the Third Twin (1996)

Jack had evaded the question. Damn you. “Yes, and I’m very pleased there’s such a cool head in charge of the proceedings.” He mentioned a shaven-headed professor of philosophy. “If Malcolm Barnet had been chair, God knows what might have happened.”

Jack laughed. “The senate has more sense. They wouldn’t put Malcolm in charge of the parking committee—he’d try to use it as an instrument of social change.”

“But with you in charge I assume the committee will support the president.”

Once again Jack’s reply was tantalizingly ambivalent. “Not all the committee members are predictable.”

You bastard, are you doing this to torment me? “But the chair is not a loose cannon, I’m sure of that.” Berrington wiped a droplet of sweat from his forehead.

There was a pause. “Berry, it would be wrong for me to prejudge the issue …”

The hell with you!

“ … but I think I can say that Genetico need not worry about this.”

At last! “Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it.”

“Strictly between the two of us, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Berrington hung up. Jesus, that was hard!

Did Jack really not know he had just been bribed? Did he kid himself about it? Of did he understand perfectly well, but simply pretend not to?

It did not matter, so long as he steered the committee the right way.

That might not be the end of it, of course. The committee’s decision had to be ratified by a meeting of the full senate. At some point Jeannie might hire a hotshot lawyer and start to sue the university for all kinds of compensation. The case could drag on for years. But her investigations would be halted, and that was all that mattered.

However, the committee’s decision was not yet in the bag. If things went wrong tomorrow morning, Jeannie could be back at her desk by midday, hot on the trail of Genetico’s guilty secrets. Berrington shuddered: God forbid. He pulled a scratch pad to him and wrote down the names of the committee members.

Jack Budgen—Library

Tenniel Biddenham—History of Art

Milton Powers—Mathematics

Mark Trader—Anthropology

Jane Edelsborough—Physics

Biddenham, Powers, and Trader were conventional men, long-standing professors whose careers were bound up with Jones Falls and its continued prestige and prosperity. They could be relied upon to support the university president, Berrington felt sure. The dark horse was the woman, Jane Edelsborough.

He would deal with her next.

33

DRIVING TO PHILADELPHIA ON I-95, JEANNIE FOUND HERSELF thinking about Steve Logan again.

She had kissed him good-bye last night, in the visitors’ parking lot on the Jones Falls campus. She found herself regretting that the kiss had been so fleeting. His lips were full and dry, his skin warm. She quite liked the idea of doing it again.

Why was she prejudiced against him because of his age? What was so great about older men? Will Temple, aged thirty-nine, had dropped her for an empty-headed heiress. So much for maturity.

She pressed the Seek button on her radio, looking for a good station, and got Nirvana playing “Come As You Are.” Whenever she thought about dating a man her own age, or younger, she got a scared feeling, a bit like the frisson of danger that went with a Nirvana track. Older men were reassuring; they knew what to do.

Is this me? she thought. Jeannie Ferrami, the woman who does as she pleases and tells the world to go screw? I need reassurance? Get out of here!

It was true, though. Perhaps it was because of her father. After him, she never wanted another irresponsible man in her life. On the other hand, her father was living proof that older men could be just as irresponsible as young.

She guessed Daddy was sleeping in cheap hotels somewhere in Baltimore. When he had drunk and gambled whatever money he got for her computer and her TV—-which would not take him long—he would either steal something else or throw himself on the mercy of his other daughter, Patty. Jeannie hated him for stealing her stuff. However, the incident had served to bring out the best in Steve Logan. He had been a prince. What the hell, she thought; when next I see Steve Logan I’m going to kiss him again, and this time I’ll kiss him good.

She became tense as she threaded the Mercedes through the crowded center of Philadelphia. This could be the big breakthrough. She might be about to find the solution to the puzzle of Steve and Dennis.

The Aventine Clinic was in University City, west of the Schuylkill River, a neighborhood of college buildings and student apartments. The clinic itself was a pleasant low-rise fifties building surrounded by trees. Jeannie parked at a meter on the street and went inside.