the Third Twin (1996)

by Ken Follett

  “But I have another idea,” Jim said.

  The other two stared at him.

  “We approach each of the eight families discreetly. We confess that mistakes were made at the clinic in its early days. We say that no harm was done but we want to avoid sensational publicity. We offer them a million dollars each in compensation. We make it payable over ten years, and tell them the payments stop if they talk—to anyone: the press, Jeannie Ferrami, scientists, anyone.”

  Berrington nodded slowly. “My God, it might just work. Who’s going to say no to a million dollars?”

  Preston said: “Lorraine Logan. She wants to prove her son’s innocence.”

  “That’s right. She wouldn’t do it for ten million.”

  “Everyone has their price,” Jim said, regaining some of his characteristic bluster. “Anyway, there isn’t much she can do without the cooperation of one or two of the others.”

  Preston was nodding. Berrington, too, found he had new hope. There might be a way to shut the Logans up. But there was a more serious snag. “What if Jeannie goes public in the next twenty-four hours?” he said. “Landsmann would probably postpone the takeover while they investigate the allegations. And then we won’t have any millions of dollars to throw around.”

  Jim said: “We have to know what her intentions are: how much she’s discovered already and what she plans to do about it.”

  “I don’t see any way to do that,” Berrington said.

  “I do,” said Jim. “We know one person who could easily win her confidence and find out exactly what’s on her mind.”

  Berrington felt anger rise inside him. “I know what you’re thinking—”

  “Here he comes now,” Jim said.

  There was a footstep in the hall, and Berrington’s son came in.

  “Hi, Dad!” he said. “Hey, Uncle Jim, Uncle Preston, how are you?”

  Berrington looked at him with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The boy looked adorable in navy blue corduroy pants and a sky blue cotton sweater. He picked up my dress sense, anyway, Berrington thought. He said: “We have to talk, Harvey.”

  Jim stood up. “Want a beer, kid?”

  “Sure,” Harvey said.

  Jim had an annoying tendency to encourage Harvey in bad habits. “Forget the beer,” Berrington snapped. “Jim, why don’t you and Preston go into the drawing room and let us two talk.” The drawing room was a stiffly formal space that Berrington never used.

  Preston and Jim left. Berrington got up and hugged Harvey. “I love you, son,” he said. “Even though you’re wicked.”

  “Am I wicked?”

  “What you did to that poor girl in the basement of the gym was one of the most wicked things a man can do.”

  Harvey shrugged.

  Dear God, I failed to instill in him any sense of right and wrong, Berrington thought. But it was too late now for such regrets. “Sit down and listen for a minute,” he said.

  Harvey sat.

  “Your mother and I tried for years to have a baby, but there were problems,” he said “At the time, Preston was working on in vitro fertilization, where the sperm and the egg are brought together in the laboratory and then the embryo is implanted in the womb.”

  “Are you saying I was a test-tube baby?”

  “This is secret. You must never tell anyone, all your life. Not even your mother.”

  “She doesn’t know?” Harvey said in astonishment.

  “There’s more to it than that. Preston took one live embryo and split it, forming twins.”

  “That’s the guy who’s been arrested for the rape?’

  “He split it more than once.”

  Harvey nodded. All of them had the same quick intelligence. “How many?” he said.

  “Eight.”

  “Wow. And I guess the sperm didn’t come from you.”

  “No.”

  “Who?”

  “An army lieutenant from Fort Bragg: tall, strong, fit, intelligent, aggressive, and good-looking.”

  “And the mother?”

  “A civilian typist from West Point, similarly well favored.”

  A wounded grin twisted the boy’s handsome face. “My real parents.”

  Berrington winced. “No, they’re not,” he said. “You grew in your mother’s belly. She gave birth to you, and believe me it hurt. We watched you take your first unsteady steps, and struggle to maneuver a spoonful of mashed potato into your mouth, and lisp your first words.”

  Watching his son’s face, Berrington could not tell whether Harvey believed him or not.

  “Hell, we loved you more and more as you became less lovable. Every damn year the same reports from school: ‘He is very aggressive, he has not yet learned to share, he hits other children, he has difficulty with team games, he disrupts the class, he must learn to respect members of the opposite sex.’ Every time you got expelled from a school we trudged around begging and pleading to get you into another one. We tried cajoling you, beating you, withdrawing privileges. We took you to three different child psychologists. You made our lives miserable.”

  “Are you saying I ruined the marriage?”

  “No, son, I did that all on my own. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you whatever you do, just like any other parent.”

  Harvey was still troubled. “Why are you telling me now?”

  “Steve Logan, one of your doubles, was a subject for study in my department. I had a hell of a shock when I saw him, as you may imagine. Then the police arrested him for the rape of Lisa Hoxton. But one of the professors, Jeannie Ferrami, got suspicious. To cut a long story short, she’s tracked you down. She wants to prove Steve Logan’s innocence. And she probably wants to expose the whole story of the clones and ruin me.”

  “She’s the woman I met in Philadelphia.”

  Berrington was mystified. “You’ve met her?”

  “Uncle Jim called me and told me to give her a scare.”

  Berrington was enraged. “The son of a bitch, I’m going to tear his fucking head off his shoulders—”

  “Calm down, Dad, nothing happened. I went for a ride in her car. She’s cute, in her way.”

  Berrington controlled himself with an effort. “Your uncle Jim has always been irresponsible in his attitude to you. He likes your wildness, no doubt because he’s such an uptight asshole himself.”

  “I like him.”

  “Let’s talk about what we have to do. We need to know Jeannie Ferrami’s intentions, especially over the next twenty-four hours. You need to know whether she has any evidence that links you to Lisa Hoxton. We can’t think of any way to get to her—but one.”

  Harvey nodded. “You want me to go talk to her, pretending to be Steve Logan.”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Sounds fun.”

  Berrington groaned. “Don’t do anything foolish, please. Just talk to her.”

  “Want me to go right away?”

  “Yes, please. I hate to ask you to do this—but it’s for you as much as for me.”

  “Relax, Dad—what could happen?”

  “Maybe I worry too much. I guess there’s no great danger in going to a girl’s apartment.”

  “What if the real Steve is there?”

  “Check the cars in the street. He has a Datsun like yours; that’s another reason the police were so sure he was the perpetrator.”

  “No kidding!”

  “You’re like identical twins, you make the same choices. If his car is there, don’t go in. Call me, and we’ll try to think of some way to get him out.”

  “Suppose he walked there?”

  “He lives in Washington.”

  “Okay.” Harvey stood up. “What’s the girl’s address?”

  “She lives in Hampden.” Berrington scribbled the street address on a card and handed it over. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Sure. See you sooner, Montezuma.”

  Berrington forced a smile. “In a flash, succotash.”

  56
/>   HARVEY CRUISED UP AND DOWN JEANNIE’S STREET, LOOKING for a car just like his own. There were lots of elderly automobiles, but no rusty light-colored Datsuns. Steve Logan was not around.

  He pulled into a slot near her house and turned off the engine. He sat thinking for a moment. He would need his wits about him. He was glad he had not drunk that beer Uncle Jim had offered him.

  He knew she would take him for Steve, because she had done so once before, in Philadelphia. The two of them were identical in appearance. But conversation would be more tricky. She would make references to all sorts of things he was supposed to know about. He would have to answer without betraying his ignorance. He had to keep her confidence long enough to find out what evidence she had against him and what she planned to do with her knowledge. It would be very easy to make a slip and betray himself.

  But even while he thought soberly about the daunting challenge of impersonating Steve, he could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. What he had done in her car had been the most thrilling sexual encounter he had ever had. It was even better than being in the women’s locker room when they were all panicking. He got aroused every time he thought about ripping her clothes while the car swerved all over the expressway.

  He knew he should concentrate on his task now. He must not think of her face contorted in fear and her strong legs writhing. He ought to get the information from her and leave. But all his life he had never been able to do the sensible thing.

  Jeannie called police headquarters as soon as she got home. She knew Mish would not be there, but she left a message asking her to call urgently. “Didn’t you leave an urgent message for her earlier today?” she was asked.

  “Yes, but this is another one, just as important.”

  “I’ll do my best to pass it on,” the voice said skeptically.

  Next she called Steve’s house, but there was no reply. She guessed he and Lorraine were with their lawyer, trying to get Charles freed, and he would call when he could.

  She was disappointed; she wanted to tell someone the good news.

  The thrill of having found Harvey’s apartment wore off, and she felt depressed. Her thoughts returned to the danger that faced her of a future with no money, no job, and no way to help her mother.

  To cheer herself up she made brunch. She scrambled three eggs and grilled the bacon she had bought yesterday for Steve and ate it with toast and coffee. As she was putting the dishes in the dishwasher, the doorbell rang.

  She lifted the handset. “Hello?”

  “Jeannie? It’s Steve.”

  “Come on in!” she said happily.

  He was wearing a cotton sweater the color of his eyes, and he looked good enough to eat. She kissed him and hugged him hard, letting him feel her breasts against his chest. His hand slid down her back to her ass and pressed her to him. Today he smelled different again: he had used some kind of aftershave with an herbal fragrance. He tasted different, too, sort of like he had been drinking tea.

  After a while she broke away. “Let’s not go too fast,” she panted. She wanted to savor this. “Come in and sit down. I have so much to tell you!”

  He sat on the couch and she went to the refrigerator. “Wine, beer, coffee?”

  “Wine sounds good.”

  “Do you think it will be okay?”

  What the hell did she mean by that? Do you think it will be okay? “I don’t know,” he said.

  “How long ago did we open it?”

  Okay, they shared a bottle of wine but didn’t finish it, so she replaced the cork and put the bottle in the refrigerator, and now she’s wondering whether it has oxidized. But she wants me to decide. “Let’s see, what day was it?”

  “It was Wednesday, that’s four days.”

  He could not even see whether it was red or white. Shit. “Hell, just pour a glass and we’ll try it.”

  “What a smart idea.” She poured some wine into a glass and handed it to him. He tasted it. “It’s drinkable,” he said.

  She leaned over the back of the sofa. “Let me taste.” She kissed his lips. “Open your mouth,” she said. “I want to taste the wine.” He chuckled and did as she said. She put the tip of her tongue into his mouth. My God, this woman is sexy. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s drinkable.” Laughing, she filled his glass and poured some for herself.

  He was beginning to enjoy himself. “Put some music on,” he suggested.

  “On what?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. Oh, Christ, I’ve made a slip. He looked around the apartment: no stereo. Dumb.

  She said: “Daddy stole my stereo, remember? I don’t have anything to play music on. Wait a minute, I do.” She went into the next room—bedroom, presumably—and came back with one of those waterproof radios for hanging in the shower. “It’s a silly thing, Mom gave it to me one Christmas, before she started to go crazy.”

  Daddy stole her stereo. Mom’s crazy—what the hell kind of a family does she come from?

  “The sound is terrible, but it’s all I’ve got.” She turned it on. “I keep it tuned to 92Q.”

  ‘Twenty hits in a row,” he said automatically.

  “How do you know about that?”

  Oh, shit, Steve wouldn’t know Baltimore radio stations. “I picked it up in the car on the way here.”

  “What sort of music do you like?”

  I have no idea what Steve likes, but I guess you don’t either, so the truth will do. “I’m into gangsta rap—Snoop Doggy Dogg, Ice Cube, that kind of stuff.”

  “Oh, fuck, you make me feel middle-aged.”

  “What do you like?”

  “The Ramones, the Sex Pistols, the Damned. I mean, when I was a kid, like really a kid, punk was it, you know? My mom would listen to all this cheesy music from the sixties that never did anything for me. Then, when I was about eleven, suddenly, bang! Talking Heads. Remember ‘Psycho Killer’?”

  “I sure don’t!”

  “Okay, your mother was right, I’m too old for you.” She sat beside him. She put her head on his shoulder and slipped her hand under the sky blue sweater. She rubbed his chest, brushing his nipples with her fingertips. It felt good. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

  He wanted to touch her nipples too, but he had more important things to do. With a huge effort of will he said: “We need to talk seriously.”

  “You’re right.” She sat up and took a sip of the wine. “You first. Is your father still under arrest?”

  Jesus, what do I say to that? “No, you first,” he said. “You said you had so much to tell me.”

  “Okay. Number one, I know who raped Lisa. His name is Harvey Jones and he lives in Philadelphia.”

  Christ Almighty! Harvey struggled to keep his expression impassive. Thank God I came here. “Is there proof he did it?”

  “I went to his apartment. The neighbor let me in with a duplicate key.”

  That fucking old homo, I’ll break his scrawny neck.

  “I found the baseball cap he was wearing last Sunday. It was hanging on a hook behind the door.”

  Jesus! I should have thrown it away. But I never thought anyone would track me down! “You’ve done amazingly well,” he said. Steve would be thrilled by this news; it lets him off the hook. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I’ll think of something,” she said with a sexy grin.

  Can I get back to Philadelphia in time to get rid of that hat before the police get there? “You’ve told the police all this, have you?”

  “No. I’ve left a message for Mish, but she hasn’t called yet.”

  Hallelujah! I still have a chance.

  Jeannie went on: “Don’t worry. He has no idea we’re onto him. But you haven’t heard the best part. Who else do we know called Jones?”

  Do I say, “Berrington”? Would Steve think of that? “It’s a common name.…”

  “Berrington, of course! I think Harvey has been brought up as Berrington’s son!”


  I’m supposed to be amazed. “Incredible!” he said. What the hell do I do next? Maybe Dad would have some ideas. I have to tell him about all this. I need an excuse to make a phone call.

  She took his hand. “Hey, look at your nails!”

  Oh, fuck, what now? “What about them?”

  “They grow so fast! When you came out of jail, they were all jagged and broken. Now they look great!”

  “I always heal fast.”

  She turned his hand over and licked his palm.

  “You’re hot today,” he said.

  “Oh, God, I’ve come on too strong, haven’t I?” She had been told this by other men. Steve had been kind of reticent ever since he came in, and now she understood why. “I know what you’re saying. All last week I was pushing you away, and now you feel like I’m about to eat you for supper.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, sort of.”

  ‘That’s just the way I am. Once I decide for a guy, that’s it.” She bounced up out of the couch. “Okay, I’m backing off.” She went into the kitchen nook and took out an omelet pan. It was so heavy she needed both hands to lift it. “I bought food for you yesterday. Are you hungry?” The pan was dusty—she did not cook much—so she wiped it with a dishcloth. “Want some eggs?”

  “Not really. So tell me, were you a punk?”

  She put down the pan. “Yeah, for a while. Ripped clothes, green hair.”

  “Drugs?”

  “I used to do speed at school whenever I had the money.”

  “Which parts of your body did you pierce?”

  She suddenly remembered the centerfold on Harvey Jones’s wall, of the shaved woman with a ring through the lips of her cunt, and she shuddered. “Only my nose,” she said. “I gave up punk for tennis when I was fifteen.”

  “I knew a girl who had a nipple ring.”

  Jeannie felt jealous. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Hey, did you think I was a virgin?”

  “Don’t ask me to be rational!”

  He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, I won’t.”

  “You still haven’t told me what happened to your dad. Did you get him released?”