The Third Twin Part 6

"Twins?"

"We measure their similarities and differences, and try to figure out how much is inherited and how much is due to the way they were raised."

"What's your role in this, Lisa?"

"My job is to find the twins for the scientists to study."

"How do you do that?"

"I start with birth records, which are public information in most states. Twinning is about one percent of births, so we get a set of twins for every hundred birth certificates we look at. The certificate gives the date and place of birth. We take a copy, then track down the twins."

"How?"

"We have every American phone book on CD-ROM. We can also use driving license registries and credit reference agencies."

"Do you always find the twins?"

"Goodness, no. Our success rate depends on their age. We track down about ninety percent of ten-year-olds, but only fifty percent of eighty-year-olds. Older people are more likely to have moved several times, changed their names, or died."

Mish looked at Jeannie. "And then you study them."

Jeannie said: "I specialize in identical twins who have been raised apart. They're much more difficult to find." She put the coffeepot on the table and poured a cup for Mish. If this detective was planning to put pressure on Lisa, she was taking her time about it.

Mish sipped her coffee then said to Lisa: "At the hospital, did you take any medication?" "No, I wasn't there long."

"They should have offered you the morning-after pill. You don't want to be pregnant."

Lisa shuddered. "I sure don't. I've been asking myself what the h.e.l.l I'd do about it."

"Go to your own doctor. He should give it to you, unless he has religious objections-some Catholic physicians have a problem with it. In that case the volunteer center will recommend an alternate."

"It's so good to talk to someone who knows all this stuff," Lisa said.

"The fire was no accident," Mish went on. "I've talked to the fire chief. Someone set it in a storage room next to the locker room-and he unscrewed the ventilation pipes to make sure the smoke was pumped into the locker room. Now, rapists are not really interested in s.e.x: it's fear that turns them on. So I think the fire was all part of this creep's fantasy."

Jeannie had not thought of that possibility. "I a.s.sumed he was just an opportunist who took advantage of the fire."

Mish shook her head. "Date rape is usually opportunistic: a guy finds that the girl is too stoned or drunk to fight him off. But men who rape strangers are different. They're planners. They fantasize the event, then work out how to make it happen. They can be very clever. It makes them more scary."

Jeannie felt even angrier. "I nearly died in that G.o.dd.a.m.n fire," she said.

Mish said to Lisa: "I'm right in thinking you had never seen this man before? He was a total stranger?"

"I think I saw him about an hour earlier," she replied. "When I was out running with the field hockey team, a car slowed right down and the guy stared at us. I have a feeling it was him."

"What kind of a car?"

"It was old, I know that. White, with a lot of rust. Maybe a Datsun."

Jeannie expected Mish to write that down, but she carried on talking. "The impression I get is of an intelligent and completely ruthless pervert who will do whatever it takes to get his kicks."

Jeannie said bitterly: "He should be locked away for the rest of his life."

Mish played her trump card. "But he won't be. He's free. And he will do it again."

Jeannie was skeptical. "How can you be sure of that?" "Most rapists are serial rapists. The only exception is the opportunistic date-rapist I mentioned before: that type of guy might offend only once. But men who rape strangers do it again and again-until they're caught." Mish looked hard at Lisa. "In seven to ten days' time, the man who raped you will put another woman through the same torture-unless we catch him first."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Lisa said.

Jeannie could see where Mish was heading. As Jeannie had antic.i.p.ated, the detective was going to try to talk Lisa into helping with the investigation. Jeannie was still determined not to let Mish bully or pressure Lisa. But it was hard to object to the kinds of things she was saying now.

"We need a sample of his DNA," Mish said.

Lisa made a disgusted face. "You mean his sperm."

"Yes."

Lisa shook her head. "I've showered and taken a bath and douched myself. I hope to G.o.d there's nothing left of him inside me."

Mish was quietly persistent. "Traces remain in the body for forty-eight to seventy-two hours afterward. We need to do a v.a.g.i.n.al swab, a pubic hair combing, and a blood test."

Jeannie said: "The doctor we saw at Santa Teresa yesterday was a real a.s.shole."

Mish nodded. "Doctors hate dealing with rape victims. If they have to go to court, they lose time and money. But you should never have been taken to Santa Teresa. That was one of McHenty's many mistakes. Three hospitals in this city are designated s.e.xual a.s.sault Centers, and Santa Teresa isn't one of them."

Lisa said: "Where do you want me to go?"

"Mercy Hospital has a s.e.xual a.s.sault Forensic Examination unit. We call it the SAFE unit."

Jeannie nodded. Mercy was the big downtown hospital.

Mish went on: "You'll see a s.e.xual a.s.sault nurse examiner, who is always a woman. She's specially trained in dealing with evidence, which the doctor you saw yesterday was not-he would probably have screwed up anyway."

Mish clearly did not have much respect for doctors.

She opened her briefcase. Jeannie leaned forward, curious. Inside was a laptop computer. Mish lifted the lid and switched it on. "We have a program called E-FIT, for Electronic Facial Identification Technique. We like acronyms." She gave a wry smile. "Actually it was devised by a Scotland Yard detective. It enables us to put together a likeness of the perpetrator, without using an artist." She looked expectantly at Lisa.

Lisa looked at Jeannie. "What do you think?"

"Don't feel pressured," Jeannie said. "Think about yourself. You're ent.i.tled. Do what makes you feel comfortable."

Mish shot her a hostile glare, then said to Lisa: "There's no pressure on you. If you want me to leave, I'm out of here. But I'm asking you. I want to catch this rapist, and I need your help. Without you, I don't stand a chance."

Jeannie was lost in admiration. Mish had dominated and controlled the conversation ever since she walked into the room, yet she had done it without bullying or manipulation. She knew what she was talking about, and she knew what she wanted.

Lisa said: "I don't know."

Mish said: "Why don't you take a look at this computer program? If it upsets you, we'll stop. If not, I will at least have a picture of the man I'm after. Then, when we're done with that, you can think about whether you want to go to Mercy."

Lisa hesitated again, then said: "Okay."

Jeannie said: "Just remember, you can stop any time you feel upset."

Lisa nodded.

Mish said: "To begin, we'll get a rough approximation of his face. It won't look like him, but it will be a basis. Then we'll refine the details. I need you to concentrate hard on the perpetrator's face, then give me a general description. Take your time."

Lisa closed her eyes. "He's a white man about my age. Short hair, no particular color. Light eyes, blue, I guess. Straight nose..."

Mish was operating a mouse. Jeannie got up and stood behind the detective so she could see the screen. It was a Windows program. In the top right-hand corner was a face divided into eight sections. As Lisa named features, Mish would click on a section of the face, pulling down a menu, then check items on the menu based on Lisa's comments: hair short, eyes light, nose straight.

Lisa went on: "Kind of a square chin, no beard or mustache...How am I doing?"

Mish clicked again and an entire face came on the main screen. It showed a white man in his thirties with regular features, and it might have been any one of a thousand guys. Mish turned the computer around so that Lisa could see the screen. "Now, we're going to change the face bit by bit. First, I'll show you this face with a whole series of different foreheads and hairlines. Just say yes, no, or maybe. Ready?"

"Sure."

Mish clicked the mouse. The face on the screen changed, and suddenly the forehead had a receding hairline. "No," Lisa said.

She clicked again. This time the face had a straight fringe like an old-fashioned Beatle haircut. "No."

The next haircut was wavy, and Lisa said: "That's more like it. But I think he had a part."

The next was curly. "Better still," Lisa said. "This is better than the last one. But the hair is too dark."

Mish said: "After we've looked at them all, we'll come back to the ones you liked and pick the best. When we have the whole face we can carry on improving it using the retouch feature: making the hair darker or lighter, moving the part, making the whole face older or younger."

Jeannie was fascinated, but this was going to take an hour or more, and she had work to do. "I've got to go," she said. "Are you okay, Lisa?"

"I'm fine," Lisa said, and Jeannie could tell it was the truth. Maybe it would be better for Lisa to get involved in hunting the man down. She caught Mish's eye and saw a flash of triumph in her expression. Was I wrong, Jeannie wondered, to be hostile to Mish and defensive of Lisa? Mish was certainly sympa. sympa. She had all the right words. Just the same, her priority was not to help Lisa, but to catch the rapist. Lisa still needed a true friend, someone whose main concern was for her. She had all the right words. Just the same, her priority was not to help Lisa, but to catch the rapist. Lisa still needed a true friend, someone whose main concern was for her.

"I'll call you," Jeannie said to her.

Lisa hugged Jeannie. "I can't thank you enough for staying with me," she said.

Mish held out her hand and said: "Good to meet you."

Jeannie shook hands. "Good luck," she said. "I hope you catch him."

"So do I," said Mish.

6.

STEVE PARKED IN THE LARGE STUDENT PARKING LOT IN THE southwest corner of the hundred-acre Jones Falls campus. It was a few minutes before ten o'clock, and the campus was thronged with students in light summer clothes on their way to the first lecture of the day. As he walked across the campus he looked out for the tennis player. The chances of seeing her were slender, he knew, but he could not help staring at every tall dark-haired woman to see if she had a nose ring. southwest corner of the hundred-acre Jones Falls campus. It was a few minutes before ten o'clock, and the campus was thronged with students in light summer clothes on their way to the first lecture of the day. As he walked across the campus he looked out for the tennis player. The chances of seeing her were slender, he knew, but he could not help staring at every tall dark-haired woman to see if she had a nose ring.

The Ruth W. Acorn Psychology Building was a modern four-story structure in the same red brick as the older, more traditional college buildings. He gave his name in the lobby and was directed to the laboratory.

In the next three hours he underwent more tests than he could have imagined possible. He was weighed, measured, and fingerprinted. Scientists, technicians, and students photographed his ears, tested the strength of his grip, and a.s.sessed his startle reflex by showing him pictures of burn victims and mutilated bodies. He answered questions about his leisure-time interests, his religious beliefs, his girlfriends, and his job aspirations. He had to state if he could repair a doorbell, whether he considered himself well groomed, would he spank his children, and did certain music make him think of pictures or changing color patterns. But no one fold him why he had been selected for the study.

He was not the only subject. Also around the lab were two little girls and a middle-aged man wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a western shirt. At midday they all gathered in a lounge with couches and a TV, and had pizza and c.o.kes for lunch. It was then Steve realized there were in fact two middle-aged men in cowboy boots: they were twins, dressed the same.

He introduced himself and learned that the cowboys were Benny and Arnold and the little girls were Sue and Elizabeth. "Do you guys always dress the same?" Steve asked the men as they ate.

They looked at each other, then Benny said: "Don't know. We just met."

"You're twins, and you just met?"

"When we were babies we were both adopted-by different families."

"And you accidentally dressed the same?" "Looks like it, don't it?"

Arnold added: "And we're both carpenters, and we both smoke Camel Lights, and we both have two kids, a boy and a girl."

Benny said: "Both girls are called Caroline, but my boy is John and his is Richard."

Arnold said: "I wanted to call my boy John, but my wife insisted on Richard."

"Wow," Steve said. "But you can't have inherited a taste for Camel Lights."

"Who knows?"

One of the little girls, Elizabeth, said to Steve: "Where's your twin?"

"I don't have one," he replied. "Is that what they study here, twins?"

"Yes." Proudly she added: "Sue and me are dizygotic."

Steve raised his eyebrows. She looked about eleven. "I'm not sure I know that word," he said gravely. "What does it mean?"

"We're not identical. We're fraternal twins. That's why we don't look the same." She pointed at Benny and Arnold. "They're monozygotic. They have the same DNA. That's why they're so alike."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Steve said. "I'm impressed."

"We've been here before," she said.

The door opened behind Steve, and Elizabeth looked up and said: "h.e.l.lo, Doctor Ferrami."

Steve turned and saw the tennis player.

Her muscular body was hidden beneath a knee-length white laboratory coat, but she moved like an athlete as she walked into the room. She still had the air of focused concentration that had been so impressive on the tennis court. He stared at her, hardly able to believe his luck.

She said h.e.l.lo to the little girls and introduced herself to the others. When she shook Steve's hand she did a double take. "So you're Steve Logan!" she said.