As she watched and listened, Jeannie realized there was another difference. She was afraid of Dennis. She could not put her finger on the exact cause, but there was menace in the air all around him. She had the sense he would do anything that came into his head, regardless of the consequences. Steven had not given her that feeling for one moment.
Jeannie photographed Dennis and took close-ups of both ears. In identical twins the ears were normally highly similar, especially the attachment of the earlobes.
When they were almost done, Lisa took a blood sample from Dennis, something she had been trained to do. Jeannie could hardly wait to see the DNA comparison. She was certain Steven and Dennis had the same genes. That would prove beyond doubt that they were identical twins.
Lisa routinely sealed the vial and signed the seal, then she went to put it in the cooler in the trunk of the car, leaving Jeannie to finish the interview on her own.
As Jeannie completed the last set of questions, she wished she could get Steven and Dennis in the laboratory together for a week. But that was not going to be possible for many of her twin pairs. In studying criminals, she would constantly face the problem that some of her subjects were in jail. The more sophisticated tests, involving laboratory machinery, would not be done on Dennis until he got out of jail, if ever. She just had to live with that. She would have plenty of other data to work with.
She finished the last questionnaire. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Pinker,” she said.
“You didn’t give me your panties yet,” he said coolly.
Robinson said: “Now, Pinker, you been good all afternoon, don’t spoil it.”
Dennis threw the guard a look of sheer contempt. Then he said to Jeannie: “Robinson’s scared of rats, did you know that, lady psychologist?”
Suddenly Jeannie felt anxious. There was something going on that she did not understand. She began hurriedly to tidy up her papers.
Robinson looked embarrassed. “I hate rats, it’s true, but I ain’t scared of them.”
“Not even of that big gray one in the corner?” Dennis said, pointing.
Robinson whirled around. There was no rat in the corner, but when Robinson’s back was turned Dennis reached into his pocket and whipped out a tightly wrapped package. He moved so quickly that Jeannie did not guess what he was doing until it was too late. He unfolded a blue spotted handkerchief to reveal a fat gray rat with a long pink tail. Jeannie shuddered. She was not squeamish, but there was something profoundly creepy about seeing the rat cupped lovingly in the hands that had strangled a woman.
Before Robinson could turn around again, Dennis had released the rat.
It ran across the room. “There, Robinson, there!” Dennis cried.
Robinson turned around, saw the rat, and paled. “Shit,” he growled, and he drew his nightstick.
The rat ran along the floor molding, looking for somewhere to hide. Robinson went after it, lashing out with his nightstick. He made a series of black marks on the wall but missed the rat.
Jeannie watched Robinson with a warning alarm ringing in her mind. There was something wrong here, something that did not make sense. This was a humorous jape. Dennis was not a practical joker, he was a sexual pervert and a murderer. What he had done was uncharacteristic. Unless, she realized with a tremor of dread, this was a diversion, and Dennis had some other purpose—
She felt something touch her hair. She turned around in her chair, and her heart stopped.
Dennis had moved and was standing up close to her. In front of her face he held what looked like a homemade knife: it was a tin spoon with the bowl flattened and sharpened to a point.
She wanted to scream but she felt strangled. A second ago she had thought herself perfectly safe; now she was being threatened by a murderer with a knife. How could it have happened so quickly? The blood seemed to drain out of her head, and she could hardly think.
Dennis grabbed her hair with his left hand and moved the point of the knife so close to her eye that she could not focus on it. He bent over and spoke in her ear. His breath was warm on her cheek and he smelled sweaty. His voice was so low that she could hardly hear him over the noise Robinson was making. “Do as I say or I’ll slice your eyeballs.”
She melted with terror. “Oh, God, no, don’t make me blind,” she pleaded.
Hearing her own voice speak in such an alien tone of groveling surrender brought her to her senses somewhat. She tried desperately to pull herself together and think. Robinson was still chasing the rat: he had no idea what Dennis was up to. Jeannie could hardly believe this was happening. They were in the heart of a state prison and she had an armed guard, yet she was at Dennis’s mercy. How glibly she had thought, a few short hours ago, that she would give him a hard time if he attacked her! She began to tremble with fear.
Dennis jerked painfully on her hair, pulling up, and she shot to her feet.
“Please!” she said. Even as she spoke, she hated herself for begging in this humiliating way, but she was too terrified to stop. “I’ll do anything!”
She felt his lips on her ear. “Take off your panties,” he murmured.
She froze. She was ready to do whatever he wanted, no matter how shaming, in order to escape; but to take off her panties might be as dangerous as to defy him. She did not know what to do. She tried to see Robinson. He was out of her field of view, behind her, and she did not dare turn her head because of the knife next to her eye. However, she could hear him cursing the rat and swiping at it with his club, and it was evident he still had not seen what Dennis was doing.
“I don’t have much time,” Dennis murmured in a voice like an icy wind. “If I don’t get what I want, you’ll never see the sun shine again.”
She believed him. She had just finished three hours of psychological interviews with him and she knew what he was like. He had no conscience: he was not capable of guilt or remorse. If she frustrated his wishes, he would maim her without hesitation.
But what would he do after she had taken off her panties? she thought desperately. Would he be satisfied and take the blade away from her face? Would he slash her anyway? Or would he want something more?
Why couldn’t Robinson kill the damned rat?
“Quickly!” Dennis hissed.
What could be worse than blindness? “All right,” she groaned.
She bent awkwardly, with Dennis still holding her hair and pointing the knife at her. Fumbling, she pulled up the skirt of her linen dress and pushed down her Kmart white cotton briefs. Dennis grunted, deep in his throat like a bear, as they dropped to her ankles. She felt ashamed, even though reason told her this was not her fault. Hurriedly she worked her dress back down, covering her nakedness. Then she stepped out of her panties and kicked them away across the gray plastic-tiled floor.
She felt dreadfully vulnerable.
Dennis released her, snatched up the panties, and pressed them to his face, breathing in, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
Jeannie stared at him, aghast at this forced intimacy. Even though he was not touching her, she shuddered in disgust.
What would he do next?
Robinson’s nightstick made a revolting, squashing sound. Jeannie turned and saw that at last he had struck the rat. His stick had smashed the rear half of its fat body, and there was a red smear across the gray plastic tiles. It could no longer run, but it was still alive, its eyes open and its body moving as it breathed. Robinson hit it again, smashing its head. It stopped moving and a gray slime seeped out of the crushed skull.
Jeannie looked back at Dennis. To her surprise he was sitting at the table, as he had all afternoon, looking as if he had never moved. He wore an innocent air. The knife and her panties had disappeared.