the life-and-death struggle with the intruder, Marty also experienced a
resurgence of the inexplicable guilt that had first troubled him when
he’d lain on the wet street with his hands cuffed.
The feeling was no less irrational than before, considering that the
biggest crime of which he could justifiably be accused was routine
contempt for the speed limits on certain roads. But this time he
understood that part of his uneasiness resulted from the perception that
Lieutenant Cyrus Lowbock regarded him with quiet suspicion.
Lowbock was polite, but he did not say much. His silences were vaguely
accusatory. When he wasn’t taking notes, his zinc-gray eyes focused
unwaveringly, challengingly, on Marty.
Why the detective should suspect him of being less than entirely
truthful was not clear. However, Marty supposed that after years of
police work, dealing with the worst elements of society day in and day
out, the understandable tendency was toward cynicism. Regardless of
what the Constitution of the United States promised, a longtime cop
pronounced women–were guilty until proven innocent.
Marty finished his story and took another long sip of cola.
Cold fluids had done all they could for his sore throat, the greater
discomfort was now in the tissues of his neck, where throttling hands
had left the skin reddened and where extensive bruising would surely
appear by morning. Though the four Anacin were beginning to kick in, a
pain akin to whiplash made him wince when he turned his head more than a
few degrees in either direction, so he adopted a stiff-necked posture
and movement.
For what seemed an excessive length of time, Lowbock paged through his
notes, reviewing them in silence, quietly tapping the Montblanc pen
against the pages.
The splash and tap of rain still enlivened the night, though the storm
had abated somewhat.
Floorboards upstairs creaked now and then with the weight of the
policemen still at their assigned tasks.
Under the table, Paige’s right hand sought Marty’s left, and he gave it
a squeeze as if to say that everything was all right now.
But everything wasn’t all right. Nothing had been explained or
resolved. As far as he knew, their trouble was just beginning.
. . . my Paige . . . my Charlotte, my Emily . . .
At last Lowbock looked at Marty. In a flat tone of voice that was
damning precisely because of its complete lack of interpretable
inflection, the detective said, “Quite a story.”
“I know it sounds crazy.” Marty stifled the urge to assure Lowbock that
he had not exaggerated the degree of resemblance between himself and the
look-alike or any other aspect of his account. He had told the truth.
He was not required to apologize for the fact that the truth, in this
instance, was as astounding as any fantasy.
“And you say you don’t have a twin brother?” Lowbock asked.
“No, sir.”
“No brother at all?”
“I’m an only child.”
“Half brother?”
“My parents were married when they were eighteen. Neither of them was
ever married to anyone else. I assure you, Lieutenant, there’s no easy
explanation for this guy.”
“Well, of course, no other marriages would’ve been necessary for you to
have a half brother . . . or a full brother, for that matter,” Lowbock
said, meeting Marty’s eyes so directly that to look away from him would
have been an admission of something.
As Marty digested the detective’s statement, Paige squeezed his hand
under the table, an admonition not to let Lowbock rattle him.
He tried to tell himself that the detective was only stating a fact,
which he was, but it would have been decent to look at the notebook or
at the window when making such implications.
Replying almost as stiffly as he was holding his head, Marty said, “Let
me see . . . I guess I have three choices then. Either my father
knocked up my mother before they were married, and they put this full
brother–this bastard brother–up for adoption. Or after my folks were
married, Dad screwed around with some other woman, and she gave birth to
my half brother. Or my mother got pregnant by some other guy, either
before or after she married my father, and that whole pregnancy is a