Ken Follett - the Third Twin (1996)

“I knew a girl who had a nipple ring.”

Jeannie felt jealous. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Sure.”

“Bastard.”

“Hey, did you think I was a virgin?”

“Don’t ask me to be rational!”

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened to your dad. Did you get him released?”

“Why don’t I phone home and get the latest news?”

If she heard him dialing a seven-digit number, she would know he was making a local call, whereas his father had mentioned that Steve Logan lived in Washington, D.C. He held the cradle down with a finger while he tapped three random digits, to represent an area code, then he released it and dialed his father’s home.

Dad answered, and Harvey said: “Hi, Mom.” He gripped the handset hard, hoping his father would not say, “Who is this? You must have the wrong number.”

But his father got it immediately. “You’re with Jeannie?”

Well done, Dad. “Yes. I called to find out whether Dad got out of jail yet.”

“Colonel Logan is still under arrest, but he’s not in jail. The military police have him.”

“That’s too bad, I was hoping he might have been released by now.”

Hesitantly, Dad said: “Can you tell me … anything?”

Harvey was constantly tempted to glance at Jeannie and check whether she was buying his act. But he knew such a glance would give him a guilty air, so he forced himself to stare at the wall. “Jeannie has worked wonders, Mom. She’s discovered the real rapist.” He tried hard to put a pleased tone into his voice. “His name’s Harvey Jones. We’re just waiting for the detective to return her call so she can break the news.”

“Jesus! That’s terrible!”

“Yeah, isn’t it great!” Don’t sound so ironic, you fool!

“At least we’re forewarned. Can you stop her talking to the police?”

“I think I have to.”

“What about Genetico? Does she have any plans to publicize what she’s found out about us?”

“I don’t know yet.” Let me get off the phone before I say anything to give myself away.

“Make sure you find out. That’s important too.”

All right! “Okay. Well, I hope Dad gets out soon. Call me here if you get any news, okay?”

“Is it safe?”

“Just ask for Steve.” He laughed, as if he had made a joke.

“Jeannie might recognize my voice. But I could get Preston to make the call.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” Harvey hung up.

Jeannie said: “I ought to call police headquarters again. Maybe they didn’t understand how urgent this is.” She picked up the phone.

He realized he was going to have to kill her.

“Kiss me again first,” he said.

She slid into his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. She opened her mouth to his kiss. He stroked her side. “Nice sweater,” he murmured, then he grasped her breast with his big hand.

Her nipple stiffened in response, but somehow she did not feel as good as she expected to. She tried to relax and enjoy the moment she had been looking forward to. He slipped his hands under her sweater, and she arched her back slightly as he held both her breasts. As always, she suffered a moment of embarrassment, fearful that he would be disappointed with them. Every man she had ever slept with had loved her breasts, but she still harbored the notion that they were too small. Like the others, Steve showed no sign of dissatisfaction. He pushed up her sweater, bent his head to her chest, and started sucking her nipples.

She looked down at him. The first time a boy had done this to her she had thought it was absurd, a reversion to childhood. But she had soon come to like it and even enjoyed doing it to a man. Now, however, nothing was working. Her body responded, but some doubt nagged at the back of her mind and she could not concentrate on pleasure. She was annoyed with herself. I messed everything up yesterday, being paranoid, I’m not going to do it again today.

He sensed her unease. Straightening up, he said: “You’re not comfortable. Let’s sit on the couch.” Taking her agreement for granted, he sat down. She followed. He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his index finger and reached for her.

She flinched away.

“What?” he said.

No! It can’t be!

“You … you … did that thing, with your eyebrow.”

“What thing?”

She sprang up from the couch. “You creep!” she screamed. “How dare you!”

“What the fuck is going on?” he said, but the pretense was thin. She could tell from his face that he knew exactly what was happening.

“Get out of my place!” she screamed.

He tried to keep up the facade. “First you’re all over me, then you pull this!”

“I know who you are, you bastard. You’re Harvey!”

He gave up his act. “How did you know?”

“You touched your eyebrow with your fingertip, just like Berrington.”

“Well, what does it matter?” he said, standing up. “If we’re so alike, you could pretend I’m Steve.”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

He touched the front of his pants, showing her his erection. “Now that we’ve got this far, I’m not leaving here with blue balls.”

Oh, Jesus, I’m in bad trouble now. This guy is an animal. “Keep away from me!”

He stepped toward her, smiling. “I’m going to take off those tight jeans and see what’s underneath.”

She remembered Mish saying that rapists enjoy the victim’s fear. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, trying to make her voice calm. “But if you touch me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

He moved dreadfully quickly. In a flash he grabbed her, lifted her, and threw her on the floor.

The phone rang.

She screamed: “Help! Mr. Oliver! Help!”

Harvey snatched up the dishcloth from the kitchen counter and stuffed it roughly into her mouth, bruising her lips. She gagged and began to cough. He held her wrists so that she could not use her hands to pull the cloth out of her mouth. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but she could not, it was too big. Had Mr. Oliver heard her scream? He was old and he turned up the volume of his TV very loud.

The phone kept on ringing.

Harvey grabbed the waist of her jeans. She wriggled away from him. He slapped her face so hard she saw stars. While she was dazed, he let go of her wrists and pulled off her jeans and her panties. “Wow, what a hairy one,” he said.

Jeannie snatched the cloth out of her mouth and screamed: “Help me, help!”

Harvey covered her mouth with his big hand, muffling her yells, and fell on her, knocking the wind out of her. For a few moments she was helpless, struggling to breathe. His knuckles bruised her thighs as he fumbled one-handed with his fly. Then he was pushing against her, looking for the way in. She wriggled desperately, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy.

The phone was still ringing. Then the doorbell rang too.

Harvey did not stop.

Jeannie opened her mouth. Harvey’s fingers slid between her teeth. She bit down hard, as hard as she could, thinking that she did not care if she broke her teeth on his bones. Warm blood spurted into her mouth and she heard him cry out in anguish as he jerked his hand away.

The doorbell rang again, long and insistently.

Jeannie spat out Harvey’s blood and yelled again. “Help!” she screamed. “Help, help, help!”

There was a loud bang from downstairs, then another, then a crash and the sound of wood splintering.

Harvey scrambled to his feet, clutching his wounded hand.

Jeannie rolled over, stood up, and took three steps away from him.