butter as an appetizer, followed by lamb chops with lemon zest accompanied by salad and rice, and ice cream for dessert."
"Well, that's just great!"
"You get it started while I'm out."
He stood up and looked at the food she had put out.
She picked up her briefcase. "I'll be back soon after ten."
"I don't know how to cook this stuff!" He picked up a corncob.
From the shelf over the refrigerator she took The Reader's Digest All-the-Year-Round Cookbook. She handed it to him. "Look it up," she said. She kissed his cheek and went out.
As she got into her car and headed downtown she hoped she had not been too cruel. He was from an older generation; the rules had been different in his day. Still, she could not be his housekeeper even if she had wanted to: she had to hold down her job. By giving him a place to lay his head at night she was already doing more for him than he had done for her most of her life. All the same she wished she had left him on a happier note. He was inadequate, but he was the only father she had.
She put her car in a parking garage and walked through the red-light district to police headquarters. There was a swanky lobby with marble benches and a mural depicting scenes from Baltimore history. She told the receptionist she was here to see Steven Logan, who was in custody. She expected to have to argue about it, but after a few minutes' wait a young woman in uniform took her inside and up in the elevator.
She was shown into a room the size of a closet. It was featureless except for a small window set into the wall at face level and a sound panel beneath it. The window looked into another similar booth. There was no way to pass anything from one room to the other without making a hole in the wall.
She stared through the window. After another five minutes Steven was brought in. As he entered the booth she saw that he was handcuffed and his feet were chained together, as if he were dangerous. He came to the glass and peered through. When he recognized her, he smiled broadly. "This is a pleasant surprise!" he said. "In fact, it's the only nice thing that's happened to me all day."
Despite his cheerful manner he looked terrible: strained and tired. "How are you?" she said.
"A little rough. They've put me in a cell with a murderer who has a crack hangover. I'm afraid to go to sleep."
Her heart went out to him. She reminded herself that he was supposed to be the man who raped Lisa. But she could not believe it. "How long do you think you'll be here?"
"I have a bail review before a judge tomorrow. Failing that, I may be locked up until the DNA test result comes through. Apparently that takes three days."
The mention of DNA reminded her of her purpose. "I saw your twin today."
"And?"
"There's no doubt. He's your double."
"Maybe he raped Lisa Hoxton."
Jeannie shook her head. "If he had escaped from jail over the weekend, yes. But he's still locked up."
"Do you think he might have escaped then returned? To establish an alibi?"
"Too fanciful. If Dennis got out of jail, nothing would induce him to go back."
"I guess you're right," Steven said gloomily.
"I have a couple of questions to ask you."
"Shoot."
"First I need to double-check your birthday."
"August twenty-fifth."
That was what Jeannie had written down. Maybe she had Dennis's date wrong. "And do you happen to know where you were born?"
"Yes. Dad was stationed at Fort Lee, Virginia, at the time, and I was born in the army hospital there."
"Are you sure?"
"Certain. Mom wrote about it in her book Having a Baby." He narrowed his eyes in a look that was becoming familiar to her. It meant he was figuring out her thinking. "Where was Dennis born?"
"I don't know yet."
"But we share a birthday."
"Unfortunately, he gives his birthday as September seventh. But it might be a mistake. I'm going to double-check. I'll call his mother as soon as I get to my office. Have you spoken to your parents yet?"
"No."
"Would you like me to call them?"
"No! Please. I don't want them to know until I can tell them I've been cleared."
She frowned. "From everything you've told me about them, they seem the kind of people who would be supportive."
"They would. But I don't want to put them through the agony."