The Third Twin - Ken Follett [46]
She went inside and led the way up the stairs. A light was on up there. That was curious: she had left before dark.
The staircase led directly into her living room. She stepped inside and screamed.
He was standing at her refrigerator with a bottle of vodka in his hand. He was scruffy and unshaven, and he seemed a little drunk.
Behind her, Berrington said: “What’s going on?”
“You need better security in here, Jeannie,” the intruder said. “I picked your locks in about ten seconds.”
Berrington said: “Who the hell is he?”
Jeannie said in a shocked voice: “When did you get out of jail, Daddy?”
11
THE LINEUP ROOM WAS ON THE SAME FLOOR AS THE CELLS.
In the anteroom were six other men of about Steve’s age and build. He guessed they were cops. They did not speak to him and avoided his gaze. They were treating him like a criminal. He wanted to say, “Hey, guys, I’m on your side, I’m not a rapist, I’m innocent.”
They all had to take off their wristwatches and jewelry and put on white paper coveralls over their clothes. While they were getting ready, a young man in a suit came in and said: “Which of you is the suspect, please?”
“That’s me,” Steve said.
“I’m Lew Tanner, the public defender,” the man said. “I’m here to make sure the lineup is run correctly. Do you have any questions?”
“How long will it take me to get out of here afterward?” Steve said.
“Assuming you’re not picked out of the lineup, a couple of hours.”
“Two hours!” Steve said indignantly. “Do I have to go back in that fucking cell?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll ask them to handle your discharge as fast as possible,” Lew said. “Anything else?”
“No thanks.”
“Okay.” He went out.
A turnkey ushered the seven men through a door onto a stage. There was a backdrop, with a graduated scale that showed their height, and positions numbered one to ten. A powerful light shone on them, and a screen divided the stage from the rest of the room. The men could not see through the screen, but they could hear what was going on beyond it.
For a while there was nothing but footsteps and occasional low voices, all male. Then Steve heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s steps. After a moment a man’s voice spoke, sounding as if he were reading from a card or repeating something by rote.
“Standing before you are seven people. They will be known to you by number only. If any of these individuals have done anything to you, or in your presence, I want you to call out their number, and number only. If you would like any of them to speak, say any form of specific words, we will have them say those words. If you would like to have them turn around or face sideways, then they will do that as a group. Do you recognize any one of them who has done anything to you or in your presence?”
There was a silence. Steve’s nerves were wound up tight as guitar strings, even though he was sure she would not pick him out.
A low female voice said: “He had a hat on.”
She sounded like an educated middle-class woman of about his own age, Steve thought.
The male voice said: “We have hats. Would you like them all to put on a hat?”
“It was more of a cap. A baseball cap.”
Steve heard anxiety and tension in her voice but also determination. There was no hint of falseness. She sounded like the kind of woman who would tell the truth, even when distressed. He felt a little better.
“Dave, see if we have seven baseball caps in that closet.”
There was a pause of several minutes. Steve ground his teeth in impatience. A voice muttered: “Jeez, I didn’t know we had all this stuff … eyeglasses, mustaches—”
“No chitchat, please, Dave,” the first man said. “This is a formal legal proceeding.”
Eventually a detective came onto the stage from the side and handed a baseball cap to each man in the lineup. They all put them on and the detective left.
From the other side of the screen came the sound of a woman crying.
The male voice repeated the form of words used earlier. “Do you recognize any one of them who has done anything to you or in your presence? If so call out their number,