Ken Follett - the Third Twin (1996)

Her heart went out to him. She reminded herself that he was supposed to be the man who raped Lisa. But she could not believe it. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

“I have a bail review before a judge tomorrow. Failing that, I may be locked up until the DNA test result comes through. Apparently that takes three days.”

The mention of DNA reminded her of her purpose. “I saw your twin today.”

“And?”

“There’s no doubt. He’s your double.”

“Maybe he raped Lisa Hoxton.”

Jeannie shook her head. “If he had escaped from jail over the weekend, yes. But he’s still locked up.”

“Do you think he might have escaped then returned? To establish an alibi?”

“Too fanciful. If Dennis got out of jail, nothing would induce him to go back.”

“I guess you’re right,” Steven said gloomily.

“I have a couple of questions to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“First I need to double-check your birthday.”

“August twenty-fifth.”

That was what Jeannie had written down. Maybe she had Dennis’s date wrong. “And do you happen to know where you were born?”

“Yes. Dad was stationed at Fort Lee, Virginia, at the time, and I was born in the army hospital there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain. Mom wrote about it in her book Having a Baby.” He narrowed his eyes in a look that was becoming familiar to her. It meant he was figuring out her thinking. “Where was Dennis born?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“But we share a birthday.”

“Unfortunately, he gives his birthday as September seventh. But it might be a mistake. I’m going to double-check. I’ll call his mother as soon as I get to my office. Have you spoken to your parents yet?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to call them?”

“No! Please. I don’t want them to know until I can tell them I’ve been cleared.”

She frowned. “From everything you’ve told me about them, they seem the kind of people who would be supportive.”

“They would. But I don’t want to put them through the agony.”

“Sure it would be painful for them. But they might prefer to know, so they can help you.”

“No. Please don’t call them.”

Jeannie shrugged. There was something he was not telling her. But it was his decision.

“Jeannie … what’s he like?”

“Dennis? Superficially, he’s like you.”

“Does he have long hair, short hair, a mustache, dirty fingernails, acne, a limp—”

“His hair is short just like yours, he has no facial hair, his hands are clean, and his skin is clear. It could have been you.”

“Jeeze.” Steven looked deeply uncomfortable.

“The big difference is his behavior. He doesn’t know how to relate to the rest of the human race.”

“It’s very strange.”

“I don’t find it so. In fact, it confirms my theory. You were both what I call wild children. I stole the phrase from a French film. I use it for the type of child who is fearless, uncontrollable, hyperactive. Such children are very difficult to socialize. Charlotte Pinker and her husband failed with Dennis. Your parents succeeded with you.”

This did not reassure him. “But underneath, Dennis and I are the same.”

“You were both born wild.”

“But I have a thin veneer of civilization.”

She could see he was profoundly troubled. “Why does it bother you so much?”

“I want to think of myself as a human being, not a housetrained gorilla.”

She laughed, despite his solemn expression. “Gorillas have to be socialized too. So do all animals that live in groups. That’s where crime comes from.”

He looked interested. “From living in groups?”

“Sure. A crime is a breach of an important social rule. Solitary animals don’t have rules. A bear will trash another bear’s cave, steal its food, and kill its young. Wolves don’t do those things; if they did, they couldn’t live in packs. Wolves are monogamous, they take care of one another’s young, and they respect each other’s personal space. If an individual breaks the rules they punish him; if he persists, they either expel him from the pack or kill him.”

“What about breaking unimportant social rules?”

“Like farting in an elevator? We call it bad manners. The only punishment is the disapproval of others. Amazing how effective that is.”

“Why are you so interested in people who break the rules?”

She thought of her father. She did not know whether she had his criminal genes or not. It might have helped Steve to know that she, too, was troubled by her genetic inheritance. But she had lied about Daddy for so long that she could not easily bring herself to talk about him now. “It’s a big problem,” she said evasively. “Everyone’s interested in crime.”

The door opened behind her and the young woman police officer looked in. “Time’s up, Dr. Ferrami.”

“Okay,” she said over her shoulder. “Steve, did you know that Lisa Hoxton is my best friend in Baltimore?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“We work together; she’s a technician.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s not the kind of person who would make a wild accusation.”

He nodded.

“All the same, I want you to know that I don’t believe you did it.”

For a moment she thought he was going to cry. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“Call me when you get out.” She told him her home number. “Can you remember that?”

“No problem.”

Jeannie was reluctant to leave. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I need it in here.”

She turned away and left.

The policewoman walked her to the lobby. Night was falling as she returned to the parking garage. She got onto the Jones Falls Expressway and flicked on the headlights of the old Mercedes. Heading north, she drove too fast, eager to get to the university. She always drove too fast. She was a skillful but somewhat reckless driver, she knew. But she did not have the patience to go at fifty-five.

Lisa’s white Honda Accord was already parked outside Nut House. Jeannie eased her car alongside it and went inside. Lisa was just turning on the lights in the lab. The cool box containing Dennis Pinker’s blood sample stood on the bench.

Jeannie’s office was right across the corridor. She unlocked her door by passing her plastic card through the card reader and went in. Sitting at her desk, she called the Pinker house in Richmond. “At last!” she said when she heard the ringing tone.

Charlotte answered. “How is my son?” she said.

“He’s in good health,” Jeannie replied. He hardly seemed like a psychopath, she thought, until he pulled a knife on me and stole my panties. She tried to think of something positive to say. “He was very cooperative.”

“He always had beautiful manners,” Charlotte said in the southern drawl she used for her most outrageous utterances.

“Mrs. Pinker, may I double-check his birthday with you?”

“He was born on the seventh of September.” Like it should be a national holiday.

It was not the answer Jeannie had been hoping for. “And what hospital was he born in?”

“We were at Fort Bragg, in North Carolina, at the time.”

Jeannie suppressed a disappointed curse.

“The Major was training conscripts for Vietnam,” Charlotte said proudly. “The Army Medical Command has a big hospital at Bragg. That’s where Dennis came into the world.”

Jeannie could not think of anything more to say. The mystery was as deep as ever. “Mrs. Pinker, I want to thank you again for your kind cooperation.”