Deepak Returns to Carlos & Charlie's

Or as some might say, the scene of the crime. Click here to see the video.

Former FBI profiler and now MSNBC analyst Clint Van Zandt discusses his impressions, including a conversation that he had with Deepak Kalpoe:

I talked to 21-year-old Deepak Kalpoe last Friday, finding him at his job at an Internet café in the downtown tourist district. When you stand next to him, he doesn't look as big as he does in the picture you see on television of him, his 18-year-old brother Satish, and 18-year-old Joran van der Sloot. As I walked in I spotted him behind the counter. "Hi. You're Deepak aren't you," I said. His eyes opened wide, and in a soft voice he answered, "Yes." I told him I was there helping MSNBC and that while I assumed he might not want to talk to the media, I still had a question for him. While tourists pecked away on the computer keys in the Internet café we had a one-on-one talk. I told him I'd seen a statement attributed to van der Sloot in which Joran said he believed (or similar Dutch words) that Deepak had assaulted and murdered Natalee and buried her body. "How could a friend of yours say such a thing?" I asked. "You need to ask him," he said. (In reality this was a good response to my question; I thought, "he'd probably been asked it once or twice before.") "Look Deepak," I said, "I've got two sons like you and your brother, and if someone accused them of such a horrific crime, I'd tell them to confront the person who accused them. Have you asked Joran why he said such a thing?" "No," he said, he'd not seen Joran in jail nor had he had any other opportunity to speak to him.

"Deepak, I think you and your brother somehow got into something over your heads the night you were with Joran and Natalee." (He seemed to shrink further into himself, growing even smaller in front of me as we talked.) "I think things may have gone very wrong that night and you and your brother got sucked into something you didn't want to be a part of. Were you my son, I'd tell you to level with the cops and deal with the stories being told about you."

"Nobody will believe me," he said. "That's why I don't do TV interviews; nobody believes me. They all think I'm lying." "Do you want to be believed?" I said. He looked me in the eyes and again quietly said, "Yes." "You know Deepak, you need some way to prove to the world that what you want to say is the truth. Do you know what a polygraph is?" "They don't use them in Aruba," he quickly answered. "But what if you were offered the chance to prove yourself by passing such a test; would you do it?" I asked. "I'd have to ask my lawyer," he replied. "And if he agreed, would you take it?" "I'd have to talk to him," he said. (He and his brother may soon be offered their chance to take such a test.)

Continuing with Deepak, I said, "September 4th is a big day in this case. Joran either gets held for another 30 days or he's set free. If he's released is this case over?" "No," he quickly replied, "it will never be over -- Beth [Natalee's mother] will never let it be over, and the prosecutor is under pressure to do something in this case. It may not look like things are being done, but under the surface they are." ("I hope you are right," I said silently to myself.) "Would your mother let this go if you were Natalee?" I said. "No," he replied, and I thought, "and neither would I."

As I looked into this young man's face, I thought about my life, my two sons, and my 25-year career in the FBI that allowed me to interview and arrest many criminals, including suspected kidnappers and murders. Most don't look like Dennis Rader, or have a history like the infamous BTK killer from Kansas. Most are people who simply got in over their heads. Someone who made a terrible mistake that they'd take back in a second if only given the chance to do so. That's the way Deepak impressed me. He wasn't smug nor did he try to be cool. He was a concerned, threatened young man whose life was now caught in a time warp until this matter is resolved. He told me that he wanted to go to college in Florida, but now he must consider schools in Canada. "Why?" I asked. "Because I'm too well known in America," he said, suggesting his belief of his lack of anonymity because of this case. His work shift was over and as he left I told him "this is not something that you want hanging over your head for the rest of your life." He just looked at me -- expressionless.