The Third Twin - Ken Follett [30]
“It would close up and heal over if you let it.”
“I know. I guess I keep it because I feel that total respectability is deadly dull.”
Steve smiled. My God, I like this woman, he thought, even if she is too old for me. Then his mind switched back to what she had told him. “What makes you so sure I have a twin?”
“I’ve developed a computer program that searches medical records and other databases for pairs. Identical twins have similar brain waves, electrocardiograms, fingerprint ridge counts, and teeth. I scanned a large database of dental x-rays held by a medical insurance company, and found someone whose teeth measurements and arch forms are the same as yours.”
“It doesn’t sound conclusive.”
“Maybe not, although he even has cavities in the same places you do.”
“So who is he?”
“His name is Dennis Pinker.”
“Where is he now?”
“Richmond, Virginia.”
“Have you met him?”
“I’m going to Richmond to see him tomorrow. I’ll do many of the same tests on him, and take a blood sample so we can compare his DNA with yours. Then we’ll know for sure.”
Steve frowned. “Do you have a particular area that you’re interested in, within the field of genetics?”
“Yes. My specialty is criminality and whether it’s inherited.”
Steve nodded. “I get it. What did he do?”
“Pardon me?”
“What did Dennis Pinker do?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re going to visit him, instead of asking him to come here, so obviously he’s incarcerated.”
She colored faintly, as if she had been caught out in a deception. With her cheeks flushed she looked sexier than ever. “Yes, you’re right,” she said.
“What’s he in jail for?”
She hesitated. “Murder.”
“Jesus!” He looked away from her, trying to take it in. “Not only do I have an identical twin brother, but he’s a murderer! Jesus Christ!”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve handled this badly. You’re the first subject like this I’ve ever studied.”
“Boy. I came here hoping to learn something about myself, but I’ve learned more than I wanted to know.” Jeannie did not know, and never would know, that he had almost killed a boy called Tip Hendricks.
“And you’re very important to me.”
“How so?”
“The question is whether criminality is inherited. I published a paper which said that a certain type of personality is inherited—a combination of impulsiveness, daring, aggression, and hyperactivity—but that whether or not such people become criminals depends on how their parents deal with them. To prove my theory I have to find pairs of identical twins, one of whom is a criminad and the other a law-abiding citizen. You and Dennis are my first pair, and you’re perfect: he’s in jail and you, forgive me, you’re the ideal all-American boy. To tell you the truth, I’m so excited about it I can hardly sit still.”
The thought of this woman being too excited to sit still made Steve restless too. He looked away from her, afraid his lust would show in his face. But what she had told him was painfully disturbing. He had the same DNA as a murderer. What did that make him?
The door opened behind Steve, arid she looked up. “Hi, Berry,” she said. “Steve, I’d like you to meet Professor Berrington Jones, the head of the twins study here at JFU.”
The professor was a short man in his late fifties, handsome with sleek silver hair. He wore an expensive-looking suit of gray-flecked Irish tweed and a red bow tie with white dots, and he looked as neat as if he had just come out of a bandbox. Steve had seen him on TV a few times, talking about how America was going all to hell. Steve did not like his views, but he had been brought up to be polite, so he stood up and held out his hand to shake.
Berrington Jones started as if he had seen a ghost. “Good God!” he said, and his face turned pale.
Dr. Ferrami said: “Berry! What is it?”
Steve said: “Did I do something?”
The professor said nothing for a moment. Then he seemed to collect his wits. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing,” he said, but he still seemed shaken to the core. “It’s just that I suddenly thought of something