The Third Twin - Ken Follett [71]
She stared through the window. After another five minutes Steven was brought in. As he entered the booth she saw that he was handcuffed and his feet were chained together, as if he were dangerous. He came to the glass and peered through. When he recognized her, he smiled broadly. “This is a pleasant surprise!” he said. “In fact, it’s the only nice thing that’s happened to me all day.”
Despite his cheerful manner he looked terrible: strained and tired. “How are you?” she said.
“A little rough. They’ve put me in a cell with a murderer who has a crack hangover. I’m afraid to go to sleep.”
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.