by Scott Turow
“As I said,” Cass answered.
“Which means you may have killed Dita, after all.”
Cass smiled slyly. “See? Five minutes ago you were telling me I was innocent. But I end up guilty when you weigh everything.”
Tim leaned over confidentially, with a quick look askance at Sofia, who was clapping at the dog fifty yards off.
“It’s just us,” he said quietly. “Did you?”
“It would be really easy for me to say it, wouldn’t it? I’ve already done the time.”
He was right about that. On the other hand, there were some guys that could just never get the words out of their mouths. But overall, Cass had every reason to own the crime.
“Think I believe you,” Tim said.
“Thanks.” He didn’t mean it. “But just so you know. That stuff about phony noses and switching in and out of prison—that’s crap. I did the time because I was going to do it anyway, and this way we kept my mom out, and alive.”
“Well, saying yes to what I just outlined, that would mean admitting to several felonies, for both you and your brother.”
“It’s BS.”
“Whatever. Like I said. I just want to know who killed Dita.”
“And I said I’d tell you what I knew.”
Tim nodded ponderously. Cass seemed to have been good to that deal.
“Only one more thing bothers me just yet,” said Tim. “I can’t figure out what’s become of your brother.”
“He’s fine.”
“Is he? Then why are you running around pretending to be both of you for weeks now?”
Cass looked down at the table.
“Because you scared the crap out of Beata, and they needed some time together. She’s pregnant, to tell you the truth. At forty-five, she won’t get a lot more chances. So it seemed like a good idea for them just to get away from the freak show.”
“And you agreed to cover for him everywhere?”
Cass smiled tightly. “I owe him a favor or two at the moment.”
Tim couldn’t suppress a bit of a smile himself.
“Have to say, your personal lives, that’s none of my business, but I’d be happy to listen if you ever want to tell that story.”
Cass was done smiling. He told Tim he had it right to start. That part was none of his business.
“How about we all just visit Paul?” said Tim. “He’s alive and well, you know that’s the end of it for me. But you can’t expect an old homicide dick to walk away from any chance of a murder. Like I told you to start, I need to be sure about that.”
Sofia and the dog were back.
“Tim wants to see Paul,” Cass said. “He thinks I killed him.”
Sofia stilled for a second, and then the air of gravity fled her entirely and she laughed out loud.
Cass stood up. “Just follow us.”
“No, I think I’ve chased you around enough for this lifetime. How about we all get in my car and we go say hello to Paul? Once I see him, I’ll give you your key and you guys can get on with whatever make-believe you’re carrying out.”
“And waste another hour driving back here?” Tim actually found Cass’s response heartening, since it took for granted that Paul was alive and not all that far away.
“Cass, just get it done with,” said Sofia.
32.
The New Paul
Tim agreed to let Cass drive his rental car, the new Chevy that had the lingering acrid odor of somebody who’d broken the rules by smoking in it. Sofia and the dog were in the rear seat.
“I need to call to let Paul know we’re coming,” Cass said.
“So he has time to put on his phony nose?”
“He doesn’t have a phony nose. You’ll see for yourself. It was convenient during the campaign for me to go out and be Paul. I admit that.”
“Nope, how I’ve got this figured, whoever was being Paul was wearing that prosthetic. If Paul’s nose really was broken like that, he could never have gotten away with being Cass at Hillcrest.”
“Which is why that’s all jive.” Cass took out his cell. “I can’t just show up there. There might be a scene. We’re barely speaking as it is. I told you. Beata’s up here to avoid stress.”
“I think you were headed for Paul all along to talk over how to handle the fact that I was on to the disguise.”
Cass rolled his eyes, and claimed that Sofia and he had just leased a cottage for the summer ten miles farther on. He dialed his phone without waiting for Tim to say yes. On the call with his brother, Cass’s tone was no better than businesslike, but he’d explained to start that Sofia and he were in the car with Tim. Once Cass finished, Tim phoned Evon, who’d left several messages. He said he’d see her at the bridge in roughly an hour.
“That’s all you can say right now?” she asked.
“That’s all.”
“You’re OK?”
“Never better.”
Cass and Sofia and he spent the rest of the drive talking about Sofia’s sons. Michael and Steve were relieved the campaign was over, and especially that Hal’s crazy ads were no longer on TV. Michael, the older boy, would graduate next month. He was headed for Teach for America, with law school likely after that. Steve was at the end of his sophomore year and talking about medical school. Tim wondered what it must have been like for those boys, with their uncle turning up periodically and their father disappearing. It was a burden on children to keep a secret like that, but they frequently handled it better than adults. Tim had seen a couple of instances of that with families living on the lam.
As Tim had expected, they headed over the Indian Falls Bridge. He saw Evon’s car in a wayside there, but decided not to push his luck by asking if she could join them.
The land up here was beautiful, pines and poplars amid the rocky outcroppings, and a series of streams that sourced from the Kindle. Every mile or so, as they drove, they passed another placid little lake. People were outside now, restoring their houses for the season. You could feel their joy that it was finally spring, a celebratory emotion that inhabited the entire Midwest at this time of year.
Cass took a left on a country road, and then in half a mile turned up a hill. Paul had built a rich man’s retreat. Sitting atop a knob, the large stone house had a shake roof and varnished pine timbers rimming the flagstone porch. The three emerged from Tim’s rental car in the circular gravel drive. The dog dashed free, ran a giant circuit in the yard and came back with a tennis ball that she dropped at Cass’s feet. He whipped it for her once underhanded, just as Paul strode from the house. He was in a plaid shirt and jeans and he crossed his arms as soon as he caught sight of Tim.
Beata emerged next. She wore an old chambray shirt, but Tim could see that Cass had told him the truth about her. She was starting to show. Paul reached back for her hand.
“Are you satisfied?” Cass asked Tim.
Paul looked like Paul, with that big broken bulge at the nose. It had always seemed strange with a wife who was a plastic surgeon that he’d never gotten it fixed, but then again Sofia hadn’t had herself cut on either. But of course, Paul’s nose wasn’t broken at all. It was his disguise.
“You mind if I take a close look at you?” Tim asked him.
“Why?” asked Paul, clearly irritated.
“He’s got another theory,” said Cass, “that you and I traded places in prison for the last twenty-five years and pretended to be each other, by using a nasal prosthetic.”
Paul considered that with a hooded expression, but descended the three steps from the porch. He even removed his heavy black glasses for the sake of the inspection.
“Make it quick,” he told Tim.
Tim approached, fumbling in his own pockets for his reading glasses. He got close enough for a smooch, then came around the other side. It looked real, no doubt of that, but so did the prosthetic. He held still then, gripped by an idea, almost as if it was a dare to himself. He acted as if he were turning away, then revolved back and grabbed the bri
dge of Paul’s nose and pulled like hell. Paul actually wailed in pain and swatted at Tim, and then Tim felt a heavy blow from the side and the harsh impact when he hit the ground. Beata was on top of him.
Cass arrived to pull her off, but stood by without offering a hand as Tim slowly climbed back to his feet. He could feel a hot pain on the side of his face that had struck the gravel. In the meantime, Sofia had taken both of Paul’s cheeks in her hands, turning his head from side to side to examine him.
“It’s time for you to go,” Cass said. “Just give me my car key. Paul can drive me back to the rest area.”
Beata was now at Paul’s side along with Sofia, who was tossing her head back and forth looking at Tim.
“Mr. Brodie,” she said, “I think you’re getting demented. You could have broken his nose. You may have.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tim. “I thought I had this all figured out. I’m sorry.” He had felt a hard ridge of bone and cartilage. Paul’s nose was real.
“The key,” Cass repeated.
Tim dusted off his coat and his pants leg. His shoulder was hurting, too. And the bad leg didn’t feel any better either, having largely given way under Beata’s weight.
He opened the trunk of the Chevy and reached under the mat for the key. When he came up with it, he noticed some kind of pinkish residue on the outside of his right thumb. He circled it against his index finger. Pollen was his first thought, but the substance was oily. Then he realized. It was makeup. It hadn’t been on Paul’s nose, rather under his eye where blood collected and bruises showed after an injury at or above the ocular orbit.
“The key,” Cass demanded.
Tim tossed it. He threw it on Cass’s left side and as Tim expected he reached across his body to catch it.
“Nice catch, Paul,” Tim told him.
“I’m Cass.”
“No, that’s Cass,” Tim said, pointing at the man who’d returned to the porch. “The guy who’s been hiding out up here, while his nose healed after Sofia operated on it to put that bulge on it permanently. That was so you guys could make the switch once and for all. But you’re Paul. I bet you were great at playing Cass in the joint. But you’re not used to doing it out here. That dog, she’s eighteen months old, and she’s glued to you. Not the man you say trained her. And by the way, I watched the way you threw that ball for her underhanded. I bet you and Cass learned to eat and sign your name with the other hand—same crappy illegible signature from both of you—but throwing a ball overhand from the wrong side, that’s hard to master. Here. Prove me wrong. Throw me those keys back overhand.”
The man he’d been calling Cass up until now just stared at him. They were Zeus’s eyes, too, dead black.
“Should I ask you to stand back to back with your brother?” Tim said. “Wanna bet that Paul is the one who’s just a tad taller now? Cass is going to be Paul from now on. And you’re going to be Cass. But living with your wife. Which is nice to know,” said Tim. “And Beata, she’s been Cass’s girlfriend for years, whenever he was out of the joint pretending to be Paul. I understand her wanting to be up here with him, especially given her condition, but I don’t think she’s feeling too fragile,” said Tim and rubbed his shoulder. “She’s just been avoiding me. Which is her right. I hope you all live happily ever after. I truly do. I’m not sure I understand what the hell you’re doing. But it’s not really my business.”
Sofia stepped down from the porch. She took her car key from her husband, then approached Tim and put a hand up to his cheek.
“That’s going to bruise, I’m afraid. I’ll get some ice. Anything else hurt?”
“No worse than usual,” he told her. He wasn’t really sure about his leg.
Sofia headed into the house and murmured something as she went so that the other three followed her in. The dog crashed out of the woods at that point and stood at the door with the ball in her mouth. Her tail wagged, and now and then she looked back expectantly at Tim.
“Don’t ask me, Cerberus,” he told her. “I don’t understand anything around here.”
In a few minutes, Sofia returned alone. She carried a plastic bag of ice cubes, a tub of water and a spray bottle. She washed the wound and had him close his eyes while she spritzed him with an antibacterial. Then she handed over the ice.
“Ten on, ten off,” she said. Tim got into his rental.
Sofia knelt down to peer in. “Just between us?”
“Of course.”
“You’re right.”
“I know that. Your husband’s a pretty good guy. Cass and Lidia were both in a jam. But that’s a hell of a thing for a brother to do, volunteer for prison, even if it’s only part-time.”
Sofia looked down to the gravel drive for an instant, as if the truth might be located there.
“You learn a lot about love married to identical twins. It’s not for everyone. Especially if you want to feel like you’re number one. They grow up in a world of individuals, and we all tell them to think and behave like us. But they can’t. At least not these two. Their fundamental experience is different. It’s probably the ultimate bond. The whole switch thing was Paul’s idea. He was certain Lidia would do herself in. But more than that, he just couldn’t tolerate the idea of his brother bearing that kind of trouble without him sharing it.”
“You involved, too?”
“Little by little. I suppose I was in on it as soon as I sutured Lidia. Certainly when I started falling for Paul. I came up with the idea for the nasal prosthetic. We needed a facial characteristic so prominent that it would obscure the other minute differences between them, especially the ones that would develop as they aged. And you know the saying. ‘Plain as the nose on your face.’ It’s the best way to differentiate two people’s appearance. Hilda, my anaplastologist, she must have figured it out by now, but she’s never said a word. The whole thing was manageable because they wore the prosthetic only when they were on the outside, being Paul.”
“And they just glided in and out of the facility for twenty-five years?”
“There’s a back road at Hillcrest. Whoever was out would drive up. The other one would go for a walk through the woods. Exactly as you said.”
He shrugged. All those minimum-security places were the same, outside some small town where they needed the jobs.
“Occasionally there’d be a problem,” Sofia said. “Somebody on the road. In twenty-five years, there was only one inmate who got suspicious. They did their visits in the attorney room for a while—Paul was always listed as Cass’s lawyer—and swapped clothes there, until a CO came in and found them both without shoes. He nearly wrote Cass up, but Paul told a story that Cass was hungry to try on his new loafers.
“They changed places every month usually. But occasionally it would be for a day, if one of our boys had an important game or a teacher’s conference. There were some weird times.” She rolled her large eyes. “Lots of stories.”
“I bet. And no trouble practicing law?”
“Paul didn’t know any more than Cass about practicing criminal law when he started in the PA’s office. You don’t really learn how to be a prosecutor in law school. It’s on-the-job training. And both of them picked up a lot from Sandy Stern during Cass’s case. A few years later, when Paul went into private practice, he got into a big case in Illinois and needed to be admitted to the bar there. Cass stayed in the joint for six weeks and studied, and he was the one who took the bar exam and passed it.
“So practice was never the problem. It was the details of life. They wrote down as much as they could for one another in those letters they sent every night, but I must have apologized a million times over the years for Paul’s poor memory. The hardest part was the kids. The prosthetic had to come off at night, and with it or without it, each boy could tell their father from their uncle by the time they were three. It was a big chance telling each of them the truth, when we finally did. We had this pact among the three adults that there would be no recriminations if one of the kids
blew it. But they didn’t. Kids don’t like to be different, it’s the kind of thing they keep to themselves naturally. At this point, they’re grateful. They feel like they have two fathers. A lot of children of identicals will tell you that.”
“And what’s going on now?” Tim asked. “What’s the point of changing identities?”
“Paul’s had his fill of politics, Cass hasn’t. Paul is going to be happier opening that charter school. It’ll be for ex-cons and kids out of juvenile confinement, young men fourteen to twenty-six. The curriculum will go from high school through junior college, with a big emphasis on job training and internships. The notion is that the cons will teach the kids to stay straight. It’s a neat idea. And it’s the right job for ‘Cass.’” She made the quotation marks in the air. “A con teaching cons? Paul’s already talked to Willie Dixon about it and the county will fund it. And Cass wants to stay in office. So it makes sense. Doesn’t it?”
“Not for me to say. But I hope you all live in peace. You’re entitled.” Tim thought about what Sofia had said. It was a lot to take in. “How was it having your kids while they were swapping places?”
“Paul was always home when they came.” She looked Tim in the eye. “And when they were conceived. I can tell the brothers apart.”
Tim laughed out loud.
“You settled for half a husband?”
“Lots of spouses spend time apart. Think of families in the service. Besides, I was twenty-four and crazy in love. And I thought any man who loved his brother that much would love me the same way.”
“Were you right?”
She smiled a little, philosophical, as he’d expect of any grown-up.
“I think so. I think our marriage really is another reason Paul’s willing to leave public life. So we have a space to build a more normal relationship. Until February, I hadn’t lived with my husband longer than two months straight in twenty-five years.”