the Third Twin (1996)

As he drove home he worried about tomorrow’s hearing. He had the four men on the committee on his side, but he had failed to win a promise of support from Jane. Was there anything else he could do? At this late stage there did not seem to be.

When he got home there was a message from Jim Proust on his answering machine. Not more bad news, please, he thought. He sat at the desk in his den and called Jim’s home. “This is Berry.”

“The FBI fucked up,” Jim said without preamble.

Berrington’s spirits sank further. “Tell me.”

“They were told to cancel that search, but the order didn’t get through in time.”

“Goddamn.”

“The results were sent to her by E-mail.”

He felt afraid. “Who was on the list?”

“We don’t know. The Bureau didn’t keep a copy.”

This was insupportable. “We have to know!”

“Maybe you can find out. The list could be in her office.”

“She’s locked out of her office.” Berrington was struck by a hopeful thought. “She might not have retrieved her mail.” His mood lifted a little.

“Can you do that?”

“Sure.” Berrington looked at his gold Rolex. “I’ll go in to the college right now.”

“Call me as soon as you know.”

“You bet.”

He got back in his car and drove to Jones Falls University. The campus was dark and deserted. He parked outside Nut House and went in. He felt less embarrassed about sneaking into Jeannie’s office the second time. What the hell, there was too much at stake for him to worry about his dignity.

He turned on her computer and accessed her mailbox. She had one piece of mail. Please, God, let this be the FBI list. He downloaded it. To his disappointment, it was another message from her friend at the University of Minnesota:

Did you get my E-mail yesterday? I’ll be in Baltimore tomorrow and would really like to see you again, even if only for a few minutes. Please call me. Love, Will.

She had not got yesterday’s message, because Berrington had downloaded it then erased it. She would not get this one, either. But where was the FBI list? She must have downloaded it yesterday morning, before security locked her out.

Where had she saved it? Berrington searched her hard disk for the words “FBI,” “F.B.I.” with dots, and “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He found nothing. He searched through a box of diskettes in her drawer, but they were just backups of the files on her computer. “This woman even keeps a backup copy of her goddamn shopping list,” he muttered.

He used Jeannie’s phone to call Jim again. “Nothing,” he said abruptly.

“We have to know who is on that list!” Jim barked.

Berrington said sarcastically: “What shall I do, Jim—kidnap and torture her?”

“She must have the list, right?”

“It’s not in her mailbox, so she must have downloaded it.”

“So if it’s not in her office, she must have it at home.”

“Logical.” Berrington saw where he was heading. “Can you have her place …” He was reluctant to say “searched by the FBI” on the phone. “Can you have it checked out?”

“I guess so. David Creane failed to deliver, so I guess he still owes me a favor. I’ll call him.”

“Tomorrow morning would be a good time. The hearing is at ten, she’ll be there for a couple of hours.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get it done. But what if she keeps it in her goddamn handbag? What do we do then?”

“I don’t know. Good night, Jim.”

“Night.”

After hanging up, Berrington sat there for a while, looking at the narrow room enlivened by Jeannie’s bright, bold colors. If things went wrong tomorrow, she could be back at this desk by lunchtime, with her FBI list, charging ahead with her investigation, all set to ruin three good men.

It must not happen, he thought desperately; it must not happen.

FRIDAY

38

JEANNIE WOKE UP IN HER COMPACT WHITE-WALLED LIVING room, on her black couch, in Steve’s arms, wearing only her fuchsia pink terrycloth bathrobe.

How did I get here?

They had spent half the night rehearsing for today’s hearing. Jeannie’s heart lurched: her fate was to be decided this morning.

But how come I’m lying in his lap?

Around three o’clock she had yawned and closed her eyes for a moment.

And then … ?

She must have fallen asleep.

At some point he had gone into the bedroom and taken the blue-and-red-striped quilt off the bed and tucked it around her, for she was snug beneath it.

But Steve could not be responsible for the way she was lying, with her head on his thigh and her arm around his waist. She must have done that herself, in her sleep. It was a bit embarrassing; her face was very close to his crotch. She wondered what he thought of her. Her behavior had been very off the wall. Undressing in front of him, then falling asleep on him; she was behaving as you would with a longtime lover.

Well, I’ve got an excuse for acting weird: I’ve had a weird week.