the Third Twin (1996)

“I’ll remember,” Jeannie said gratefully.

Lisa put the shirt on. She was short, and it reached to her knees.

Jeannie felt she was getting the nightmare under control. She steered Lisa to the emergency vehicles. Three cops stood leaning against a cruiser, doing nothing. Jeannie spoke to the oldest of the three, a fat white man with a gray mustache. “This woman’s name is Lisa Hoxton. She’s been raped.”

She expected them to be electrified by the news that a major crime had been committed, but their reaction was surprisingly casual. They took a few seconds to digest the information, and Jeannie was getting ready to snap at them, when the one with the mustache levered himself off the hood of the car and said: “Where did this happen?”

“The basement of the burning building, in the pool machine room at the back.”

One of the others, a young black man, said: “Those firemen will be hosing away the evidence right now, Sarge.”

“You’re right,” the older man replied. “You better get down there, Lenny, and secure the crime scene.” Lenny hurried away. The sergeant turned to Lisa. “Do you know the man who did this, Ms. Hoxton?” he said.

Lisa shook her head.

Jeannie said: “He’s a tall white man wearing a red baseball cap with the word ‘Security’ on the front. I saw him in the women’s locker room soon after the fire broke out, and I think I saw him running away just before I found Lisa.”

The cop reached into the car and pulled out a radio microphone. He spoke into it for a while then hung it up again. “If he’s dumb enough to keep the hat on we may catch him,” he said. He spoke to the third cop. “McHenty, take the victim to the hospital.”

McHenty was a young white man with glasses. He said to Lisa: “You want to sit in the front or the back?”

Lisa said nothing but looked apprehensive.

Jeannie helped her out. “Sit in the front. You don’t want to look like a suspect.”

A terrified look crossed Lisa’s face, and she spoke at last. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I will if you like,” Jeannie said reassuringly. “Or I could swing by my apartment and pick up some clothes for you, and meet you at the hospital.”

Lisa looked at McHenty worriedly.

Jeannie said: “You’ll be all right now, Lisa.”

McHenty held open the door of the cruiser and Lisa got in.

“Which hospital?” Jeannie asked him.

“Santa Teresa.” He got in the car.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Jeannie called through the glass as the car sped away.

She jogged to the faculty parking lot, already regretting that she had not gone with Lisa. Her expression as she left had been frightened and wretched. Of course she needed clean clothes, but maybe she had a more urgent need for another woman to stay with her and hold her hand and reassure her. Probably the last thing she wanted was to be left alone with a macho man with a gun. As she jumped into her car Jeannie felt she had screwed up. “Jesus, what a day,” she said as she tore out of the parking lot.

She lived not far from the campus. Her apartment was the upper story of a small row house. Jeannie double-parked and ran inside.

She washed her hands and face hurriedly, then threw on some clean clothes. She thought for a moment about which of her clothes would fit Lisa’s short, rounded figure. She pulled out an oversize polo shirt and a pair of sweat pants with an elastic waistband. Underwear was more difficult. She found a baggy pair of man’s boxer shorts that might do, but none of her bras would fit. Lisa would have to go without. She added deck shoes, stuffed everything into a duffel, and ran out again.

As she drove to the hospital her mood changed. Since the fire broke out she had been focused on what she had to do: now she began to feel enraged. Lisa was a happy, garrulous woman, but the shock and horror of what had happened had turned her into a zombie, frightened to get into a police car on her own.

Driving along a shopping street, Jeannie started to look for the guy in the red cap, imagining that if she saw him she would swing the car up on the sidewalk and run him down. But in fact she would not recognize him. He must have taken off the bandanna and probably the hat too. What else had he been wearing? It shocked her to realize she could hardly remember. Some kind of T-shirt, she thought, with blue jeans or maybe shorts. Anyway, he might have changed his clothes by now, as she had.

In fact, it could be any tall white man on the street: that pizza delivery boy in the red coat; the bald guy walking to church with his wife, hymnbooks under their arms; the handsome bearded man carrying a guitar case; even the cop talking to a bum outside the liquor store. There was nothing Jeannie could do with her rage, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter until her knuckles turned white.