Free The Third Twin by Ken Follett Page A

you wanted to marry?”
    “Never. Not one.”
    “You and I have high standards. Don’t worry, when Mr. Right comes along he’ll be wonderful.”
    The entry phone sounded, startling them both. Lisa jumped up, bumping the table. A porcelain vase fell to the floor and shattered, and Lisa said: “Goddamn it.”
    She was still right on the edge. “I’ll pick up the pieces,” Jeannie said in a soothing voice. “You see who’s at the door.”
    Lisa picked up the handset. A troubled frown crossed her face, and she studied the image on the monitor. “All right, I guess,” she said dubiously, and she pressed the button that opened the building door.
    “Who is it?” Jeannie asked.
    “A detective from the Sex Crimes Unit.”
    Jeannie had been afraid they would send someone to bully Lisa into cooperating with the investigation. She was determined they would not succeed. The last thing Lisa needed now was more intrusive questions. “Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”
    “Maybe because she’s black,” Lisa said.
    “No kidding?”
    Lisa shook her head.
    How clever, Jeannie thought as she swept shards of porcelain into her cupped hand. The cops knew she and Lisa were hostile. If they had sent a white male detective he would not have got through the door. So they sent a black woman, knowing that two middle-class white girls would bend over backward to be polite to her. Well, if she tries to push Lisa around I’ll throw her out of here just the same, Jeannie thought.
    She turned out to be a stocky woman of about forty, smartly dressed in a cream blouse with a colorful silk scarf, carrying a briefcase. “I’m Sergeant Michelle Delaware,” she said. “They call me Mish.”
    Jeannie wondered what was in the briefcase. Detectives usually carried guns, not papers. “I’m Dr. Jean Ferrami,” Jeannie said. She always used her title when she thought she was going to quarrel with someone. “This is Lisa Hoxton.”
    The detective said: “Ms. Hoxton, I want to say how sorry I am about what happened to you yesterday: My unit deals with one rape a day, on average, and every single one is a terrible tragedy and a wounding trauma for the victim. I know you’re hurting and I understand.”
    Wow, Jeannie thought, this is different from yesterday.
    “I’m trying to put it behind me,” Lisa said defiantly, but tears came to her eyes and betrayed her.
    “May I sit down?”
    “Of course.”
    The detective sat at the kitchen table.
    Jeannie studied her warily. “Your attitude seems different from the patrolman’s,” she said.
    Mish nodded. “I’m also deeply sorry about McHenty and the way he treated you. Like all patrolmen he has received training on how to deal with rape victims, but he seems to have forgotten what he was taught. I’m embarrassed for the entire police department.”
    “It was like being violated all over again,” Lisa said tearfully.
    “It’s not supposed to happen anymore,” Mish said, and a note of anger crept into her voice. “This is how so many rape cases end up in a drawer marked ‘Unfounded.’ It’s not because women lie about rape. It’s because the justice system treats them so brutally that they withdraw the complaint.”
    Jeannie said: “I can believe that.” She told herself to be careful: Mish might talk like a sister, but she was still a cop.
    Mish took a card from her purse. “Here’s the number of a volunteer center for victims of rape and child abuse,” she said. “Sooner or later, every victim needs counseling.”
    Lisa took the card, but she said: “Right now all I want is to forget it.”
    Mish nodded. “Take my advice, put the card in a drawer. Your feelings go through cycles, and there will probably come a time when you’re ready to seek help.”
    “Okay.”
    Jeannie decided that Mish had earned a little courtesy. “Would you like some coffee?” she offered. “I’d love a cup.”
    “I’ll make some fresh.” Jeannie got up and filled the coffee