She handed him two sheets of paper. One stated that he had been notified of his right to be represented, the second told him how to contact a public defender. He had to sign copies of both.
She asked him a series of rapid-fire questions and keyed the answers into her computer: “State your full name. Where do you live? And your phone number. How long have you lived there? Where did you live prior to that?”
Steve began to feel more hopeful as he told the commissioner that he lived with his parents, he was in his second year at law school, and he had no adult criminal record. She asked if he had a drug or alcohol habit and he was able to say no. He wondered if he would get the chance to make some kind of statement appealing for bail, but she spoke fast and appeared to have a script she had to follow.
“For the charge of sodomy I find lack of probable cause,” she said. She turned from her computer screen and looked at him. “This does not mean that you did not commit the offense, but that there is not enough information here, in the detective’s statement of probable cause, for me to affirm the charge.”
Steve wondered why the detectives had put that charge in. Perhaps they hoped he would deny it indignantly and give himself away, saying, “That’s disgusting, I fucked her, but I didn’t sodomize her, what do you think I am?”
The commissioner went on: “But you must still stand trial for the charge.”
Steve was confused. What was the point of her finding if he still had to stand trial? And if he, a second-year law student, found all this hard to follow, what was it like for the average person?
The commissioner said: “Do you have any questions?”
Steve took a deep breath. “I want to apply for bail,” he began. “I’m innocent—”
She interrupted him. “Mr. Logan, you are before me on felony charges, which fall under rule 638B of the court. Which means that I, as a commissioner, cannot make a bail decision upon you. Only a judge can.”
It was like a punch in the face. Steve was so disappointed he felt ill. He stared at her unbelievingly. “Then what’s the point of this whole farce?” he said angrily.
“At this time you are being held at a no-bail status.”
He raised his voice. “So why have you asked me all these questions and raised my hopes? I thought I could get out of this place!”
She was unmoved. “The information you’ve given me about your address and so on will be checked by a pretrial investigator who will report to the court,” she said calmly. “You go for bail review tomorrow and the judge will make the bail decision.”
“I’m being kept in a cell with him!” Steve said, pointing at the sleeping Porky.
“The cells are not part of my responsibility—”
“The guy is a murderer! The only reason he hasn’t killed me yet is that he can’t stay awake! Now I’m formally complaining to you, as a court official, that I’m being mentally tortured and my life is in danger.”
“When the cells are full you have to share—”
“The cells aren’t full, look out your door and you can see. Most of them are empty. They put me in with him so he would beat me up. And if he does I’m taking action against you, personally, Commissioner Williams, for letting it happen.”
She softened a little. “I’ll look into it. Now I’m handing you some papers.” She gave him the charge summary, the probable cause statement, and several other papers. “Please sign each one and take a copy.”
Frustrated and downhearted, Steve took the ballpoint she offered and signed the papers. As he was doing so, the turnkey prodded Porky and woke him up. Steve handed the papers back to the commissioner. She put them in a folder.
Then she turned to Porky. “State your name.”
Steve buried his head in his hands.
18
JEANNIE STARED AT THE DOOR OF THE INTERVIEW ROOM AS IT slowly opened.
The man who walked in was Steven Logan’s double.
Beside her, she heard Lisa gasp.
Dennis Pinker looked so like Steven that Jeannie would never be able to tell them apart.
The system worked, she thought triumphantly. She was vindicated. Even though the parents vehemently denied that either of these two young men could possibly have a twin, they were as alike as her two hands.
The curly fair hair was cut the same way: short, with a part. Dennis rolled the sleeves of his prison fatigues the same neat way Steven did the cuffs of his blue linen shirt. Dennis closed the door behind him with his heel, the way Steven had when he had walked into Jeannie’s office in Nut House. He gave her an engaging, boyish smile just like Steven’s as he sat. She could hardly believe this was not Steven.
She looked at Lisa. She was staring bug-eyed at Dennis, her face pale with fear. “It’s him,” she breathed.
Dennis looked at Jeannie and said: “You’re going to give me your panties.”
Jeannie was chilled by his cool certainty, but she was also intellectually excited. Steven would never say a thing like that. Here it was, the same genetic material transformed into two completely different individuals—one a charming college boy, the other a psychopath. But was the difference merely superficial?
Robinson, the guard, said mildly: “Now behave yourself and be nice, Pinker, or you’ll be in bad trouble.”
Dennis gave that boyish grin again, but his words were scary. “Robinson won’t even know it’s happened, but you’ll do it,” he said to Jeannie. “You’ll walk out of here with the breeze blowing on your bare ass.”
Jeannie made herself calm. This was empty bragging. She was smart and tough: Dennis would not have found it easy to attack her even if she had been alone. Having a tall prison guard standing next to her with a nightstick and a gun, she was perfectly safe.
“Are you okay?” she murmured to Lisa.
Lisa was pale, but her mouth was set in a determined line, and she said grimly: “I’m fine.”
Like his parents, Dennis had filled out several forms in advance. Now Lisa began on the more complex questionnaires, which could not be completed simply by ticking boxes. As they worked, Jeannie reviewed the results and compared Dennis with Steven. The similarities were astonishing: psychological profile, interests and hobbies, tastes, physical skills—all were the same. Dennis even had the same astonishingly high IQ as Steven.
What a waste, she thought. This young man could become a scientist, a surgeon, an engineer, a software designer. Instead he’s in here, vegetating.
The big difference between Dennis and Steven was in their socialization. Steven was a mature man with above average social skills—comfortable meeting strangers, prepared to accept legitimate authority, at ease with his friends, happy to be part of a team. Dennis had the interpersonal skills of a three-year-old. He grabbed anything he wanted, he had trouble sharing, he was frightened of strangers, and if he could not get his way he lost his temper and became violent.
Jeannie could remember being three years old. It was her earliest memory. She saw herself leaning over the cot in which her new baby sister lay sleeping. Patty had been wearing a pretty pink sleepsuit with pale blue flowers embroidered on the collar. Jeannie could still feel the hatred that had possessed her as she stared at the tiny face. Patty had stolen her mommy and daddy. Jeannie wanted with all her being to kill this intruder who had taken so much of the love and attention previously reserved for Jeannie alone. Aunt Rosa had said: “You love your little sister, don’t you?” and Jeannie had replied: “I hate her, I wish she would die.” Aunt Rosa had slapped her, and Jeannie had felt doubly mistreated.
Jeannie had grown up, and so had Steven, but Dennis never had. Why was Steven different from Dennis? Had he been saved by his upbringing? Or did he just seem different? Were his social skills no more than a mask for the psychopath beneath?