE interviews; non-accusatory
the 'other' 67-9, 80, 81 interviews; pre-interrogation
American methods 42-62 interviews
cultural considerations 69 intuition 301
impact of the physical investigative interviews 123
environment 72-3 involuntary facial movements 242-3
links with interrogation in the Iraq
police environment 74-5, 76, treatment of detainees in 324, 332
77 see also Abu Ghraib prison
understanding and categorizing isolation 215-16
techniques 75-80
interrogative process, model 138-42 Japan, police investigative
interrogator bias 70 incompetence 149
interrogators jihad 27-8
attitudes 136 judges, influence of 3, 16-17, 325
to sex offenders 114, 119 Judges' Rules 169
combining the role of guard and judging, act of 293
54, 73-4 judicial control as regulation 324-9
desirable attributes 32 judicial ignorance 327
use of untrained 15 judicial politics 327-8
'interview advisers' 341 junk forensic science 161
interview/interrogation room, justice
setting up 196-7 gap between what is legal and 8
363
militarization of see militarization mental handicap

of criminal justice detainees with 155-6, 201
Justice Sector Skills Council 161 see also learning disabilities
juvenile detainees 141, 155, 201 microexpressions 242, 245
Milgram's studies of obedience 98,
Kantian ethical framework 296 279
'kindred spirits', phenomenon of 93 militarization of criminal justice 4-5,
13, 17
learning disabilities effect on human rights 3, 9-10
detainees with 141 military interrogations 130, 321-2
see also mental handicap and the erosion of human rights
legal regulation 329-34 10-16
see also anti-terrorist legislation; military tribunals, creation of 10
human rights law; minimization 74, 75, 128-9, 132, 216,
international law 217
legal representation for suspects 155 Miranda v. Arizona 151-2, 159, 328
legislation for terrorism see anti mirroring 236
terrorism legislation miscarriages of justice 323
'licence to practise' arrangements as an impetus to change 149
148, 162 attributable to false confessions
lies 168, 170, 208
Ekman's definition 231 case theories and 321
as a form of police trickery contributory factors 160
216-17, 311, 313 legislative responses 148
linear thinking 25 minimization of 147-63
listening 93, 94, 102 recommendations of public
see also active listening inquiries 160-1
lying, as an effortful cognitive in the UK 149, 170
activity 213 responses to 161, 170-1
in the US and Canada 157-60
'macho' interviewing style 97 misconduct by the police 150
managerial regulation of police misinformation method of
interrogations 338-42 examining false memories 263-5
manipulation 77-9, 125, 132-3 modernization 5
marital status, effect on confession moral judgement 293-4
rates 113 and ethique appliquee 294-5
maximization 74, 75, 76-7, 128, 129, improvement of 292
133 mosques 27
memory 320 motivation of al-Qaeda-related
see also recovered memories subjects 26-7
memory conformity 280-1 MRT 271-81
memory recovery therapy see MRT dream interpretation 276-7
memory reports, effect of social guided imagery 273-5
influence on 279-81 hypnosis 271-3
'memory wars' 259-61 imagination inflation 275-6
364
Index
support groups 278-81 'other', adopting the perspective of

use of family photographs 277-8 67-9, 80, 81
murderers
and the attitudes of investigators PACE 15, 143, 152, 216, 328-9, 332
114 rights for detainees 155-6
confession rates 110-11 rules for the questioning of
suspects 334
National Centre for Police and videotaping of interrogations
Excellence 161 169, 224
National Intelligence Model 322 paraphrases 94
National Investigative Training parental misinformation method
Course 336 262, 265-8
neuro-cultural theory of emotions, limitations of studies 268-71
Ekman's 242 'past-life regression' 272
non-accusatory interviews 125 Patten Commission 11
see also pre-interrogation paying attention 93-5, 102
interviews PEACE 124, 154, 167, 171, 187, 309
non-verbal cues 36, 211 assessment 336-8
see also behavioural clues comparison with advanced
Northern Ireland training 172-4
responses to political violence penality, growth of 6
9-10 perception errors 89-90
use of military interrogation performance, improving 342
techniques 10-11 personality profiles of sex offenders
influence on confession rates
objections, overcoming 126-7, 199 117-18
objectivity 88-91, 102 offenders who confess 115-17
offences persuasion 124, 132, 193
developing the details 128, 200 persuasive interviewing style 96
primacy of interrogation in in England and Wales 170
detecting 150-2 physical environment, impact of
see also child abuse; crime 72-3
Ofshe-Leo model of confession 137 PIAF ('Police Interviewing Analysis
open questions 94-5 Framework') 140
open-mindedness 88-91, 102 pocket litter 32
openness police
and audio-visual recording as 'punishment-centred
342-4 bureaucracies' 345
see also transparency role in criminal investigations
operating mind and the legitimacy 150
of police interrogations 311 police abuse 150, 323, 332
oppression Police and Criminal Evidence Act
definition 326-7 (1984) see PACE
and the legitimacy of police Police Interrogation 335
interrogations 310 police interrogations
365
criteria to evaluate the legitim acy P rinciples fo r In vestigative In terview ing

3 0 7 -1 4 1 5 3 -4
operating m ind 311 professional attitude, keeping
oppression 310 9 5 -1 0 0 , 103
police trickery 3 1 1 -1 4 professionalization of practice
threats or prom ises 310 for law yers 155
critical appraisal 2 0 7 -2 5 for the police 155, 1 6 1 -2
regulation see regulation, of see also training
police interrogations 'projection' 75
police interview ing, evaluating the prom ises
legitim acy of m ethods 3 0 6 -7 and the legitim acy of police
'Police Interview ing Analysis in terrogations 310
Fram ew ork ' (PIA F) 140 use in false confession cases 202
police investigations 'prosecu tion' culture 160
potential problem s 2 0 8 -9 prosecution evidence, disclosure 156
see also crim inal investigations pseu do-hyp notic procedu res 273
P olice an d People in London 150 see also guided im agery
police pow ers 330 psych oanalytic m odels of confession
Police Standards and Skills 1 3 4 -5
O rganization 161 psychological cruelty 313
police training m anuals 1 2 4 -9 , 335 public inquiries, recom m endations
police trickery on m iscarriages of justice 160-1
and the legitim acy of publicity given to violent crim es
in terrogations 3 1 1 -1 4 299
lies as a form of 2 1 6 -1 7 , 311, 'punishm ent-centred bu reau cracies',
313 police as 345
policing
changes in 1 8 -1 9 , 323, 345 questioning
ethical app roach 292 object of xii
link betw een rights and 11 phrasing 2 3 7 -8
polygrap hs, use of 217 see also alternative questions;
positive confrontation 1 2 5 -6 , 198 'behaviour provoking
'positive discipline' 345 questions'; custodial
post hoc assessm ent of confessions questioning; Griffiths Q uestion
2 2 1 -3 M ap (G QM ); open questions
'pragm atic im plication' 204
pre-interrogation interview s R. v. H eron 152, 169, 170, 3 2 0 -1 , 327
benefits 1 9 4 -5 rapport
bias and error 2 0 9 -1 4 abilities needed to develop 93
see also n on -accu satory interview s areas for further research 1 0 1 -2
presum ption of innocence 91 basic rules 8 7 -1 0 1 , 1 0 2 -3
guaranteeing 3 0 6 -7 keeping a professional attitude
limits 3 1 3 -1 4 , 315 9 5 -1 0 0 , 103
principled app roach to investigative know ing how to conclude
interview ing 1 5 3 -6 1 0 0 -1 , 103
366
Index
open-mindedness and ethical issues 129

objectivity 88-91, 102 nine steps 125-8, 197-200
paying attention 93-5, 102 relationship/rapport-based approach
see also 'other', adopting the see rapport-based interview
perspective of approach
rapport building 33-4, 91-3, 102 relationships, importance to al-
IIE techniques 235-7 Qaeda-related subjects 25, 26-7,
rapport-based interview approach 31
24 'reliable' behavioural signs of
foundations 31-9 emotion 243
development of rapport 33-4 reluctant collaborators 115-16
development of themes 36-8 'rendering', subcontracting torture
gathering information 35-6 by 331
management of resistance 38 resistance and the rapport-based
operating with translators 33 interview approach 38
preparation 32-3 respect for subjects 30
recognition and management retractors 269-70, 279
of deception 38-9 rights
and knowledge of the subject balancing suspects' and victims'
29-30 292-315
'rationalization' 75 international differences in
reasonable doubt 301-2 enforcing protection for
recovered memories 259-82 305-14
recovered memory therapy 260-1 see also human rights
reform in policing 18-19, 323, 345 risk management 19
regulation 19, 354-5 risk society 5 -6 , 19
of police interrogations xv, 'risk-oriented' approach to criminal
318-46 justice 322
by rules 329-34 Rosenthal effect 89-90
identification of goals and Royal Commission on Criminal
319-24 Procedure (1981) 150, 152, 169,
judicial control as 324-9 335, 342-3
managerial and supervisory rule-oriented ethical frameworks
338-42 292, 294
openness and audio-visual rules, regulation of police
recording 342-4 interrogations by 329-34, 354
training as 335-8
positive potential 319 Salafiun 29
Regulation of Investigatory Powers sanction, role in regulation 345-6
Act (2000) 18 search for the truth 156, 320-2
Reid model of confession 132-3 and the IIE interview 230
and creating illusions of local criminal justice context and
credibility 220-1 148-9
Reid Technique 74-5, 125-9, as the purpose of interrogations
190-206, 321, 335 193
367
security states, choice between see also maximization;

democracy and 3-4, 17-18 minimization
self-confidence 99-100 Sunni extremism 28-9
self-incriminating admissions 131 supervisory regulation of police
sensationalism 299 interrogations 338-42
September 11 terrorist attacks 42-3, support groups, use for MRT 278-81
355 suspect interviewing
effect on international law 8-9 and obtaining confessions 305-6
effect on the purpose of in the UK 167-88
interrogation 130, 322 recent history 169-71
response of the UK government values to balance 303-4
10 suspects
and torture as a tool of handling the passive moods of
interrogation 7, 331 127, 200
sex offenders, confessions by see procurement and retention of
confessions by sex offenders attention 127, 199
Shia terrorism 28 representation for 155
'short shackle' 56 status 300-2
SIGINT (intelligence derived from see also terrorist suspects
electronic interception) 43 suspects' rights
silences 94, 95 balancing victims' rights and
sleep deprivation 56, 72-3, 141 292-315
social contagion 280-1 and the increasing sense of
social influence, effect on memory injustice felt by victims 300
reports 279-81
social pressure, and the takfiris 29
development of false memories technology
267-8, 270 and regulation of custodial
solicitors, presence of 141-2 questioning 152-3
solitary confinement 49 see also audio-visual recording;
source monitoring error 264, 275 videotaping
Stamford University prison terrorism
experiment 71-2, 98-9 as a crime 9
standards 355 effect of aggressive interrogation
states strategies 24
reactions to the threat of and ethical pressures on police
terrorism 4-5 interviewing 299
respect for 8 models for dealing with 4
see also security states states' reactions 4 -5
'stress positions' see also Shia terrorism; Sunni
use of 47 extremism; war on terror
see also 'short shackle' Terrorism Act (2000) 10, 17, 18,
'the submarine' 47 129-30
submissive collaborators 115 terrorism legislation see anti
'subtle' interrogation approaches 129 terrorism legislation
368
Index
terrorist suspects, interrogation see transference 92-3

interrogation of terrorist suspects translators
terrorists, image as crazed fanatics in a rapport-based interview
65-6 approach 33
theme development 126, 198, 202-3 right to 155
and al-Qaeda-related subjects use by the US army 59, 60
36-8 transparency 6
threats see also openness
and the legitimacy of police truth, search for see search for the
interrogations 310 truth
use in false confession cases 202 tunnel vision 147-8, 157-8, 159
'ticking time bomb' scenarios 39,
50-1 UK
tier four of the five-tier interview influence of judges 16
strategy 188 interrogation methods 321
tier three suspect interviewing miscarriages of justice 149,
training see advanced interview 170
training response to 161, 170-1
time, as a risk factor for false responses to terrorism 3, 9-10,
confessions 216 17-18
timelines 35-6 suspect interviewing see suspect
torture 7, 49-51 interviewing, in the UK
American definition 45 Unitarians 29
banality of 80 Universal Declaration of Human
effect of the September 11 Rights 7, 11, 14
terrorist attacks on the use of US
7, 331 impact of judicial regulation on
as a form of self-defence 48 police practice 328
legal regulation 50, 331-3 influence of judges 16
permitting the use of 14 intelligence agencies 43, 52
prohibition 311-12 interrogation methods 321
use of information obtained by in the war on terror 42-62
14-16 miscarriages of justice 159-60
consequences 16 as the primary opponent in the
'torture warrants' 331 Dar al-Harb 29
touching 236-7 responses to terrorism 13-14
training 148, 161-2, 167, 354 utilitarianism 295-6
for communication skills and
rapport 101-2 verbal cues 211
for deception detection 212, 219 victims, sense of injustice felt by
lack of 4, 19-20, 96 300
as regulation 335-8 victims' rights, balancing suspects'
see also five-tier interview rights and 292-315
strategy IIE; PEACE; police videotaping 155, 224-5, 354-5
training manuals see also audio-visual recording
369
violent crimes American interrogation methods

confession rates 110 42-62
publicity given to 299 human rights in 3-20 , 353-4
virtues 297-8 'w aterboarding' 47
voice tone white subjects, confession rates 112
and the detection of deception 'wild gunm en' 299
245 witness interview ing 168
effect of emotion on 240 written confessions 128, 200
voluntary facial movements 242, 243
Youth Justice and Criminal Evidence
'W ahhabism ' 29 Act (1999) 155
war, differentiating between the
narratives o f crime and 8 -9 Zim bardo's prison experim ent 71-2,
war on terror 98-9
370

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Investigative ~

Published simultaneously in the USA and Canada by

© editor and contributors 2006

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Project management by Deer Park Productions, Tavistock, Devon

Foreword by the Honourable Justice Peter Cory vii

Part I: D evelop m en ts in R igh ts 1

Part II: D evelop m ents in R esearch 85

8 T ow ards g re a te r p ro fe ssio n a lism : m in im iz in g

P art III: D e v e lo p m e n ts in R e g u la tio n 257

The Honourable Justice Peter Cory

This book will be helpful to all those who conduct interrogations

The Honourable Peter Cory, C.C., C.D., Q.C.

The aim of this book is to bring together academics and practitioners

In Part I we examine developments in human rights in relation to

psychology of custody and acquire skills in humane methods of

Part II considers developments in investigative interviewing and

paying attention; keeping a professional attitude; and knowing how

Probably the most popular interviewing and interrogation training

In Part III we consider the arrival of new phenomena that have

of moral judgem ent by investigators. Using custodial interviewing as

Randy Borum is Associate Professor, Department of Mental Health

Joseph P. Buckley is President of John E. Reid and Associates in

David Dixon is Profesor of Law at the University of New South

Paul Ekman is Emeritus Professor of Psychology at the University

M ark G. Frank is Professor of Communication at Rutgers University.

M ichael G. G elles is the Chief Psychologist for the US Naval Criminal

Andy Griffiths is a detective chief inspector with Sussex Police and is

G isli H. G udjonsson is a professor of forensic psychology at the

Saul M. Kassin is a professor of psychology at Williams College,

Robert M cFadden is a member of the Naval Criminal Investigative

Becky M ilne is a principal lecturer at the Institute of Criminal

psychologist. She holds a doctorate for her research into investigative

Jam es Ost is a chartered psychologist and senior lecturer in the

John J. Pearse has recently retired as a detective superintendent at

David Rose has been an investigative reporter for 24 years. His

Robert Roy is full-time lecturer of ethics at Sherbrooke University,

M ichel St-Yves is a forensic psychologist with the Behavioral

worked for the Correctional Services of Canada for 13 years as a

Bryan Vossekuil is a member of the Counterintelligence Field

Tom W illiam son is a visiting professor at the Institute of Criminal

John D. Yarbrough was a sworn peace officer for nearly 30 years,

7.1 An interactional model of the interrogative process 138

8.1 Strength of evidence and outcom e of interview 153

Investigative interviewing and

The growing post-war consensus around the principle of respect for

important, if sustaining democracy is a primary concern. The ability

H u m a n rig h ts, g lo b a liza tio n and risk

The postmodern world is changing dramatically and in complex

Suspects are interrogated by the m ilitary in ways that w ould never

The elevation of perceptions of risk has led to heated debates

• risk identification, assessment and management;

T h e u n d e rm in in g o f hum an rig h ts law and le g itim izin g

These new challenges arise at a time when there is increasing public

the USA, incorporated the concept of rights into their constitutions.

T h e in te rn a tio n a l legal r e g u la to ry fra m e w o rk

The events of 11 Septem ber 2001 mark a watershed in international

International law has been revealed as feeble, constitutional law