the Third Twin

18

JEANNIE STARED AT THE DOOR OF THE INTERVIEW ROOM AS IT slowly opened.

The man who walked in was Steven Logan’s double.

Beside her, she heard Lisa gasp.

Dennis Pinker looked so like Steven that Jeannie would never be able to tell them apart.

The system worked, she thought triumphantly. She was vindicated. Even though the parents vehemently denied that either of these two young men could possibly have a twin, they were as alike as her two hands.

The curly fair hair was cut the same way: short, with a part. Dennis rolled the sleeves of his prison fatigues the same neat way Steven did the cuffs of his blue linen shirt. Dennis closed the door behind him with his heel, the way Steven had when he had walked into Jeannie’s office in Nut House. He gave her an engaging, boyish smile just like Steven’s as he sat. She could hardly believe this was not Steven.

She looked at Lisa. She was staring bug-eyed at Dennis, her face pale with fear. “It’s him,” she breathed.

Dennis looked at Jeannie and said: “You’re going to give me your panties.”

Jeannie was chilled by his cool certainty, but she was also intellectually excited. Steven would never say a thing like that. Here it was, the same genetic material transformed into two completely different individuals—one a charming college boy, the other a psychopath. But was the difference merely superficial?

Robinson, the guard, said mildly: “Now behave yourself and be nice, Pinker, or you’ll be in bad trouble.”

Dennis gave that boyish grin again, but his words were scary. “Robinson won’t even know it’s happened, but you’ll do it,” he said to Jeannie. “You’ll walk out of here with the breeze blowing on your bare ass.”

Jeannie made herself calm. This was empty bragging. She was smart and tough: Dennis would not have found it easy to attack her even if she had been alone. Having a tall prison guard standing next to her with a nightstick and a gun, she was perfectly safe.

“Are you okay?” she murmured to Lisa.

Lisa was pale, but her mouth was set in a determined line, and she said grimly: “I’m fine.”

Like his parents, Dennis had filled out several forms in advance. Now Lisa began on the more complex questionnaires, which could not be completed simply by ticking boxes. As they worked, Jeannie reviewed the results and compared Dennis with Steven. The similarities were astonishing: psychological profile, interests and hobbies, tastes, physical skills—all were the same. Dennis even had the same astonishingly high IQ as Steven.

What a waste, she thought. This young man could become a scientist, a surgeon, an engineer, a software designer. Instead he’s in here, vegetating.

The big difference between Dennis and Steven was in their socialization. Steven was a mature man with above average social skills—comfortable meeting strangers, prepared to accept legitimate authority, at ease with his friends, happy to be part of a team. Dennis had the interpersonal skills of a three-year-old. He grabbed anything he wanted, he had trouble sharing, he was frightened of strangers, and if he could not get his way he lost his temper and became violent.

Jeannie could remember being three years old. It was her earliest memory. She saw herself leaning over the cot in which her new baby sister lay sleeping. Patty had been wearing a pretty pink sleepsuit with pale blue flowers embroidered on the collar. Jeannie could still feel the hatred that had possessed her as she stared at the tiny face. Patty had stolen her mommy and daddy. Jeannie wanted with all her being to kill this intruder who had taken so much of the love and attention previously reserved for Jeannie alone. Aunt Rosa had said: “You love your little sister, don’t you?” and Jeannie had replied: “I hate her, I wish she would die.” Aunt Rosa had slapped her, and Jeannie had felt doubly mistreated.

Jeannie had grown up, and so had Steven, but Dennis never had. Why was Steven different from Dennis? Had he been saved by his upbringing? Or did he just seem different? Were his social skills no more than a mask for the psychopath beneath?

As she watched and listened, Jeannie realized there was another difference. She was afraid of Dennis. She could not put her finger on the exact cause, but there was menace in the air all around him. She had the sense he would do anything that came into his head, regardless of the consequences. Steven had not given her that feeling for one moment.

Jeannie photographed Dennis and took close-ups of both ears. In identical twins the ears were normally highly similar, especially the attachment of the earlobes.

When they were almost done, Lisa took a blood sample from Dennis, something she had been trained to do. Jeannie could hardly wait to see the DNA comparison. She was certain Steven and Dennis had the same genes. That would prove beyond doubt that they were identical twins.

Lisa routinely sealed the vial and signed the seal, then she went to put it in the cooler in the trunk of the car, leaving Jeannie to finish the interview on her own.

As Jeannie completed the last set of questions, she wished she could get Steven and Dennis in the laboratory together for a week. But that was not going to be possible for many of her twin pairs. In studying criminals, she would constantly face the problem that some of her subjects were in jail. The more sophisticated tests, involving laboratory machinery, would not be done on Dennis until he got out of jail, if ever. She just had to live with that. She would have plenty of other data to work with.

She finished the last questionnaire. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Pinker,” she said.

“You didn’t give me your panties yet,” he said coolly.

Robinson said: “Now, Pinker, you been good all afternoon, don’t spoil it.”

Dennis threw the guard a look of sheer contempt. Then he said to Jeannie: “Robinson’s scared of rats, did you know that, lady psychologist?”

Suddenly Jeannie felt anxious. There was something going on that she did not understand. She began hurriedly to tidy up her papers.

Robinson looked embarrassed. “I hate rats, it’s true, but I ain’t scared of them.”

“Not even of that big gray one in the corner?” Dennis said, pointing.

Robinson whirled around. There was no rat in the corner, but when Robinson’s back was turned Dennis reached into his pocket and whipped out a tightly wrapped package. He moved so quickly that Jeannie did not guess what he was doing until it was too late. He unfolded a blue spotted handkerchief to reveal a fat gray rat with a long pink tail. Jeannie shuddered. She was not squeamish, but there was something profoundly creepy about seeing the rat cupped lovingly in the hands that had strangled a woman.

Before Robinson could turn around again, Dennis had released the rat.

It ran across the room. “There, Robinson, there!” Dennis cried.

Robinson turned around, saw the rat, and paled. “Shit,” he growled, and he drew his nightstick.

The rat ran along the floor molding, looking for somewhere to hide. Robinson went after it, lashing out with his nightstick. He made a series of black marks on the wall but missed the rat.

Jeannie watched Robinson with a warning alarm ringing in her mind. There was something wrong here, something that did not make sense. This was a humorous jape. Dennis was not a practical joker, he was a sexual pervert and a murderer. What he had done was uncharacteristic. Unless, she realized with a tremor of dread, this was a diversion, and Dennis had some other purpose—

She felt something touch her hair. She turned around in her chair, and her heart stopped.

Dennis had moved and was standing up close to her. In front of her face he held what looked like a homemade knife: it was a tin spoon with the bowl flattened and sharpened to a point.

She wanted to scream but she felt strangled. A second ago she had thought herself perfectly safe; now she was being threatened by a murderer with a knife. How could it have happened so quickly? The blood seemed to drain out of her head, and she could hardly think.

Dennis grabbed her hair with his left hand and moved the point of the knife so close to her eye that she could not focus on it. He bent over and spoke in her ear. His breath was warm on her cheek and he smelled sweaty. His voice was so low that she could hardly hear him over the noise Robinson was making. “Do as I say or I’ll slice your eyeballs.”

She melted with terror. “Oh, God, no, don’t make me blind,” she pleaded.

Hearing her own voice speak in such an alien tone of groveling surrender brought her to her senses somewhat. She tried desperately to pull herself together and think. Robinson was still chasing the rat: he had no idea what Dennis was up to. Jeannie could hardly believe this was happening. They were in the heart of a state prison and she had an armed guard, yet she was at Dennis’s mercy. How glibly she had thought, a few short hours ago, that she would give him a hard time if he attacked her! She began to tremble with fear.

Dennis jerked painfully on her hair, pulling up, and she shot to her feet.

“Please!” she said. Even as she spoke, she hated herself for begging in this humiliating way, but she was too terrified to stop. “I’ll do anything!”

She felt his lips on her ear. “Take off your panties,” he murmured.

She froze. She was ready to do whatever he wanted, no matter how shaming, in order to escape; but to take off her panties might be as dangerous as to defy him. She did not know what to do. She tried to see Robinson. He was out of her field of view, behind her, and she did not dare turn her head because of the knife next to her eye. However, she could hear him cursing the rat and swiping at it with his club, and it was evident he still had not seen what Dennis was doing.

“I don’t have much time,” Dennis murmured in a voice like an icy wind. “If I don’t get what I want, you’ll never see the sun shine again.”

She believed him. She had just finished three hours of psychological interviews with him and she knew what he was like. He had no conscience: he was not capable of guilt or remorse. If she frustrated his wishes, he would maim her without hesitation.

But what would he do after she had taken off her panties? she thought desperately. Would he be satisfied and take the blade away from her face? Would he slash her anyway? Or would he want something more?

Why couldn’t Robinson kill the damned rat?

“Quickly!” Dennis hissed.

What could be worse than blindness? “All right,” she groaned.

She bent awkwardly, with Dennis still holding her hair and pointing the knife at her. Fumbling, she pulled up the skirt of her linen dress and pushed down her Kmart white cotton briefs. Dennis grunted, deep in his throat like a bear, as they dropped to her ankles. She felt ashamed, even though reason told her this was not her fault. Hurriedly she worked her dress back down, covering her nakedness. Then she stepped out of her panties and kicked them away across the gray plastic-tiled floor.

She felt dreadfully vulnerable.

Dennis released her, snatched up the panties, and pressed them to his face, breathing in, his eyes closed in ecstasy.

Jeannie stared at him, aghast at this forced intimacy. Even though he was not touching her, she shuddered in disgust.

What would he do next?

Robinson’s nightstick made a revolting, squashing sound. Jeannie turned and saw that at last he had struck the rat. His stick had smashed the rear half of its fat body, and there was a red smear across the gray plastic tiles. It could no longer run, but it was still alive, its eyes open and its body moving as it breathed. Robinson hit it again, smashing its head. It stopped moving and a gray slime seeped out of the crushed skull.

Jeannie looked back at Dennis. To her surprise he was sitting at the table, as he had all afternoon, looking as if he had never moved. He wore an innocent air. The knife and her panties had disappeared.

Was she out of danger? Was it all over?

Robinson was panting with exertion. He directed a suspicious glare at Dennis and said: “You didn’t bring that vermin in here, Pinker, did you?”

“No, sir,” Dennis said glibly.

Jeannie formed in her mind the words “Yes, he did!” But for some reason she did not say them.

Robinson went on: “ ’Cause if I thought you done a thing like that, I would …” The guard shot a sideways look at Jeannie and decided not to say exactly what he would do to Dennis. “I believe you know I’d make you regret it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeannie realized she was safe. But relief was followed immediately by anger. She stared at Dennis, outraged. Was he going to pretend that nothing had happened?

Robinson said: “Well, you can get a bucket of water and clean this place up, anyway.”

“Right away, sir.”

“That is, if Dr. Ferrami is finished with you.”

Jeannie tried to say, “While you were killing the rat, Dennis stole my panties,” but the words would not come out. They seemed so foolish. And she could imagine the consequences of saying them. She would be stuck here for an hour while the allegation was investigated. Dennis would be searched and her underwear found. It would have to be shown to Warden Temoigne. She imagined him examining the evidence, handling her panties and turning them inside out, with a strange look on his face.…

No. She would say nothing.

She suffered a pang of guilt. She had always scorned women who suffered assault and then kept quiet about it, letting the offender get away with it. Now she was doing the same thing.

She realized that Dennis was counting on that. He had foreseen how she would feel and gambled that he could get away with it. The thought made her so indignant that for a moment she contemplated putting up with the hassle just to thwart him. Then she envisioned Temoigne and Robinson and all the other men in this jail looking at her and thinking, She doesn’t have any panties on, and she realized it would be too humiliating to be borne.

How clever Dennis was: as clever as the man who had set fire to the gymnasium and raped Lisa, as clever as Steve.…

“You seem a little shook,” Robinson said to her. “I guess you don’t like rats any more than I do.”

She pulled herself together. It was over. She had survived with her life and even her eyesight. What happened that was so bad? she asked herself. I might have been mutilated or raped. Instead I just lost my underwear. Be grateful. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said.

“In that case, I’ll take you out.”

The three of them left the room together.

Outside the door Robinson said: “Go get a mop, Pinker.”

Dennis smiled at Jeannie, a long, intimate smile, as if they were lovers who had spent the afternoon in bed together. Then he disappeared into the interior of the jail. Jeannie watched him go with immense relief, but it was tinged with continuing revulsion, for he had her underwear in his pocket. Would he sleep with her panties pressed to his cheek, like a child with a teddy bear? Or would he wrap them around his penis as he masturbated, pretending that he was fucking her? Whatever he chose to do she felt she was an unwilling participant, her privacy violated and her freedom compromised.

Robinson walked her to the main gate and shook her hand. She crossed the hot parking lot to the Ford, thinking, I’ll be glad to drive out of this place. She had a sample of Dennis’s DNA, that was the most important thing.

Lisa was at the wheel, running the air-conditioning to cool the car. Jeannie slumped into the passenger seat.

“You look beat,” Lisa said as she pulled away.

“Stop at the first shopping strip,” Jeannie said.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I’ll tell you,” Jeannie replied. “But you’re not going to believe it.”