How to Tell If Someone Is Lying

Sept. 8, 2008 — -- Jury consultant Jo-Ellan Dimitrius has been dubbed "The Seer" for her work on over 600 trials, including the Rodney King, O.J. Simpson and Enron cases.

In her latest book, "Reading People: How to Understand People and Predict Their Behavior -- Anytime, Anyplace," she shares tips on how to tell if someone isn't being truthful.

Dimitrius says lying is usually accompanied by a physical gesture, such as blinking or not blinking; turning directly towards someone as if to say, "This is the really important part that I'm lying about that you need to listen to;" and the licking of lips.

For signs of a child's not telling the truth, Dimitrius says to look for wringing hands, the position of the body, scratching an ear, touching of the head.

Famous people also betray patterns of speech and posture in telling lies. For example, Dimitrius says that when Bill Clinton denied his involvement with Monica Lewinsky, what he said ("I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky") and how he said it was a tip off.

Clinton is an unusually eloquent speaker, but in his denial, he paused frequently and didn't follow his usual smooth speech pattern, Dimitrius says. He also bit his lip before declaring he did not have sex with Lewinsky, as if trying to hold back the words, and dropped one shoulder, as if he is shrugging, Dimitrius said.

In another example, track star Marion Jones told "GMA" anchor Robin Roberts she had never used steroids, which she later admitted was untrue.

Dimitrius analyzed that tape and said that Jones visibly raised a shoulder, and then says "Umm" before answering a question. Midway into the conversation, she starts blinking her eyes so much they look like they're closed at one point.

When John Edwards recently denied that he had an affair, Dimitrius said he also began blinking rapidly and smiled inappropriately after calling his wife Elizabeth "sexy."

Below is a portion of the first chapter from the book.

Chapter One: Reading Readiness
Preparing for the Challenge of Reading People

"I can't believe I didn't see the signs. They were right there in front of me! How could I have been so blind?" We've all said something very much like this, probably more times than we care to admit. After we've misjudged our boss's intentions, a friend's loyalty, or a babysitter's common sense, we carefully replay the past—and usually see the mistakes we made with 20/20 hindsight. Why, then, after living and reliving our mistakes, don't we learn more from them? If reading people were like driving a car or hitting a tennis ball, we'd be able to recognize our weak points and improve our performance with every try. That rarely happens with relationships. Instead, we interact with our friends, colleagues, and spouses in the same old ways, doggedly hoping for the best.

In theory, thanks to the people-reading skills I acquired over the years, it should have been easy for me to make better decisions in my personal life—whom to let into it and what to expect from them once I did. Yet for many years I failed to apply my courtroom abilities to my off-duty life. Perhaps I had to reach a saturation point of pain and disappointment in some of my personal relationships before I was willing to analyze my mistakes and put my professional experience to work for me.

When I finally resolved to bring that focus and clarity to my personal life, it made sense to start by comparing the courthouse with the world outside. I was determined to figure out what I was doing in the courtroom that enabled me to read people in that setting with such consistent accuracy. I thought I should be able to distill that information into a set of people-reading basics that would work anywhere.

When I told my colleagues about the great difference between my people-reading successes on and off the job, I found I wasn't alone. Many of the best attorneys I knew confessed that, while they enjoyed great success reading people in court, the rest of the time they didn't do much better than anyone else. Why?

The conclusions I eventually reached led me to the keys of "reading readiness"—the foundation of understanding people and predicting their behavior. The first thing I discovered was that attitude is critical. In a courtroom, I was ready to focus fully on the people I encountered, to listen to them closely, to observe the way they looked and acted, and to carefully think about what I was hearing and seeing. I had a very different attitude in my private life. I rarely did any of those things. The fact is, you have to be ready to read people, or all the clues in the world won't do you any good. In this chapter, you'll learn how to bring a courtroom state of mind—clear-eyed, observant, careful, and objective—into the emotional, subjective drama that is everyday life. Master the following skills, and you'll be ready to read people.

1. Spend more time with people. That's the best way to learn tounderstand them.

2. Stop, look, and listen. There's no substitute for patience andattentiveness.

3. Learn to reveal something of yourself. To get others to open up, you must first open up to them.

4. Know what you're looking for. Unless you know what you want inanother person, there's a good chance you'll be disappointed.

2. Telephone call

3. Letter/fax/e-mail/answering machine

4. Delegation

Instead of asking someone else to set up an appointment for you, contact the person yourself by letter, fax, or e-mail. Instead of text messaging on your BlackBerry or e-mailing your cross-country friend, call, even if the conversation has to be brief. Instead of phoning your neighbor to discuss the school fund-raiser, knock on her door and talk to her in person. Step by step, you'll become more comfortable with the increased contact.

Try to improve the quality of your communication, too, by making a conscious effort to reveal something of yourself. It doesn't have to be an intimate secret—in fact, many people will be turned off if you inappropriately reveal confidences. But you can share a like or dislike, a favorite restaurant, book, or movie. And ask something about the other person—where she bought a piece of jewelry, or whether he saw the ball game last night. Warm them up, and the conversation will start rolling.

After a few weeks, you'll become more adept at these social skills. Test yourself on the person checking your groceries, the receptionist in your doctor's office, the mail carrier, the next customer who walks into the shop. Connecting doesn't have to mean a ten-minute discussion. It can mean simply looking someone in the eye, smiling, and commenting on the weather. These brief sparks of contact aren't superficial, they're sociable, and they are where trust and communication—and people reading—begin.

Learn to See the Sheep

The more time you spend reading people, the easier it gets. Just as the anxiety and awkwardness of your first time behind the wheel of a car disappeared after a few months of everyday driving, people-reading skills that may seem unattainable today will become automatic with a little practice.

With willpower and persistence, we can sharpen any of our senses. Nothing illustrates this more clearly than an experience a client of mine had several years ago. He'd been hired by the Bighorn Institute, a facility dedicated to preserving an endangered species of bighorn sheep that live in the mountains just southwest of Palm Springs, California. Development of neighboring land was disturbing the sheep and interrupting their breeding activity; the institute wanted to do something about it.

When my client visited the institute, the director took him outside, pointed to the massive, rocky hills that rose up behind the offices, and said softly, "There are a lot of them out today." My client squinted up at the brown hills, trying to hide his amazement—not at the beauty of the bighorn sheep, but at his inability to see even one of them. Obviously accustomed to this reaction, the director tactfully called his attention to a sheep just below a triangular rock, and another on the crest of a hill to the left, and then another—until he'd pointed out almost a dozen.

The director's eyesight was no better than my client's. But he had learned to see the sheep. He knew how their shape broke the subtle patterns of the hills. He could detect the slight difference between their color and that of the rock. He had learned where the sheep were most likely to gather at a particular time of day. He had experience. He had contact. He had practice. What was virtually automatic to him was foreign to my client—until he, too, learned to see the sheep.

In the courtroom, I constantly watch jurors, witnesses, lawyers, spectators, and even the judge, looking for any clues about how they're responding to the case and the people presenting it. I listen carefully to the words that are spoken, and to how they are spoken. I pay attention to the way people breathe, sigh, tap their feet or fingers, or even shift their weight in a chair. As the jurors walk by, I notice any unusual smells—heavily applied perfume, body odor, the scent of medication. When I shake someone's hand, I take note of the feel of his handshake. I use all of my senses, all of the time.