The Third Twin (37 page)

51

I
N A COUPLE OF HOURS
J
EANNIE HAD COME TO LIKE
L
ORRAINE
Logan enormously.

She was much heavier than she seemed in the photograph that appeared at the top of her lonelyhearts column in the newspapers. She smiled a lot, causing her chubby face to crease up. To take Jeannie’s mind and her own off their worries, she talked of the problems people wrote to her about: domineering in-laws, violent husbands, impotent boyfriends, bosses with wandering hands, daughters who took drugs. Whatever the subject, Lorraine managed to say something that made Jeannie think, Of course—how come I never saw it that way before?

They sat on the patio as the day cooled, waiting anxiously for Steve and his father to return. Jeannie told Lorraine about the rape of Lisa. “She’ll try for as long as she can to act as if it never happened,” Lorraine said.

“Yes, that’s exactly how she is now.”

“That phase can last six months. But sooner or later she’ll realize she has to stop denying what happened and come to terms with it. That stage often begins when the woman tries to resume normal sex and finds she doesn’t feel the way she used to. That’s when they write to me.”

“What do you advise?”

“Counseling. There isn’t an easy solution. Rape damages a woman’s soul, and it has to be mended.”

“The detective recommended counseling.”

Lorraine raised her eyebrows. “He’s a pretty smart cop.”

Jeannie smiled. “She.”

Lorraine laughed. “We reprove men for making sexist assumptions. I beg you, don’t tell anyone what I just did.”

“I promise.”

There was a short silence, then Lorraine said: “Steve loves you.”

Jeannie nodded. “Yeah, I think he really does.”

“A mother can tell.”

“So he’s been in love before.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” Lorraine smiled. “Yes, he has. But only once.”

“Tell me about her—if you think he wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay. Her name was Fanny Gallaher. She had green eyes and wavy dark red hair. She was vivacious and careless and she was the only girl in high school who
wasn’t
interested in Steve. He pursued her, and she resisted him, for months. But he won her in the end, and they dated for about a year.”

“Do you think they slept together?”

“I know they did. They used to spend nights together here. I don’t believe in forcing kids to make out in parking lots.”

“What about her parents?”

“I talked to Fanny’s mother. She felt the same way about it.”

“I lost my virginity in the alley behind a punk rock club at the age of fourteen. It was such a depressing experience that I didn’t have sexual intercourse again until I was twenty-one. I wish my mother had been more like you.”

“I don’t think it really matters whether parents are strict or lenient, as long as they’re consistent. Kids can live with more or less any set of rules so long as they know what they are. It’s arbitrary tyranny that gets them mixed up.”

“Why did Steve and Fanny break up?”

“He had a problem.…He should probably tell you about it himself.”

“Are you talking about the fight with Tip Hendricks?”

Lorraine raised her eyebrows. “He told you! My goodness, he
really
trusts you.”

They heard a car outside. Lorraine got up and went to the corner of the house to look out into the street. “Steve’s come home in a taxicab,” she said in a puzzled tone.

Jeannie stood up. “How does he look?”

Before Lorraine could answer, he appeared on the patio. “Where’s your father?” she asked him.

“Dad got arrested.”

Jeannie said: “Oh, God. Why?”

“I’m not sure. I think the Genetico people somehow found out, or guessed, what we were up to, and pulled some strings. They sent two military police to grab him. But I got away.”

Lorraine said suspiciously: “Stevie, there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“A guard fired two shots.”

Lorraine gave a small scream.

“I think he was aiming over my head. Anyway, I’m fine.”

Jeannie’s mouth went dry. The thought of bullets being fired at Steve horrified her. He might have died!

“The sweep worked, though.” Steve took a diskette from his back pocket. “Here’s the list. And wait till you hear what’s on it.”

Jeannie swallowed hard. “What?” “There aren’t four clones.” “How come?” “There are eight.”

Jeannie’s jaw dropped. “Eight of you?”

“We found eight identical electrocardiograms.”

Genetico had split the embryo seven times and implanted eight unknowing women with the children of strangers. The arrogance was unbelievable.

But Jeannie’s suspicion had been proved. This was what Berrington was so desperate to conceal. When this news was made public, Genetico would be disgraced and Jeannie would be vindicated.

And Steve would be cleared.

“You did it!” she said. She hugged him. Then a snag occurred to her. “But which of the eight committed the rape?”

“We’ll have to find out,” Steve said. “And that won’t be easy. The addresses we have are the places where their parents lived at the time they were born. They’re almost certainly out-of-date.”

“We can try to track them down. That’s Lisa’s specialty.” Jeannie stood up. “I’d better get back to Baltimore. This is going to take most of the night.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“What about your father? You have to get him out of the hands of the military police.”

Lorraine said: “You’re needed here, Steve. I’m going to call our lawyer right now—I have his home number—but you’ll have to tell him what happened.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly.

“I should call Lisa before I leave, so she can get ready,” Jeannie said. The phone was on the patio table. “May I?”

“Of course.”

She dialed Lisa’s number. The phone rang four times, then there was the characteristic pause of an answering machine kicking in. “Damn,” Jeannie said as she listened to Lisa’s message. When it finished she said: “Lisa, please call me. I’m leaving Washington now, I’ll be home around ten. Something really important has happened.” She hung up.

Steve said: “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She said good-bye to Lorraine, who hugged her warmly.

Outside, Steve handed her the diskette. “Take care of that,” he said. “There’s no copy, and we won’t get another chance.”

She put it in her bag. “Don’t worry. It’s my future, too.” She kissed him hard.

“Oh, boy,” he said after a while. “Could we do a lot of this, quite soon?”

“Yes. But don’t endanger yourself meanwhile. I don’t want to lose you. Be careful.”

He smiled. “I love it that you’re worried about me. It’s almost worth it.”

She kissed him again, softly this time. “I’ll call you.”

She got in the car and pulled away.

She drove fast and got home in under an hour.

She was disappointed to find there was no message from Lisa on her machine. She worried that maybe Lisa was asleep, or watching TV and not listening to her messages.
Don’t panic, think.
She ran out again and drove to Lisa’s place, an apartment building in Charles Village. She rang the entry phone at the street door, but there was no answer. Where the hell had Lisa gone? She did not have a boyfriend to take her out on a Saturday night.
Please God she hasn’t gone to see her mother in Pittsburgh.

Lisa lived in 12B. Jeannie rang the bell of 12A. Again there was no reply. Maybe the damn system was not working. Seething with frustration, she tried 12C.

A grouchy male voice said: “Yeah, who is it?”

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m a friend of Lisa Hoxton next door to you and I need to reach her really urgently. Would you happen to know where she is?”

The voice replied: “Where do you think you are, lady—Hicksville, USA? I don’t even know what my neighbor
looks
like.”
Click.

“Where are you from, New York?” she said angrily to the unheeding loudspeaker.

She went home, driving as if she were in a race, and called Lisa’s answering machine again. “Lisa, please call me
the second
you get in,
no matter what time of night.
I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

After that there was no more she could do. Without Lisa she could not even get into Nut House.

She took a shower and wrapped herself in her pink bathrobe. She felt hungry and microwaved a frozen cinnamon bun, but eating nauseated her, so she threw it away and drank coffee with milk in it. She wished she had a TV to distract her.

She got out the picture Charles had given her of Steve. She would have to get a frame for it. She stuck it to the refrigerator door with a fridge magnet.

That started her looking at her photograph albums. She smiled to see Daddy in a brown chalk-stripe suit with broad lapels and flared pants, standing beside the turquoise Thunder-bird. There were several pages of Jeannie in tennis whites, triumphantly holding a series of silver cups and plaques. Here was Mom pushing Patty in an old-fashioned stroller, there was Will Temple in a cowboy hat, cutting up and making Jeannie laugh—

The phone rang.

She leaped up, dropping the album on the floor, and snatched up the handset. “Lisa?”

“Hi, Jeannie, what’s the big emergency?”

She collapsed on the couch, weak with gratitude. “Thank God! I called you hours ago, where have you been?”

“I went to a movie with Catherine and Bill. Is that a crime?”

“I’m sorry, I have no right to cross-examine you—”

“It’s okay. I’m your friend. You can get ratty with me. I’ll do it to you one day.”

Jeannie laughed. “Thanks. Listen, I have a list of five names of people who might be Steve’s double.” She was deliberately understating the case; the truth was too hard to swallow in one lump. “I need to track them down tonight. Will you help me?”

There was a pause. “Jeannie, I almost got into serious trouble when I tried to get into your office. I could have got myself and the security guard fired. I want to help you, but I need this job.”

Jeannie felt coldly fearful.
No, you can’t let me down, not when I’m this close.
“Please.”

“I’m scared.”

Fear was replaced by fierce determination.
Hell, I’m not going to let you get away with this.
“Lisa, it’s almost Sunday.”
I don’t like doing this to you, but I have to.
“A week ago I walked into a burning building to look for you.”

“I know, I know.”

“I was scared then.”

There was a long silence. “You’re right,” Lisa said at last. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Jeannie suppressed a victory whoop. “How soon can you get there?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

Jeannie hung up. She ran into the bedroom, dropped her robe on the floor, and pulled on black jeans and a turquoise. T-shirt. She threw on a black Levi’s jacket and ran downstairs.

She left the house at midnight.

SUNDAY

52

S
HE REACHED THE UNIVERSITY BEFORE
L
ISA
. S
HE PARKED IN
the visitors’ lot, not wanting her distinctive car to be seen outside Nut House, then walked across the dark, deserted campus. While she waited impatiently outside the front of the building she wished she had stopped off to buy something to eat. She had had nothing all day. She thought wistfully of a cheeseburger with French fries, a slice of pizza with pepperoni, apple pie with vanilla ice cream, or even a big garlicky Caesar salad. At last Lisa drove up in her smart white Honda.

She got out of the car and took Jeannie by the hands. “I feel ashamed,” she said. “You shouldn’t have had to remind me what a friend you’ve been to me.”

“I understand, though,” Jeannie said.

“I’m sorry.”

Jeannie hugged her.

They went inside and turned on the lights in the lab. Jeannie started the coffee machine while Lisa booted up her computer. It felt weird to be in the lab in the middle of the night. The antiseptic white decor, the bright lights, and the silent machines all around made her think of a morgue.

She thought they would probably get a visit from security sooner or later. After Jeannie’s break-in they would be keeping an eye on Nut House, and they would see the lights. But it was not unusual for scientists to work odd hours in the lab, and there would be no trouble, unless a guard happened to recognize Jeannie from last night. “If a security guard comes to check on us, I’m going to hide in the stationery cupboard,” she said to Lisa. “Just in case the guard is someone who knows I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I hope we get enough warning of his approach,” Lisa said nervously.

“We should arrange some kind of alarm.” Jeannie was eager to get on with searching for the clones, but she contained her impatience; this would be a sensible precaution. She looked around the lab thoughtfully, and her eye fell upon a small flower arrangement on Lisa’s desk. “How much do you love that glass vase?” she said.

Lisa shrugged. “I got it in Kmart. I can get another.”

Jeannie dumped the flowers and emptied the water into a sink. She took from a shelf a copy of
Identical Twins Reared Apart
by Susan L. Farber. She went to the end of the corridor where a pair of swing doors gave onto the staircase. She pulled the doors a little inward and used the book to wedge them there, then she balanced the vase on the top edge of the doors, straddling the gap. There was no way anyone could come in without causing the vase to fall and smash.

Watching her, Lisa said: “What’ll I say if they ask me why I did that?”

“You didn’t want anyone to sneak up on you,” Jeannie replied.

Lisa nodded, satisfied. “God knows I have reason enough to be paranoid.”

“Let’s get going,” Jeannie said.

They went back into the lab, leaving the door open to be sure they would hear the glass breaking. Jeannie put her precious floppy disk into Lisa’s computer and printed the Pentagon results. There were the names of the eight babies whose electrocardiograms were as similar as if they had all come from one person. Eight tiny hearts beating exactly the same way. Somehow Berrington had arranged for the army hospitals to give these babies this test. No doubt copies had been sent to the Aventine Clinic, where they had remained until they were shredded on Thursday. But Berrington had forgotten, or perhaps never realized, that the army would keep the original graphs.

“Let’s start with Henry King,” she suggested. “Full name Henry Irwin King.”

On her desk Lisa had two CD-ROM drives, one on top of the other. She took two CDs from her desk drawer and put one in each drive. “We have every residential phone in the United States on those two disks,” she said. “And we have software that enables us to search both disks at the same time.”

A Windows screen appeared on the monitor. “People don’t always put their full name in the phone book, unfortunately,” she said. “Let’s just see how many H. Kings there are in the United States.” She typed

H * King

and clicked on Count. After a moment a Count window appeared with the number 1,129.

Jeannie was discouraged. “It will take all night to call that many numbers!”

“Wait, we may be able to do better.” Lisa typed

Henry I. King OR Henry Irwin King

and clicked on the Retrieve icon, a picture of a dog. After a moment a list appeared on the screen. “We have three Henry Irwin Kings and seventeen Henry I. Kings. What’s his last known address?”

Jeannie consulted her printout. “Fort Devens, Massachusetts.”

“Okay, we have one Henry Irwin King in Amherst and four Henry I. Kings in Boston.”

“Let’s call them.”

“You do realize it’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“People won’t talk to you at this time of night.”

“Sure they will,” Jeannie said. It was bravado. She knew she would have trouble. She just was not prepared to wait until morning. This was too important. “I’ll say I’m from the police, tracking down a serial killer.”

“That has to be against the law.”

“Give me the Amherst number.”

Lisa highlighted the listing and pressed F2. There was a rapid series of beeps from the computer’s modem. Jeannie picked up the phone.

She heard seven rings, then a sleepy voice answered: “Yes?”

“This is Detective Susan Farber of the Amherst Police Department,” she said. She half expected him to say, “The hell it is,” but he made no response, and she went on briskly: “We’re sorry to call you in the middle of the night, but it’s an urgent police matter. Am I speaking to Henry Irwin King?”

“Yes—what’s happened?”

It sounded like the voice of a middle-aged man, but Jeannie persisted just to be sure. “This is just a routine inquiry.”

That was a mistake. “Routine?” he said tetchily. “At this time of night?”

Improvising hastily, she said: “We’re investigating a serious crime and we need to eliminate you as a suspect, sir. Could you tell me your date and place of birth?”

“I was born in Greenfield, Massachusetts, on the fourth of May, 1945. Okay?”

“You don’t have a son of the same name, do you?”

“No, I have three daughters. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“We don’t need to trouble you any further. Thank you for cooperating with the police, and have a good night’s rest.” She hung up and looked triumphantly at Lisa. “See? He talked to me. He didn’t like it, but he talked.”

Lisa laughed. “Dr. Ferrami, you have a talent to deceive.”

Jeannie grinned. “All it takes is chutzpah. Let’s do the Henry I. Kings. I’ll call the first two, you take the last two.”

Only one of them could use the automatic dialing feature. Jeannie found a scratch pad and a ballpoint and scribbled the two numbers, then she picked up a phone and dialed manually. A male voice answered and she went into her spiel. “This is Detective Susan Farber of the Boston city police—”

“What the fuck are you doing calling me at this time of night?” the man burst out. “Do you know who I am?”

“I assume you’re Henry King—”

“Assume you just lost your fucking job, you dumb cunt,” he raged. “Susan who did you say?”

“I just need to check on your date of birth, Mr. King—”

“Let me speak to your lieutenant right away.”

“Mr. King—”

“Do as I say!”

“Goddamn gorilla,” Jeannie said, and she hung up. She felt quite shaky. “I hope it’s not going to be a night of conversations like that.”

Lisa had already hung up. “Mine was Jamaican, and had the accent to prove it,” she said. “I gather yours was unpleasant.”

“Very.”

“We could stop now, and continue in the morning.”

Jeannie was not going to be defeated by one rude man. “Hell, no,” she said. “I can take a little verbal abuse.”

“Whatever you say.”

“He sounded a lot older than twenty-two, so we can forget him. Let’s try the other two.”

Bracing herself, she dialed again.

Her third Henry King had not yet gone to bed; there was music in the background and other voices in the room. “Yeah, who’s this?” he said.

He sounded about the right age, and Jeannie felt hopeful. She did her impersonation of a cop again, but he was suspicious. “How do I know you’re the police?”

He sounded just like Steve, and Jeannie’s heart missed a beat. This could be one of the clones. But how should she deal with his suspicions? She decided to brazen it out. “Would you like to call me back here at police headquarters?” she offered recklessly.

There was a pause. “No, forget it,” he said.

Jeannie breathed again.

“I’m Henry King,” he said. “They call me Hank. What do you want?”

“Could I first check your date and place of birth?”

“I was born in Fort Devens exactly twenty-two years ago.

It’s my birthday, as a matter of fact. Well, it was yesterday, Saturday.”

It was him! Jeannie had found one clone already. Next she had to establish whether he was in Baltimore last Sunday. She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice as she said: “Could you tell me when you last traveled outside the state?”

“Let me see, that was August. I went to New York.”

Jeannie’s instincts said he was telling the truth, but she continued to question him. “What were you doing last Sunday?”

“I was working.”

“What work do you do?”

“Well, I’m a graduate student at MIT, but I have a Sunday job tending bar at the Blue Note Cafe in Cambridge.”

Jeannie scribbled a note. “And that’s where you were last Sunday?”

“Yep. Served at least a hundred people.”

“Thank you, Mr. King.” If this was true, he was not the one who had raped Lisa. “Would you just give me that phone number so I can confirm your alibi?”

“I don’t recall the number, but it’s in the book. What am I supposed to have done?”

“We’re investigating a case of arson.”

“I’m glad I have an alibi.”

She found it unnerving to hear Steve’s voice and know she was listening to a stranger. She wished she could see Henry King, to check the visual resemblance. Reluctantly she drew the conversation to a close. “Thank you again, sir. Good night.” She hung up and blew out her cheeks, drained by the effort of deception. “Whew!”

Lisa had been listening. “You found him?”

“Yes, he was born in Fort Devens and he’s twenty-two today. He’s the Henry King we’re looking for, sure enough.”

“Good work!”

“But he seems to have an alibi. He says he was working at a bar in Cambridge.” She looked at her scratch pad. “The Blue Note.”

“Shall we check it out?” Lisa’s hunting instinct had been aroused and she was keen.

Jeannie nodded. “It’s late, but I guess a bar should still be open, especially on a Saturday night. Can you get the number from your CD-ROM?”

“We only have residential numbers. Business listings are another set of disks.”

Jeannie called information, got the number, and dialed it. The phone was answered right away.

“This is Detective Susan Farber of the Boston police. Let me speak to the manager, please.”

“This is the manager, what’s wrong?” The man had a Hispanic accent and he sounded worried.

“Do you have an employee named Henry King?”

“Hank, yeah, what he do now?”

It sounded as if Henry King had been in trouble with the law before. “Maybe nothing. When did you last see him?’

“Today, I mean yesterday, Saturday, he was working the day shift.”

“And before that?”

“Lemme see, last Sunday, he worked the four-to-midnight.”

“Would you swear to that if necessary, sir?”

“Sure, why not? Whoever got killed, Hank didn’t do it.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir.”

“Hey, no problem.” The manager seemed relieved that was all she wanted. If I were a real cop, Jeannie thought, I’d guess he had a guilty conscience. “Call me any time.” He hung up.

Jeannie said disappointedly: “Alibi stands up.”

“Don’t be downhearted,” Lisa said. “We’ve done very well to eliminate him so quickly—especially as it’s such a common name. Let’s try Per Ericson. There won’t be so many of them.”

The Pentagon list said Per Ericson had been born in Fort Rucker, but twenty-two years later there were no Per Ericsons in Alabama. Lisa tried

P * Erics?on

in case it should be spelled with a double
s,
then she tried

P*Erics$n

to include the spellings “Ericsen” and “Ericsan,” but the computer found nothing.

“Try Philadelphia,” Jeannie suggested. “That’s where he attacked me.”

There were three in Philadelphia. The first turned out to be a Peder, the second was a frail elderly voice on an answering machine, and the third was a woman, Petra. Jeannie and Lisa began to work their way through all the P. Ericsons in the United States, thirty-three listings.

Lisa’s second P. Ericson was bad tempered and abusive, and she was white-faced as she hung up the phone, but she drank a cup of coffee then carried on determinedly.

Each call was a small drama. Jeannie had to summon up the nerve to pretend to be a cop. It was agony wondering if the voice answering the phone would be the man who had said, “Now give me a hand job, otherwise I’ll beat the shit out of you.” Then there was the strain of maintaining her impersonation of a police detective against the skepticism or rudeness of the people who answered the phone. And most calls ended in disappointment.

As Jeannie was hanging up from her sixth fruitless call, she heard Lisa say: “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Our information must be out-of-date. Please forgive this intrusion, Mrs. Ericson. Good-bye.” She hung up, looking crushed. “He’s the one all right,” she said solemnly. “But he died last winter. That was his mother. She burst into tears when I asked for him.”

She wondered momentarily what Per Ericson had been like. Was he a psychopath, like Dennis, or was he like Steve? “How did he die?”

“He was a ski champion, apparently, and he broke his neck trying something risky.”