the Third Twin (1996)

“Let’s talk about what we have to do. We need to know Jeannie Ferrami’s intentions, especially over the next twenty-four hours. You need to know whether she has any evidence that links you to Lisa Hoxton. We can’t think of any way to get to her—but one.”

Harvey nodded. “You want me to go talk to her, pretending to be Steve Logan.”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Sounds fun.”

Berrington groaned. “Don’t do anything foolish, please. Just talk to her.”

“Want me to go right away?”

“Yes, please. I hate to ask you to do this—but it’s for you as much as for me.”

“Relax, Dad—what could happen?”

“Maybe I worry too much. I guess there’s no great danger in going to a girl’s apartment.”

“What if the real Steve is there?”

“Check the cars in the street. He has a Datsun like yours; that’s another reason the police were so sure he was the perpetrator.”

“No kidding!”

“You’re like identical twins, you make the same choices. If his car is there, don’t go in. Call me, and we’ll try to think of some way to get him out.”

“Suppose he walked there?”

“He lives in Washington.”

“Okay.” Harvey stood up. “What’s the girl’s address?”

“She lives in Hampden.” Berrington scribbled the street address on a card and handed it over. “Be careful, okay?”

“Sure. See you sooner, Montezuma.”

Berrington forced a smile. “In a flash, succotash.”

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?”