The Third Twin - Ken Follett [53]
Both Charlotte and the Major had filled out several questionnaires in advance, and now they had to be interviewed for about an hour each. Lisa took the Major into the kitchen and Jeannie interviewed Charlotte.
Jeannie had trouble concentrating on the routine questions. Her mind kept wandering to Steve in jail. She still found it impossible to believe he could be a rapist. It was not just because that would spoil her theory. She liked the guy: he was smart and engaging, and he seemed kind. He also had a vulnerable side: his bafflement and distress at the news that he had a psychopathic twin had made her want to put her arms around him and comfort him.
When she asked Charlotte if any other family members had ever been in trouble with the law, Charlotte turned her imperious gaze on Jeannie and drawled: “The men in my family have always been terribly violent.” She breathed in through flared nostrils. “I’m a Marlowe by birth, and we are a hot-blooded family.”
That suggested that Dennis was not adopted or that his adoption was not acknowledged. Jeannie concealed her disappointment. Was Charlotte going to deny that Dennis could be a twin?
The question had to be asked. Jeannie said: “Mrs. Pinker, is there any chance Dennis might have a twin?”
“No.”
The response was flat: no indignation, no bluster, just factual.
“You’re sure.”
Charlotte laughed. “My dear, that’s one thing a mother could hardly make a mistake about!”
“He definitely isn’t adopted.”
“I carried that boy in my womb, may God forgive me.”
Jeannie’s spirits fell. Charlotte Pinker would lie more readily than Lorraine Logan, Jeannie judged, but all the same it was strange and worrying that they should both deny their sons were twins.
She felt pessimistic as they took their leave of the Pinkers. She had a feeling that when she met Dennis she would find he looked nothing like Steve.
Their rented Ford Aspire was parked outside. It was a hot day. Jeannie was wearing a sleeveless dress with a jacket over it for authority. The Ford’s air conditioner groaned and pumped out tepid air. She took off her panty hose and hung her jacket on the rear-seat coat hook.
Jeannie drove. As they pulled onto the highway, heading for the prison, Lisa said: “It really bothers me that you think I picked the wrong guy.”
“It bothers me, too,” Jeannie said. “I know you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t feel sure.”
“How can you be so certain I’m wrong?”
“I’m not certain about anything. I just have a strong feeling about Steve Logan.”
“It seems to me that you should weigh a feeling against an eyewitness certainty, and believe the eyewitness.”
“I know. But did you ever see that Alfred Hitchcock show? It’s in black and white, you catch reruns sometimes on cable.”
“I know what you’re going to say. The one where four people witness a road accident and each one sees something different.”
“Are you offended?”
Lisa sighed. “I ought to be, but I like you too much to be mad at you about it.”
Jeannie reached across and squeezed Lisa’s hand. “Thanks.”
There was a long silence, then Lisa said: “I hate it that people think I’m weak.”
Jeannie frowned. “I don’t think you’re weak.”
“Most people do. It’s because I’m small, and I have a cute little nose, and freckles.”
“Well, you don’t look tough, it’s true.”
“But I am. I live alone, I take care of myself, I hold down a job, and nobody fucks with me. Or so I thought, before Sunday. Now I feel people are right: I am weak. I can’t take care of myself at all! Any psychopath walking around the streets can grab me and hold a knife in my face and do what he wants with my body