David caresses her cheek. “Being quiet during that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“June do you think you would recognize this shop in San Francisco if you saw it again?” The doctor asks.
June looks thoughtful for a second. “I don’t know. When the woman pushed me out the door all I remember is a feeling of terror. It wasn’t until later that the feeling of peace came over me, that’s when I made my way to New York.”
“Well, overall it was a fruitful session. However, near the end you seemed to slip into a delusional state, all that talk of soul mates and feelings and such.”
“Dr. Meyer believe what you will but I know that David and I are connected somehow, we both have known it since the day we first touched.”
“June honey…I think it goes back further than that.”
“What do you mean David?” Dr. Meyer asks.
“When I was fifteen, right about the time that June was taken, I started having dreams about being locked in a room. I would have that same dream dozens of times a year. After a while, the dream just became part of my life. I would have the dream, wake up in a cold sweat and then go back to sleep. About a week before I met June I had the dream for the last time. It’s been over eight months and I haven’t had it since.”
Dr. Meyer smiles patiently. “David, many people dream of being confined, it is quite common.”
David turns from the doctor and looks at June.
“It was a blue light bulb in the room wasn’t it? The woman who kept you always screwed in a blue light bulb.”
June looks at David in amazement. “Yes, how did you know?”
“In my dreams the damn room was always the same horrible shade of blue.”
David and June embrace, and hug each other silently.
11
April and May Davenport watch a tennis match from a table on the patio that overlooks the courts at the Westchester County Country Club.
It is a Tuesday afternoon and only two matches are in progress. They’re watching the play on court four, in particular, they are watching one James Rooney.
Rooney is forty-two-years old and the father of three boys, ages sixteen, fourteen, and eleven, he’s also an attorney and a partner in his law firm.
Rooney has been happily married for eighteen years.
That is about to change.
Rooney is an exceptional amateur tennis player and had been winning this set handily, but during a lull in the contest, he glanced up and spotted the Davenport sisters. His level of play has deteriorated ever since. His opponent wins the match and Rooney makes his way to the showers.
April and May are dressed identically in short white tennis outfits and are wearing their long hair down. Their pale skin gleams in the warm Spring sunlight from the scented lotion they wear, and both display an ample proportion of cleavage.
The path to the men’s showers winds through a stand of trees. On his way to the showers, Rooney suddenly finds his way blocked by the Davenport sisters.
“Hello Jimmy,” April says.
“April?” Rooney asks, while staring at the women, they are identical and it is only a guess which one is which.
“Yes Jimmy it’s April, and this beautiful creature to my left is my sister May. Jimmy you’ve been ignoring me lately and you were so friendly at the bar last week. What happened?”
“Listen, I had a few too many drinks in me that night and went too far. I’ve never cheated on my wife, we’re very happy. It’s just that you were looking so good, and like I said, I had too much to drink.”
“You made me feel so insecure. One minute we were at the bar kissing and the next I was all alone. What’s the matter Jimmy, aren’t I sexy enough for you?”
Rooney says, “April you are very hot, very sexy.” and then he glances at May, she looks back at him with undisguised lust.
“I wanted you so much that night and you left me to go home alone. I told May here all about you and she wanted to meet you. She thinks that maybe the two of us can convince you to give me another chance.”
May approaches Rooney, she presses her body against him and whispers up into his ear. “Sometimes my sister and I share, two for the price of one you might say. We’ll be in bungalow number two, after your shower drop by and see us. We’ll be waiting for you.”
After whispering this, May stretches up and kisses Rooney while slipping her tongue into his mouth. April then goes to him and does the same. Rooney watches as the girls now gently embrace each other and share a kiss of their own.
“We’re very close.” April or May says. Rooney has now lost track of who is who, in his mind they are now one. They are simply sex.
After taking the fastest shower of his life, James Rooney, father of three, husband to Sally, makes his way over to bungalow number two.
Rooney knocks on the door and hears the words, “Come in.” uttered in stereo. He opens the door onto the small room and lying back nude before him on the bed are the Davenports.
They speak again in unison, “Get naked.”
As he joins them on the bed, Rooney looks at one and then the other.
“Who’s who?”
April reaches over and takes two red ribbons from a bedside table. One is covered with capital A’s, the other, with capital M’s. She hands the one with the M’s to May and the girls tie them in their hair.
“We find it helps the fantasy to know who’s who.” April says.
May smiles devilishly. “Now that you know which is which why don’t you start with a taste test.”
Rooney slides down the bed and begins his descent into adultery.
In a few days or weeks, however long it takes until they grow tired of him, Rooney’s wife will receive a visit. The girls will tearfully tell the woman of their shame at sleeping with her husband. They will beg her for forgiveness, while disclosing every detail.
From time to time the girls are asked if they are looking for a husband, their answer is always the same. “Yes, we look for husbands all the time.”
That night, David and June lie in bed holding each other after having made love. David brushes the hair from June’s eyes and looks into them.
“What are you thinking about honey?”
“My sisters, I was wondering what they were like.”
“What little Carol and I learned about them wasn’t good. They sound like spoiled brats.”
“I think about them a lot, the hypnosis brought back memories and feelings about them that I had forgotten.”
“Such as what?”
“Like the way it felt to be one of three. I can’t explain it in words, but it was such a feeling of…wholeness to be around them and such emptiness when we were parted.”
“Are you thinking of making contact?”
“Yes.”
“I just want you to realize what a big thing this could turn into. It’s not every day that a presumed dead triplet shows up out of the blue and makes an appearance. There’s also the added problem of the money. You very likely will be looked at as an imposter at first. I just want you to be prepared for the problems of coming back from the dead.”
“What about you, will this cause you problems? I know the F.B.I. is suspicious of you. Will all the fake paperwork you created for me get you into any trouble?”
“No. I’ve purged everything, right now you’re a blank slate on paper.”
“David would it be all right with you if I contacted my sisters? I think I’m ready.”
“Whatever you want, I just think that we should approach your family carefully. I think I know the way to do it too.”
“We’ll do it the way you think is best David.”
“I’m actually glad you’ve decided to claim your identity.”
“Why?”
“We can’t marry until you have a name, a legal name anyway.”
June smiles. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I want to marry you so much, but becoming June Davenport again w
ill take some time.”
“And then I’ll be June Manning, not cousin June Manning, I like that.”
“You could always make it Minnie Mouse Manning.”
“No, I am no longer Minnie. All I want to be is your girlfriend June.”
“And someday my wife.”
“Yes, my husband David,”
“Someday,”
“Someday soon.”
Wednesday afternoon
F.B.I. Agents Martin, Carlton and Morgan sit before their Supervising Agent, Bob Lindstrom, in Lindstrom’s ultra neat office. The office is ultra neat because the man is ultra neat. Lindstrom hasn’t had a hair out of place in public since the Nixon administration. Bob is the kind of man who has had all his ducks in a row since they were ducklings. Lindstrom likes everything neat and tidy, an everything in its place type of guy. Bob Lindstrom is beginning to hate David Manning with a passion.
Lindstrom looks across his desk with bright blue eyes and grimaces.
“Morgan the portrait you paint of Manning doesn’t make sense. According to you he’s a crusading locator of abducted children who’s also plotting the scam of the century against one of the richest men in the state, the two don’t fit together. Our profilers say if Manning were Mr. Smith, a scam against a parent who’s lost a child is the last thing he’d be involved in.”
“I know Bob, but how do you account for Manning and the girl? She’s a dead ringer for Davenport’s two daughters. Hell, it was two months of surveillance before we caught on that she wasn’t a Davenport. If not for that Johnson woman at Manning’s apartment building we probably would still think that.” Morgan says.
Jack chimes in. “The people in the neighborhood say that the girl used to look like she lived on the streets but that Manning started taking care of her. The waitress at the local diner says that Manning would get take-out for the girl all the time, and later they started eating together. A check of his credit card records also shows that Manning is buying her clothes.”
Lindstrom picks up a photo from the desk. “She’s certainly not living on the streets anymore. Look at this, she’s wearing an evening gown for Christ’s sake. Oh, I almost forgot, Manning also just happens to be the best friend of the largest money washer on the East Coast.”
“Salvatori and Manning’s sister are lovers.” Morgan says.
“What’s your point?” Lindstrom asks.
Morgan tosses a hand in the air. “Nothing, it’s just one more fact for the pile.”
Lindstrom expels a loud breath and with a large, freckled hand, pats down his thinning red hair, he then glances over at Kelly.
“You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s your take on Manning?”
Kelly Carlton looks at the men around her and bites her bottom lip, she then stands up and begins pacing about the office behind the chairs, after a moment of hesitation, she speaks.
“I think he’s an angel.”
Morgan, sitting in front of her, snorts and makes a face at Lindstrom that says, ‘Dames, what are you gonna do with them?’
Lindstrom ignores Morgan’s look. “Go on Kelly, elaborate.”
“Well, when I say he’s an angel, I mean that he’s an angel as opposed to being a devil. Let’s look at the whole picture. Assume that David Manning is Mr. Smith. To date, Mr. Smith is responsible for the safe return of fifteen missing children. David Manning is the best friend of a made member of the mob, true, but from all accounts Salvatori himself is a bit of an angel.
“Morgan tells us that the Organized Crime Unit uncovered the fact that Salvatori donates nearly half a million dollars a year to area charities, strictly anonymously. This homeless girl that changed her name from Minnie to June could be the real thing. When you look at the photos of April, May and June together there’s no difference. Even if she’s not June Davenport—the long-lost triplet—she was still rescued by Manning from the streets. A check of his neighbors’ records indicates three instances where financial or legal problems suddenly just disappeared—Manning exercising his hacker’s skills to help people. He has no criminal record and no serious bad habits as far as we can tell. His whole life is about helping people, which is why I call him an angel.”
Jack turns around in his seat. “OK Kelly, let’s say that this girl is June Davenport, why hasn’t she made contact with her family yet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s afraid to reconnect. This girl was an elective mute until a few months ago. That suggests a huge emotional problem, plus, we know she’s in therapy, she could just be waiting until she’s stronger before she comes forward.”
“If my old man was a billionaire I’d be plenty strong enough.” Morgan says. “My whole reason for thinking that Manning is going to use the girl to scam Davenport is this—what else is in it for him? I mean yeah, the girl’s a dish, but that actress he was seeing before her wasn’t dog food either, so why else take up with a homeless girl?”
“Love,” Kelly says.
“What?” Morgan says.
“David Manning is deeply in love with this girl June. Look at the photos.” Kelly removes a stack of surveillance photos from a folder and spreads them out on Lindstrom’s desk. “Manning and the girl are touching one another in every single photo. Look at his eyes, his smile, he is deeply in love with her, and I’d say it’s reciprocal.”
Lindstrom sighs. “So it’s possible that we’ve spent months watching an innocent man who’s fallen in love with a homeless girl. It sounds like we might have been wasting a lot of time here people. In fact, Mr. Smith, whoever he is, hasn’t been active in months.”
“I still think that Manning is Mr. Smith.” Jack says. “Every covert attempt we’ve made to get into his computer files ends in failure, that kind of security is hiding something.”
“Why don’t we just get a search warrant and confiscate his computers? The lab boys could take them apart at their leisure then.”
“It’s not that easy Morgan.” Lindstrom says. “The psychologists tell us that ‘Mr. Smith,’ whoever he is, would have foolproof safeguards in place. The second anyone else even so much as tries to turn on his computers they’ll wipe all memory from their files.”
“So what do you suggest we do next Bob?” Jack asks.
“For now we watch and wait. Something will happen soon, something always does.” The three agents rise to leave and Lindstrom signals Jack to stay. After Kelly and Morgan leave the room, Lindstrom speaks.
“I wanted to let you know that we got a tip on your daughter’s where-abouts. Your ex made a phone call to her mother from Dallas.”
“Traced to where?” Jack asks, as he talks he leans anxiously over Lindstrom’s desk.
“A phone inside the home of a counterfeiter.”
“What the hell would Janice be doing with a counterfeiter?”
“Jack…he’s not a money guy, he sells counterfeit I.D.’s, passports mostly.”
“You’re telling me that Janice and my little girl could be leaving the country?”
“I’m sorry, but it looks that way.”
Jack’s face turns white as he falls back into a chair, looking stricken.
“Oh my God, they could already be gone.”
“We don’t think she’s gotten the chance to do anything yet. The counterfeiter was busted in a separate matter and his records, such as they were, showed that he hadn’t made any phony passports for women in over six months. She was probably there just to set it up. So Janice will have to find another counterfeiter and that takes time.”
“It sounds like time is running out. Bob, I’ve got to get my Cathy back, if Janice takes her out of the country that may never happen.”
“I’m sorry Jack, we’re doing everything we can.”
“I know, it’s just not enough. Thanks for keeping me informed. I’m going back to work.”
Jack walks out of Lindstrom’s office looking like a man given a death sentence.
Kelly is waiting for him in the corridor. “What’s wrong? What did Bo
b say to you?”
Jack grabs her by the arm and takes her into an unoccupied conference room. He then tells her what Lindstrom told him.
“Oh Jack I’m so sorry. At least you know she wasn’t successful at getting the passports.”
“Yes, but for how long? It’s just a matter of time before she slips away. I’m going to do something that I never thought I would actually do. I’m going to go to Manning and beg him to look for Cathy, he’s my best chance at finding her.”
“You could get in a lot of trouble, besides, we don’t even know for certain that he is Mr. Smith.”
“It’s a chance. At this point I can’t miss a chance, even a slim one.”
Kelly hugs him while laying her head on his shoulder.
“Let me come with you.”
“No way, this is my problem not yours.”
Kelly releases him, a wounded look in her eyes. “I’d hoped by now you thought of things as ours, was I fooling myself?”
Jack pulls her close. “We’re more than just lovers, you know that, but talking to Manning is something I have to do alone.”
“But why?”
“It’s very simple honey. I don’t want you to see me beg.”
12
In the twilight of the day, Jack takes a deep breath of soft spring air and rings the doorbell belonging to Dr. Carol Manning.
While he waits for a response, he glances about the neighborhood. Huge Gothic style homes, built nearly a century ago, line both sides of the street, all of them sitting a good twenty feet or more above street level, their front doors accessible by either a long climb of narrow stone steps or a steep drive up their winding driveways.
These are the homes once occupied by the textile merchants and shipping magnates of the industrial revolution, today, in the blossoming years of the twenty-first century, they predominately house the newly arrived Wall Street tycoon or Internet entrepreneur.
Jack hears the door swing open behind him and turns to find Carol Manning smiling at him curiously.
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