the Third Twin

56

HARVEY CRUISED UP AND DOWN JEANNIE’S STREET, LOOKING for a car just like his own. There were lots of elderly automobiles, but no rusty light-colored Datsuns. Steve Logan was not around.

He pulled into a slot near her house and turned off the engine. He sat thinking for a moment. He would need his wits about him. He was glad he had not drunk that beer Uncle Jim had offered him.

He knew she would take him for Steve, because she had done so once before, in Philadelphia. The two of them were identical in appearance. But conversation would be more tricky. She would make references to all sorts of things he was supposed to know about. He would have to answer without betraying his ignorance. He had to keep her confidence long enough to find out what evidence she had against him and what she planned to do with her knowledge. It would be very easy to make a slip and betray himself.

But even while he thought soberly about the daunting challenge of impersonating Steve, he could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. What he had done in her car had been the most thrilling sexual encounter he had ever had. It was even better than being in the women’s locker room when they were all panicking. He got aroused every time he thought about ripping her clothes while the car swerved all over the expressway.

He knew he should concentrate on his task now. He must not think of her face contorted in fear and her strong legs writhing. He ought to get the information from her and leave. But all his life he had never been able to do the sensible thing.

Jeannie called police headquarters as soon as she got home. She knew Mish would not be there, but she left a message asking her to call urgently. “Didn’t you leave an urgent message for her earlier today?” she was asked.

“Yes, but this is another one, just as important.”

“I’ll do my best to pass it on,” the voice said skeptically.

Next she called Steve’s house, but there was no reply. She guessed he and Lorraine were with their lawyer, trying to get Charles freed, and he would call when he could.

She was disappointed; she wanted to tell someone the good news.

The thrill of having found Harvey’s apartment wore off, and she felt depressed. Her thoughts returned to the danger that faced her of a future with no money, no job, and no way to help her mother.

To cheer herself up she made brunch. She scrambled three eggs and grilled the bacon she had bought yesterday for Steve and ate it with toast and coffee. As she was putting the dishes in the dishwasher, the doorbell rang.

She lifted the handset. “Hello?”

“Jeannie? It’s Steve.”

“Come on in!” she said happily.

He was wearing a cotton sweater the color of his eyes, and he looked good enough to eat. She kissed him and hugged him hard, letting him feel her breasts against his chest. His hand slid down her back to her ass and pressed her to him. Today he smelled different again: he had used some kind of aftershave with an herbal fragrance. He tasted different, too, sort of like he had been drinking tea.

After a while she broke away. “Let’s not go too fast,” she panted. She wanted to savor this. “Come in and sit down. I have so much to tell you!”

He sat on the couch and she went to the refrigerator. “Wine, beer, coffee?”

“Wine sounds good.”

“Do you think it will be okay?”

What the hell did she mean by that? Do you think it will be okay? “I don’t know,” he said.

“How long ago did we open it?”

Okay, they shared a bottle of wine but didn’t finish it, so she replaced the cork and put the bottle in the refrigerator, and now she’s wondering whether it has oxidized. But she wants me to decide. “Let’s see, what day was it?”

“It was Wednesday, that’s four days.”

He could not even see whether it was red or white. Shit. “Hell, just pour a glass and we’ll try it.”

“What a smart idea.” She poured some wine into a glass and handed it to him. He tasted it. “It’s drinkable,” he said.

She leaned over the back of the sofa. “Let me taste.” She kissed his lips. “Open your mouth,” she said. “I want to taste the wine.” He chuckled and did as she said. She put the tip of her tongue into his mouth. My God, this woman is sexy. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s drinkable.” Laughing, she filled his glass and poured some for herself.

He was beginning to enjoy himself. “Put some music on,” he suggested.

“On what?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Oh, Christ, I’ve made a slip. He looked around the apartment: no stereo. Dumb.

She said: “Daddy stole my stereo, remember? I don’t have anything to play music on. Wait a minute, I do.” She went into the next room—bedroom, presumably—and came back with one of those waterproof radios for hanging in the shower. “It’s a silly thing, Mom gave it to me one Christmas, before she started to go crazy.”

Daddy stole her stereo. Mom’s crazy—what the hell kind of a family does she come from?

“The sound is terrible, but it’s all I’ve got.” She turned it on. “I keep it tuned to 92Q.”

‘Twenty hits in a row,” he said automatically.

“How do you know about that?”

Oh, shit, Steve wouldn’t know Baltimore radio stations. “I picked it up in the car on the way here.”

“What sort of music do you like?”

I have no idea what Steve likes, but I guess you don’t either, so the truth will do. “I’m into gangsta rap—Snoop Doggy Dogg, Ice Cube, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, fuck, you make me feel middle-aged.”

“What do you like?”

“The Ramones, the Sex Pistols, the Damned. I mean, when I was a kid, like really a kid, punk was it, you know? My mom would listen to all this cheesy music from the sixties that never did anything for me. Then, when I was about eleven, suddenly, bang! Talking Heads. Remember ‘Psycho Killer’?”

“I sure don’t!”

“Okay, your mother was right, I’m too old for you.” She sat beside him. She put her head on his shoulder and slipped her hand under the sky blue sweater. She rubbed his chest, brushing his nipples with her fingertips. It felt good. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

He wanted to touch her nipples too, but he had more important things to do. With a huge effort of will he said: “We need to talk seriously.”

“You’re right.” She sat up and took a sip of the wine. “You first. Is your father still under arrest?”

Jesus, what do I say to that? “No, you first,” he said. “You said you had so much to tell me.”

“Okay. Number one, I know who raped Lisa. His name is Harvey Jones and he lives in Philadelphia.”

Christ Almighty! Harvey struggled to keep his expression impassive. Thank God I came here. “Is there proof he did it?”

“I went to his apartment. The neighbor let me in with a duplicate key.”

That fucking old homo, I’ll break his scrawny neck.

“I found the baseball cap he was wearing last Sunday. It was hanging on a hook behind the door.”

Jesus! I should have thrown it away. But I never thought anyone would track me down! “You’ve done amazingly well,” he said. Steve would be thrilled by this news; it lets him off the hook. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’ll think of something,” she said with a sexy grin.

Can I get back to Philadelphia in time to get rid of that hat before the police get there? “You’ve told the police all this, have you?”

“No. I’ve left a message for Mish, but she hasn’t called yet.”

Hallelujah! I still have a chance.

Jeannie went on: “Don’t worry. He has no idea we’re onto him. But you haven’t heard the best part. Who else do we know called Jones?”

Do I say, “Berrington”? Would Steve think of that? “It’s a common name.…”

“Berrington, of course! I think Harvey has been brought up as Berrington’s son!”

I’m supposed to be amazed. “Incredible!” he said. What the hell do I do next? Maybe Dad would have some ideas. I have to tell him about all this. I need an excuse to make a phone call.

She took his hand. “Hey, look at your nails!”

Oh, fuck, what now? “What about them?”

“They grow so fast! When you came out of jail, they were all jagged and broken. Now they look great!”

“I always heal fast.”

She turned his hand over and licked his palm.

“You’re hot today,” he said.

“Oh, God, I’ve come on too strong, haven’t I?” She had been told this by other men. Steve had been kind of reticent ever since he came in, and now she understood why. “I know what you’re saying. All last week I was pushing you away, and now you feel like I’m about to eat you for supper.”

He nodded. “Yeah, sort of.”

‘That’s just the way I am. Once I decide for a guy, that’s it.” She bounced up out of the couch. “Okay, I’m backing off.” She went into the kitchen nook and took out an omelet pan. It was so heavy she needed both hands to lift it. “I bought food for you yesterday. Are you hungry?” The pan was dusty—she did not cook much—so she wiped it with a dishcloth. “Want some eggs?”

“Not really. So tell me, were you a punk?”

She put down the pan. “Yeah, for a while. Ripped clothes, green hair.”

“Drugs?”

“I used to do speed at school whenever I had the money.”

“Which parts of your body did you pierce?”

She suddenly remembered the centerfold on Harvey Jones’s wall, of the shaved woman with a ring through the lips of her cunt, and she shuddered. “Only my nose,” she said. “I gave up punk for tennis when I was fifteen.”

“I knew a girl who had a nipple ring.”

Jeannie felt jealous. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Sure.”

“Bastard.”

“Hey, did you think I was a virgin?”

“Don’t ask me to be rational!”

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened to your dad. Did you get him released?”

“Why don’t I phone home and get the latest news?”

If she heard him dialing a seven-digit number, she would know he was making a local call, whereas his father had mentioned that Steve Logan lived in Washington, D.C. He held the cradle down with a finger while he tapped three random digits, to represent an area code, then he released it and dialed his father’s home.

Dad answered, and Harvey said: “Hi, Mom.” He gripped the handset hard, hoping his father would not say, “Who is this? You must have the wrong number.”

But his father got it immediately. “You’re with Jeannie?”

Well done, Dad. “Yes. I called to find out whether Dad got out of jail yet.”

“Colonel Logan is still under arrest, but he’s not in jail. The military police have him.”

“That’s too bad, I was hoping he might have been released by now.”

Hesitantly, Dad said: “Can you tell me … anything?”

Harvey was constantly tempted to glance at Jeannie and check whether she was buying his act. But he knew such a glance would give him a guilty air, so he forced himself to stare at the wall. “Jeannie has worked wonders, Mom. She’s discovered the real rapist.” He tried hard to put a pleased tone into his voice. “His name’s Harvey Jones. We’re just waiting for the detective to return her call so she can break the news.”

“Jesus! That’s terrible!”

“Yeah, isn’t it great!” Don’t sound so ironic, you fool!

“At least we’re forewarned. Can you stop her talking to the police?”

“I think I have to.”

“What about Genetico? Does she have any plans to publicize what she’s found out about us?”

“I don’t know yet.” Let me get off the phone before I say anything to give myself away.

“Make sure you find out. That’s important too.”

All right! “Okay. Well, I hope Dad gets out soon. Call me here if you get any news, okay?”

“Is it safe?”

“Just ask for Steve.” He laughed, as if he had made a joke.

“Jeannie might recognize my voice. But I could get Preston to make the call.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” Harvey hung up.

Jeannie said: “I ought to call police headquarters again. Maybe they didn’t understand how urgent this is.” She picked up the phone.

He realized he was going to have to kill her.

“Kiss me again first,” he said.

She slid into his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. She opened her mouth to his kiss. He stroked her side. “Nice sweater,” he murmured, then he grasped her breast with his big hand.

Her nipple stiffened in response, but somehow she did not feel as good as she expected to. She tried to relax and enjoy the moment she had been looking forward to. He slipped his hands under her sweater, and she arched her back slightly as he held both her breasts. As always, she suffered a moment of embarrassment, fearful that he would be disappointed with them. Every man she had ever slept with had loved her breasts, but she still harbored the notion that they were too small. Like the others, Steve showed no sign of dissatisfaction. He pushed up her sweater, bent his head to her chest, and started sucking her nipples.

She looked down at him. The first time a boy had done this to her she had thought it was absurd, a reversion to childhood. But she had soon come to like it and even enjoyed doing it to a man. Now, however, nothing was working. Her body responded, but some doubt nagged at the back of her mind and she could not concentrate on pleasure. She was annoyed with herself. I messed everything up yesterday, being paranoid, I’m not going to do it again today.

He sensed her unease. Straightening up, he said: “You’re not comfortable. Let’s sit on the couch.” Taking her agreement for granted, he sat down. She followed. He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his index finger and reached for her.

She flinched away.

“What?” he said.

No! It can’t be!

“You … you … did that thing, with your eyebrow.”

“What thing?”

She sprang up from the couch. “You creep!” she screamed. “How dare you!”

“What the fuck is going on?” he said, but the pretense was thin. She could tell from his face that he knew exactly what was happening.

“Get out of my place!” she screamed.

He tried to keep up the facade. “First you’re all over me, then you pull this!”

“I know who you are, you bastard. You’re Harvey!”

He gave up his act. “How did you know?”

“You touched your eyebrow with your fingertip, just like Berrington.”

“Well, what does it matter?” he said, standing up. “If we’re so alike, you could pretend I’m Steve.”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

He touched the front of his pants, showing her his erection. “Now that we’ve got this far, I’m not leaving here with blue balls.”

Oh, Jesus, I’m in bad trouble now. This guy is an animal. “Keep away from me!”

He stepped toward her, smiling. “I’m going to take off those tight jeans and see what’s underneath.”

She remembered Mish saying that rapists enjoy the victim’s fear. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, trying to make her voice calm. “But if you touch me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

He moved dreadfully quickly. In a flash he grabbed her, lifted her, and threw her on the floor.

The phone rang.

She screamed: “Help! Mr. Oliver! Help!”

Harvey snatched up the dishcloth from the kitchen counter and stuffed it roughly into her mouth, bruising her lips. She gagged and began to cough. He held her wrists so that she could not use her hands to pull the cloth out of her mouth. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but she could not, it was too big. Had Mr. Oliver heard her scream? He was old and he turned up the volume of his TV very loud.

The phone kept on ringing.

Harvey grabbed the waist of her jeans. She wriggled away from him. He slapped her face so hard she saw stars. While she was dazed, he let go of her wrists and pulled off her jeans and her panties. “Wow, what a hairy one,” he said.

Jeannie snatched the cloth out of her mouth and screamed: “Help me, help!”

Harvey covered her mouth with his big hand, muffling her yells, and fell on her, knocking the wind out of her. For a few moments she was helpless, struggling to breathe. His knuckles bruised her thighs as he fumbled one-handed with his fly. Then he was pushing against her, looking for the way in. She wriggled desperately, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy.

The phone was still ringing. Then the doorbell rang too.

Harvey did not stop.

Jeannie opened her mouth. Harvey’s fingers slid between her teeth. She bit down hard, as hard as she could, thinking that she did not care if she broke her teeth on his bones. Warm blood spurted into her mouth and she heard him cry out in anguish as he jerked his hand away.

The doorbell rang again, long and insistently.

Jeannie spat out Harvey’s blood and yelled again. “Help!” she screamed. “Help, help, help!”

There was a loud bang from downstairs, then another, then a crash and the sound of wood splintering.

Harvey scrambled to his feet, clutching his wounded hand.

Jeannie rolled over, stood up, and took three steps away from him.

The door flew open. Harvey swung around, turning his back on Jeannie.

Steve burst in.

Steve and Harvey stared at one another in astonishment for a frozen moment.

They were exactly the same. What would happen if they fought? They were equal in height, weight, strength and fitness. A fight could go on forever.

On impulse, Jeannie picked up the omelet pan with both hands. Imagining that she was hitting a cross-court ground shot with her famous double-handed backhand, she shifted her weight to her front foot, locked her wrists, and swung the heavy pan with all her might.

She hit the back of Harvey’s head right on the sweet spot.

There was a sickening thud. Harvey’s legs seemed to go soft. He sank to his knees, swaying.

As if she had run to the net for the volley, Jeannie lifted the pan high with her right hand and brought it down as hard as she could on top of his head.

His eyes rolled up and he went limp and crashed to the floor.

Steve said: “Boy, am I glad you didn’t hit the wrong twin.”

Jeannie started to shake. She dropped the pan and sat on a kitchen stool. Steve put his arms around her. “It’s over,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s only just begun.”

The phone was still ringing.