The Third Twin (30 page)

“Or perhaps you’ve misremembered.” Steve felt he had won that point, and he changed tack abruptly. “Did the
New York Times
reporter, Ms. Freelander, say how she heard about Dr. Ferrami’s work?”

“If she did, Dr. Obeli never mentioned it to me.”

“So you didn’t ask.” “No.”

“Did it occur to you to
wonder
how she knew?”

“I guess I assumed that reporters have their sources.”

“Since Dr. Ferrami hasn’t published anything about this project, the source must have been an individual.”

Berrington hesitated and looked to Quinn for guidance. Quinn stood up. “Sir,” he said, addressing Jack Budgen, “the witness shouldn’t be called upon to speculate.”

Budgen nodded.

Steve said. “But this is an informal hearing—we don’t have to be constrained by rigid courtroom procedure.”

Jane Edelsborough spoke for the first time. “The questions seem interesting and relevant to me, Jack.”

Berrington threw her a black look, and she made a little shrug of apology. It was an intimate exchange, and Steve wondered what the relationship was between those two.

Budgen waited, perhaps hoping another committee member would offer a contrary view so that he could make the decision as chair; but no one else spoke. “All right,” he said after a pause. “Proceed, Mr. Logan.”

Steve could hardly believe he had won their first procedural dispute. The professors did not like a fancy lawyer telling them what was or was not a legitimate line of questioning. His throat was dry with tension. He poured water from a carafe into a glass with a shaky hand.

He took a sip then turned again to Berrington and said: “Ms. Freelander knew more than just the general nature of Dr. Ferrami’s work, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She knew exactly how Dr. Ferrami searched for raised-apart twins by scanning databases. This is a new technique, developed by her, known only to you and a few other colleagues in the psychology department.”

“If you say so.”

“It looks as if her information came from within the department, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“What motive could a colleague possibly have for creating bad publicity about Dr. Ferrami and her work?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“But it seems like the doing of a malicious, perhaps jealous, rival—wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps.”

Steve nodded in satisfaction. He felt he was getting into the swing of this, developing a rhythm. He began to feel that maybe he
could
win, after all.

Don’t get complacent, he told himself. Scoring points is not the same as winning the case.

“Let me turn to the second claim you made. When Mr. Quinn asked you if people outside the university had commented on the newspaper story, you replied: “They certainly did.’ Do you want to stick by that assertion?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly how many phone calls did you receive from donors, other than the one from Preston Barck?”

“Well, I spoke with Herb Abrahams—”

Steve could tell he was dissembling. “Pardon me for interrupting you, Professor.” Berrington looked surprised, but he stopped speaking. “Did Mr. Abrahams call you, or vice versa?”

“Uh, I believe I called Herb.”

“We’ll come to that in a moment. First, just tell us how many important donors called
you
to express their concern about the
New York Times
allegations.”

Berrington looked rattled. “I’m not sure anyone called me specifically about that.”

“How many calls did you receive from potential students?”

“None.”

“Did anyone at all call you to talk about the article?”

“I guess not.”

“Did you receive any mail on the subject?”

“Not yet.”

“It doesn’t appear to have caused
much
of a fuss, then.”

“I don’t think you can draw that conclusion.”

It was a feeble response, and Steve paused to let that sink in.

Berrington appeared embarrassed. The committee members were alert, following every cut and thrust. Steve looked at Jeannie. Her face was alight with hope.

He resumed. “Let’s talk about the one phone call you did receive, from Preston Barck, the president of Genetico. You made it sound as if he were simply a donor concerned about the way his money is being used, but he’s more than that, isn’t he? When did you first meet him?

“When I was at Harvard, forty years ago.”

“He must be one of your oldest friends.”

“Yes.”

“And in later years I believe you and he set up Genetico together.”

“Yes.”

“So he’s also your business partner.”

“Yes.”

“The company is in the process of being taken over by Landsmann, the German pharmaceuticals conglomerate.”

“Yes.”

“No doubt Mr. Barck will make a lot of money out of the takeover.”

“No doubt.”

“How much?”

“I think that’s confidential.”

Steve decided not to press him on the amount. His reluctance to disclose the figure was damaging enough.

“Another friend of yours stands to make a killing: Senator Proust. According to the news today, he’s going to use his payout to finance a presidential election campaign.”

“I didn’t watch the news this morning.”

“But Jim Proust is a friend of yours, isn’t he? You must have known he was thinking of running for president.”

“I believe everyone knew he was
thinking
of it.”

“Are you going to make money from the takeover?”

“Yes.”

Steve moved away from Jeannie and toward Berrington, so that all eyes would be on Berrington. “So you’re a shareholder, not just a consultant.”

“It’s common enough to be both.”

“Professor, how much will you make from this takeover?”

“I think that’s private.”

Steve was not going to let him get away with it this time. “At any rate, the price being paid for the company is one hundred and eighty million dollars, according to
The Wall Street Journal
.”

“Yes.”

Steve repeated the amount. “One hundred and eighty million dollars.” He paused long enough to create a pregnant silence. It was the kind of money that professors never saw, and he wanted to give the committee members the feeling that Berrington was not one them at all, but a being of a different kind altogether. “You are one of three people who will share one hundred and eighty million dollars.”

Berrington nodded.

“So you had a lot to be nervous about when you learned of the
New York Times
article. Your friend Preston is selling his company, your friend Jim is running for president, and you’re about to make a fortune. Are you sure it was the reputation of Jones Falls that was on your mind when you fired Dr. Ferrami? Or was it all your other worries? Let’s be frank, Professor—you panicked.”

“I most certainly—”

“You read a hostile newspaper article, you envisioned the takeover melting away, and you reacted hastily. You let the
New York Times
scare you.”

“It takes more than the
New York Times
to scare me, young man. I acted quickly and decisively, but not hastily.”

“You made no attempt to discover the source of the newspaper’s information.”

“No.”

“How many days did you spend investigating the truth, or otherwise, of the allegations?”

“It didn’t take long—”

“Hours rather than days?”

“Yes—”

“Or was it in fact
less than an hour
before you had approved a press release saying that Dr. Ferrami’s program was canceled?”

“I’m quite sure it was more than an hour.”

Steve shrugged emphatically. “Let us be generous and say it was two hours. Was that long enough?” He turned and gestured toward Jeannie, so that they would look at her. “After two hours you decided to jettison a young scientist’s entire research program?” The pain was visible on Jeannie’s face. Steve felt an agonizing pang of pity for her. But he had to play on her emotion, for her own good. He twisted the knife in the wound. “After two hours you knew enough to make a decision to destroy the work of years? Enough to end a promising career? Enough to ruin a woman’s life?”

“I asked her to defend herself,” Berrington said indignantly. “She lost her temper and walked out of the room!”

Steve hesitated, then decided to take a theatrical risk. “She walked out of the room!” he said in mock amazement. “She walked out of the room! You showed her a press release announcing the cancellation of her program. No investigation of the source of the newspaper story, no appraisal of the validity of the allegations, no time for discussion, no due process of any kind—you simply declared to this young scientist that her entire life was ruined—and all she did was
walk out of the room?”
Berrington opened his mouth to speak, but Steve overrode him. “When I think of the injustice, the illegality, the sheer
foolishness,
of what you did on Wednesday morning, Professor, I cannot imagine how Dr. Ferrami summoned the restraint and self-discipline to confine herself to such a simple, eloquent protest.” He walked back to his seat in silence, then turned to the committee and said: “No more questions.”

Jeannie’s eyes were lowered, but she squeezed his arm. He leaned over and whispered: “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

He patted her hand. He wanted to say, “I think we’ve won it,” but that would have been tempting fate.

Henry Quinn stood up. He seemed unperturbed. He should have looked more worried after Steve made mincemeat of hisclient. But no doubt it was part of his skill to remain unruffled no matter how badly his case was going.

Quinn said: “Professor, if the university had not discontinued Dr. Ferrami’s research program, and had not fired her, would that have made any difference to the takeover of Genetico by Landsmann?”

“None at all,” Berrington replied.

“Thank you. No more questions.”

That was pretty effective, Steve thought sourly. It kind of punctured his whole cross-examination. He tried not to let Jeannie see the disappointment on his face.

It was Jeannie’s turn, and Steve stood up and led her through her evidence. She was calm and clear as she described her research program and explained the importance of finding raised-apart twins who were criminals. She detailed the precautions she took to ensure that no one’s medical details became known before they had signed a release.

He expected Quinn to cross-examine her and try to show that there was a minuscule chance that confidential information would be revealed by accident. Steve and Jeannie had rehearsed this last night, with him playing the role of prosecution lawyer. But to his surprise Quinn did not have any questions. Was he afraid she would defend herself too ably? Or was he confident he had the verdict sewn up?

Quinn summed up first. He repeated much of Berrington’s evidence, once again being more tedious than Steve thought wise. His concluding speech was short enough, however. “This is a crisis that should never have happened,” he said. “The university authorities behaved judiciously throughout. It was Dr. Ferrami’s impetuousness and intransigence that caused all the drama. Of course she has a contract, and that contract governs her relations with her employer. But senior faculty are, after all, required to supervise junior faculty; and junior faculty, if they have any sense at all, will listen to wise counsel from those older and more experienced than they. Dr Ferrami’s stubborn defiance turned a problem into a crisis, and the only solution to the crisis is for her to leave the university.” He sat down.

It was time for Steve’s speech. He had been rehearsing it all night. He stood up.

“What is Jones Falls University for?”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“The answer may be expressed in one word:
knowledge.
If we wanted a nutshell definition of the role of the university in American society, we might say its function is to
seek
knowledge and to
spread
knowledge.”

He looked at each of the committee, inviting their agreement. Jane Edelsborough nodded. The others were impassive.

He resumed: “Now and again, that function comes under attack. There are always people who want to hide the truth, for one reason or another: political motives, religious prejudice”—he looked at Berrington—“or commercial advantage. I think everyone here would agree that the school’s intellectual independence is crucial to its reputation. That independence has to be balanced against other obligations, obviously, such as the need to respect the civil rights of individuals. However, a vigorous defense of the university’s right to pursue knowledge would enhance its reputation among all thinking people.”

He waved a hand to indicate the university. “Jones Falls is important to everyone here. The reputation of an academic may rise and fall with that of the institution where he or she works. I ask you to think about the effect your verdict will have on the reputation of JFU as a free, independent academic institution. Will the university be cowed by the intellectually shallow assault of a daily newspaper? Will a program of scientific research be canceled for the sake of a commercial takeover bid? I hope not. I hope the committee will bolster JFU’s reputation by showing that what matters here is one simple value: truth.” He looked at them, letting his words sink in. He could not tell, from their expressions, whether his speech had touched them or not. After a moment he sat down.

“Thank you,” said Jack Budgen. “Would everyone except committee members step outside while we deliberate, please?”

Steve held the door for Jeannie and followed her into the hallway. They left the building and stood in the shade of a tree. Jeannie was pale with tension. “What do you think?” she said.

“We have to win,” he said. “We’re right.”

“What am I going to do if we lose?” she said. “Move to Nebraska? Get a job as a schoolteacher? Become a stewardess, like Penny Watermeadow?”

“Who’s Penny Watermeadow?”

Before she could answer him, she saw something over his shoulder that made her hesitate. Steve turned around and saw Henry Quinn, smoking a cigarette. “You were very sharp in there,” Quinn said. “I hope you won’t think me condescending if I say I enjoyed matching wits with you.”