The Third Twin (46 page)

Authors: Ken Follett

BOOK: The Third Twin

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He looked up and caught Steve’s eye.

They stared at one another for a long moment. It was like looking into a mirror. Steve tried to see beyond Harvey’s appearance, read his face and look into his heart, and see the cancer that made him evil. But he could not. All he saw was a man just like himself, who had walked down the same road and taken a different turning.

He tore his eyes away from Harvey and went into the Regency Room.

It was pandemonium. Jeannie and Lisa were in the center of a crowd of cameramen. He saw one—no two,
three
clones with them. He pushed through to her. “Jeannie!” he said.

She looked up at him, her face blank.

“It’s Steve!” he said.

Mish Delaware was beside her.

Steve said to Mish: “If you’re looking for Harvey he’s outside, waiting for the elevator.”

Mish said to Jeannie: “Can you tell which one this is?”

“Sure.” Jeannie looked at him and said: “I play a little tennis myself.”

He grinned. “If you only play a
little
tennis, you’re probably not in my league.”

“Thank God!” she said. She threw her arms around him. He smiled and bent to her face, and they kissed.

The cameras swung around to them, a sea of flashguns glitered, and that was the picture on the front page of newspapers all over the world the following morning.

NEXT JUNE

F
OREST
L
AWNS WAS LIKE A GENTEEL OLD-FASHIONED HOTEL
. It had flowered wallpaper, and china knickknacks in glass cases, and occasional tables with spindly legs. It smelled of potpourri, not disinfectant, and the staff called Jeannie’s mother “Mrs. Ferrami,” not “Maria” or “dear.” Mom had a little suite, with a small parlor where visitors could sit and have tea.

“This is my husband, Mom,” Jeannie said, and Steve gave his most charming smile and shook her hand.

“What a nice-looking boy,” Mom said. “What work do you do, Steve?”

“I’m studying law.”

“Law. That’s a good career.”

She had flashes of rationality interspersed with longer periods of confusion.

Jeannie said: “Daddy came to our wedding.”

“How is your father?”

“He’s good. He’s too old to rob people anymore, so he protects them instead. He started his own security firm. It’s doing well.”

“I haven’t seen him for twenty years.”

“Yes, you have, Mom. He visits you. But you forget.” Jeannie changed the subject. “You look well.” Her mother was wearing a pretty cotton shirtwaist with a candy stripe. Her hair was permed and her nails were manicured. “Do you like it here? It’s better than Bella Vista, don’t you think?”

Mom began to look worried. “How are we going to pay for it, Jeannie? I don’t have any money.”

“I have a new job, Mom. I can afford it.”

“What job is that?”

Jeannie knew she would not understand, but she told her anyway. “I’m director of genetics research for a big company called Landsmann.” Michael Madigan had offered her the job after someone explained her search engine to him. The salary was three times what she had been making at Jones Falls. Even more exciting was the work, which was at the leading edge of genetics research.

“That’s nice,” Mom said. “Oh! Before I forget—there was a picture of you in the newspaper. I saved it.” She delved into her handbag and brought out a folded clipping. She straightened it out and gave it to Jeannie.

Jeannie had seen it before, but she studied it as if it were new to her. It showed her at the congressional inquiry into the experiments at the Aventine Clinic. The inquiry had not yet produced its report, but there was not much doubt what it would say. The questioning of Jim Proust, televised nationwide, had been a public humiliation such as had never been seen before. Proust had blustered and shouted and lied, and with every word his guilt had become plainer. When it was over he had resigned as a senator.

Berrington Jones had not been allowed to resign but had been dismissed from Jones Falls by the discipline committee. Jeannie had heard he had moved to California, where he was living on a small allowance from his ex-wife.

Preston Barck had resigned as president of Genetico, which had been liquidated to pay agreed compensation to the eight mothers of the clones. A small sum had been set aside to pay for counseling to help each of the clones deal with his troubled history.

And Harvey Jones was serving five years for arson and rape.

Mom said: “The paper says you had to
testify.
You weren’t in any kind of trouble, were you?”

Jeannie exchanged a smile with Steve. “For a week, back in September, I was kind of in trouble, Mom. But it worked out all right in the end.”

“That’s good.”

Jeannie stood up. “We have to go now. It’s our honeymoon. We have a plane to catch.”

“Where are you going?”

“A little resort in the Caribbean. People say it’s the most beautiful place in the whole world.”

Steve shook Mom’s hand, and Jeannie kissed her good-bye.

“Have a good rest, honey,” Mom said as they left. “You deserve it.”

Acknowledgments

I am deeply grateful to the following people for their kind help with the research for
The Third Twin:

In the Baltimore City Police Department: Lieutenant Frederic Tabor, Lieutenant Larry Leeson, Sergeant Sue Young, Detective Alexis Russell, Detective Aaron Stewart, Detective Andrea Nolan, Detective Leonard Douglas;

In the Baltimore County Police Department: Sergeant David Moxely and Detective Karen Gentry;

Court Commissioner Cheryl Alston, Judge Barbara Baer Waxman, Assistant State’s Attorney Mark Cohen;

Carole Kimmell, RN, at Mercy Hospital; Professor Trish VanZandt and her colleagues at Johns Hopkins University; Ms. Bonnie Ariano, executive director of the Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Center in Baltimore;

At the University of Minnesota: Professor Thomas Bouchard, Professor Matthew McGue, Professor David Lykken;

At the Pentagon: Lieutenant-Colonel Letwich, Captain Regenor;

At Fort Detrick in Frederick, Md.: Ms. Eileen Mitchell, Mr. Chuck Dasey, Colonel David Franz;

Peter D. Martin of the Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory;

Computer experts Wade Chambers, Rob Cook, and Alan Gold;

and especially professional researcher Dan Starer, of Research for Writers, New York City, who put me in touch with most of the above people.

I am also grateful to my editors, Suzanne Baboneau, Marjorie Chapman, and Ann Patty; to friends and family who read drafts of the book and made comments, including Barbara Follett, Emanuele Follett, Katya Follett, Jann Turner, Kim Turner, John Evans, George Brennan, and Ken Burrows; to agents, Amy Berkower, Bob Bookman, and—most of all—my oldest collaborator and sharpest critic, Al Zuckerman.

From internationally bestselling author

Ken Follett

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