the Third Twin (1996)

“Yeah, one,” Jeannie said in answer to the question. “There was one guy I wanted to marry. His name was Will Temple. He was an anthropologist. Still is.” Jeannie could see him now, a big man with a fair beard, in blue jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, carrying his ten-speed bicycle through the corridors of the university.

“You’ve mentioned him before,” Lisa said. “What was he like?”

“He was great” Jeannie sighed. “He made me laugh, he took care of me when I was sick, he ironed his own shirts, and he was hung like a horse.”

Lisa did not smile. “What went wrong?”

Jeannie was being flip, but it hurt her to remember. “He left me for Georgina Tinkerton Ross.” As if by way of explanation, she added: “Of the Pittsburgh Tinkerton Rosses.”

“What was she like?”

The last thing Jeannie wanted to do was recall Georgina. However, this was taking Lisa’s mind off the rape, so she forced herself to reminisce. “She was perfect,” she said, and she disliked the bitter sarcasm she heard in her own voice. “Strawberry blond, hourglass figure, impeccable taste in cashmere sweaters and crocodile shoes. No brain, but a hell of a big trust fund.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Will and I lived together for a year when I was doing my doctorate.” It had been the happiest time she could remember. “He moved out while I was writing my article on whether criminality is genetic.” Great timing, Will. I just wish I could hate you more. “Then Berrington offered me a job at Jones Falls and I jumped at it.”

“Men are creeps.”

“Will isn’t really a creep. He’s a beautiful guy. He fell for someone else, that’s all. I think he showed really bad judgment in his choice. But it’s not like we were married or anything. He didn’t break any promises. He wasn’t even unfaithful to me, except maybe once or twice before he told me.” Jeannie realized she was repeating Will’s own words of self-justification. “I don’t know, maybe he was a creep after all.”

“Maybe we should return to Victorian times, when a man who kissed a woman considered himself engaged. At least girls knew where they were.”

Right now Lisa’s perspective on relationships was pretty skewed, but Jeannie did not say so. Instead she asked: “What about you? Did you ever find one you wanted to marry?”

“Never. Not one.”

“You and I have high standards. Don’t worry, when Mr. Right comes along he’ll be wonderful.”

The entry phone sounded, startling them both. Lisa jumped up, bumping the table. A porcelain vase fell to the floor and shattered, and Lisa said: “Goddamn it.”

She was still right on the edge. “I’ll pick up the pieces,” Jeannie said in a soothing voice. “You see who’s at the door.”

Lisa picked up the handset. A troubled frown crossed her face, and she studied the image on the monitor. “All right, I guess,” she said dubiously, and she pressed the button that opened the building door.

“Who is it?” Jeannie asked.

“A detective from the Sex Crimes Unit.”

Jeannie had been afraid they would send someone to bully Lisa into cooperating with the investigation. She was determined they would not succeed. The last thing Lisa needed now was more intrusive questions. “Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”

“Maybe because she’s black,” Lisa said.

“No kidding?”

Lisa shook her head.

How clever, Jeannie thought as she swept shards of porcelain into her cupped hand. The cops knew she and Lisa were hostile. If they had sent a white male detective he would not have got through the door. So they sent a black woman, knowing that two middle-class white girls would bend over backward to be polite to her. Well, if she tries to push Lisa around I’ll throw her out of here just the same, Jeannie thought.

She turned out to be a stocky woman of about forty, smartly dressed in a cream blouse with a colorful silk scarf, carrying a briefcase. “I’m Sergeant Michelle Delaware,” she said. “They call me Mish.”

Jeannie wondered what was in the briefcase. Detectives usually carried guns, not papers. “I’m Dr. Jean Ferrami,” Jeannie said. She always used her title when she thought she was going to quarrel with someone. “This is Lisa Hoxton.”

The detective said: “Ms. Hoxton, I want to say how sorry I am about what happened to you yesterday: My unit deals with one rape a day, on average, and every single one is a terrible tragedy and a wounding trauma for the victim. I know you’re hurting and I understand.”

Wow, Jeannie thought, this is different from yesterday.

“I’m trying to put it behind me,” Lisa said defiantly, but tears came to her eyes and betrayed her.

“May I sit down?”

“Of course.”

The detective sat at the kitchen table.

Jeannie studied her warily. “Your attitude seems different from the patrolman’s,” she said.

Mish nodded. “I’m also deeply sorry about McHenty and the way he treated you. Like all patrolmen he has received training on how to deal with rape victims, but he seems to have forgotten what he was taught. I’m embarrassed for the entire police department.”