the Third Twin (1996)

by Ken Follett

  The administrative building was a grand old house. Jeannie led him across the marbled hall and through a door marked Old Dining Room into a gloomy chamber in the baronial style: high ceiling, narrow Gothic windows, and thick-legged oak furniture. A long table stood in front of a carved stone fireplace.

  Four men and a middle-aged woman sat along one side of the table. Steve recognized the bald man in the middle as Jeannie’s tennis opponent, Jack Budgen. This was the committee, he presumed: the group that held Jeannie’s fate in its hands. He took a deep breath.

  Leaning over the table, he shook Jack Budgen’s hand and said: “Good morning, Dr. Budgen. I’m Steven Logan. Wespoke yesterday.” Some instinct took over and he found himself exuding a relaxed confidence that was the opposite of what he felt. He shook hands with each of the committee members, and they told him their names.

  Two more men sat on the near side of the table, at the far end. The little guy in the navy vested suit was Berrington Jones, whom Steve had met last Monday. The thin, sandy-haired man in a charcoal double-breasted pinstripe had to be Henry Quinn. Steve shook hands with both.

  Quinn looked at him superciliously and said: “What are your legal qualifications, young man?”

  Steve gave him a friendly smile and spoke in a low voice that no one else could hear. “Go fuck yourself, Henry.”

  Quinn flinched as if he had been struck, and Steve thought, That will be the last time the old bastard condescends to me.

  He held a chair for Jeannie and they both sat down.

  “Well, perhaps we should begin,” Jack said. “These proceedings are informal. I believe everyone has received a copy of the rubric, so we know the rules. The charge is laid by Professor Berrington Jones, who proposes that Dr. Jean Ferrami be dismissed because she has brought Jones Falls University into disrepute.”

  As Budgen spoke, Steve watched the committee members, looking eagerly for signs of sympathy. He was not reassured. Only the woman, Jane Edelsborough, would look at Jeannie; the others did not meet her eyes. Four against, one in favor, at the start, he thought. It was not good.

  Jack said: “Berrington is represented by Mr. Quinn.”

  Quinn got to his feet and opened his briefcase. Steve noticed that his fingers were stained yellow from cigarettes. He took out a sheaf of blowup photocopies of the New York Times piece about Jeannie and handed one to every person in the room. The result was that the table was covered with pieces of paper saying GENE RESEARCH ETHICS: DOUBTS, FEARS AND A SQUABBLE. It was a powerful visual reminder of the trouble Jeannie had caused. Steve wished he had brought some papers to give out, so that he could have covered up Quinn’s.

  This simple, effective opening move by Quinn intimidatedSteve. How could he possibly compete with a man who had probably thirty years of courtroom experience? I can’t win this, he thought in a sudden panic.

  Quinn began to speak. His voice was dry and precise, with no trace of a local accent. He spoke slowly and pedantically. Steve hoped that might be a mistake with this jury of intellectuals who did not need things spelled out for them in words of one syllable. Quinn summarized the history of the discipline committee and explained its position in the university government. He defined “disrepute” and produced a copy of Jeannie’s employment contract. Steve began to feel better as Quinn droned on.

  At last he wound up his preamble and started to question Berrington. He began by asking when Berrington had first heard about Jeannie’s computer search program.

  “Last Monday afternoon,” Berrington replied. He recounted the conversation he and Jeannie had had. His story tallied with what Jeannie had told Steve.

  Then Berrington said: “As soon as I clearly understood her technique, I told her that in my opinion what she was doing was illegal.”

  Jeannie burst out: “What?”

  Quinn ignored her and asked Berrington: “And what was her reaction?”

  “She became very angry—”

  “You damn liar!” Jeannie said.

  Berrington flushed at this accusation.

  Jack Budgen intervened. “Please, no interruptions,” he said.

  Steve kept an eye on the committee. They had all looked at Jeannie: they could hardly help it. He put a hand on her arm, as if restraining her.

  “He’s telling barefaced lies!” she protested.

  “What did you expect?” Steve said in a low voice. “He’s playing hardball.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be,” he said in her ear. “Keep it up. They could see your anger was genuine.”

  Berrington went on: “She became petulant, just as she is now. She told me she could do what she liked, she had a contract.”

  One of the men on the committee, Tenniel Biddenham, frowned darkly, obviously disliking the idea of a junior member of faculty quoting her contract to her professor. Berrington was clever, Steve realized. He knew how to take a point scored against him and turn it to his advantage.

  Quinn asked Berrington: “What did you do?”

  “Well, I realized I might be wrong. I’m not a lawyer, so I decided to get legal advice. If my fears were confirmed, I could show her independent proof. But if it turned out that what she was doing was harmless, I could drop the matter without a confrontation.”

  “And did you take advice?”

  “As things turned out, I was overtaken by events. Before I had a chance to see a lawyer, the New York Times got on the case.”

  Jeannie whispered: “Bullshit.”

  “Are you sure?” Steve asked her.

  “Positive.”

  He made a note.

  “Tell us what happened on Wednesday, please,” Quinn said to Berrington.

  “My worst fears came true. The university president, Maurice Obeli, summoned me to his office and asked me to explain why he was getting aggressive phone calls from the press about the research in my department. We drafted a press announcement as a basis for discussion and called in Dr. Ferrami.”

  “Jesus Christ!” muttered Jeannie.

  Berrington went on: “She refused to talk about the press release. Once again she blew her top, insisted she could do what she liked, and stormed out.”

  Steve looked in inquiry at Jeannie. She said in a low voice: “A clever lie. They presented me with the press announcement as a fait accompli.”

  Steve nodded, but he decided not to take up this point in cross-examination. The committee would probably feel Jeannie should not have stormed out anyway.

  “The reporter told us she had a deadline of noon that day,” Berrington continued smoothly. “Dr. Obeli felt the university had to say something decisive, and I must say I agreed with him one hundred percent.”

  “And did your announcement have the effect you hoped for?”

  “No. It was a total failure. But that was because it was completely undermined by Dr. Ferrami. She told the reporter that she intended to ignore us and there was nothing we could do about it.”

  “Did anyone outside the university comment on the story?”

  “They certainly did.”

  Something about the way Berrington answered that question rang a warning bell in Steve’s head and he made a note.

  “I got a phone call from Preston Barck, the president of Genetico, which is an important donor to the university, and in particular funds the entire twins research program,” Berrington continued. “He was naturally concerned about the way his money was being spent. The article made it look as if the university authorities were impotent. Preston said to me, “Who’s running the damn school, anyway?’ It was very embarrassing.”

  “Was that your principal concern? The embarrassment of having been defied by a junior member of the faculty?”

  “Certainly not. The main problem was the damage to Jones Falls that would be caused by Dr. Ferrami’s work.”

  Nice move, Steve thought. In their hearts all the committee members would hate to be defied by an assistant professor, and Berrington had drawn their sympath
y. But Quinn had moved quickly to put the whole complaint on a more high-minded level, so that they could tell themselves that by firing Jeannie they would be protecting the university, not just punishing a disobedient subordinate.

  Berrington said: “A university should be sensitive to privacy issues. Donors give us money, and students compete for places here, because this is one of the nation’s most venerable educational institutions. The suggestion that we are careless with people’s civil rights is very damaging.”

  It was a quietly eloquent formulation, and all the panel would approve. Steve nodded to show that he agreed too, hoping they would notice and conclude that this was not the question at issue.

  Quinn asked Berrington: “So how many options faced you at that point?”

  “Exactly one. We had to show that we did not sanction invasion of privacy by university researchers. We also needed to demonstrate that we had the authority to enforce our own rules. The way to do that was to fire Dr. Ferrami. There was no alternative.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” said Quinn, and he sat down.

  Steve felt pessimistic. Quinn was every bit as skillful as expected. Berrington had been dreadfully plausible. He had presented a picture of a reasonable, concerned human being doing his best to deal with a hot-tempered, careless subordinate. It was the more credible for having a lacing of reality: Jeannie was quick-tempered.

  But it was not the truth. That was all Steve had going for him. Jeannie was in the right. He just had to prove it.

  Jack Budgen said: “Have you any questions, Mr. Logan?”

  “I sure do,” said Steve. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

  This was his fantasy. He was not in a courtroom, and he was not even a real lawyer, but he was defending an underdog against the injustice of a mighty institution. The odds were against him, but truth was on his side. It was what he dreamed about.

  He stood up and looked hard at Berrington. If Jeannie’s theory was right, the man had to feel strange in this situation. It must be like Dr. Frankenstein being questioned by his monster. Steve wanted to play on that a little, to shake Berrington’s composure, before starting on the material questions.

  “You know me, don’t you, Professor?” Steve said.

  Berrington looked unnerved. “Ah … I believe we met on Monday, yes.”

  “And you know all about me.”

  “I … don’t quite follow you.”

  “I underwent a day of tests in your laboratory, so you have a great deal of information on me.”

  “I see what you mean, yes.”

  Berrington looked thoroughly discomfited.

  Steve moved behind Jeannie’s chair, so that they would all have to look at her. It was much harder to think evil of someone who returned your gaze with an open, fearless expression.

  “Professor, let me begin with the first claim you made, that you intended to seek legal advice after your conversation with Dr. Ferrami on Monday.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t actually see a lawyer.”

  “No, I was overtaken by events.”

  “You didn’t make an appointment to see a lawyer.”

  “There wasn’t time—”

  “In the two days between your conversation with Dr. Ferrami and your conversation with Dr. Obeli about the New York Times, you didn’t even ask your secretary to make an appointment with a lawyer.”

  “No.”

  “Nor did you ask around, or speak to any of your colleagues, to find out the name of someone suitable.”

  “No.”

  “In fact, you’re quite unable to substantiate this claim.”

  Berrington smiled confidently. “However, I have a reputation as an honest man.”

  “Dr. Ferrami recalls the conversation very vividly.”

  “Good.”

  “She says you made no mention of legal problems or privacy worries; your only concern was whether the search engine worked.”

  “Perhaps she’s forgotten.”

  “Or perhaps you’ve misremembered.” Steve felt he had won that point, and he changed tack abruptly. “Did the New York Times reporter, Ms. Freelander, say how she heard about Dr. Ferrami’s work?”

  “If she did, Dr. Obeli never mentioned it to me.”

  “So you didn’t ask.” “No.”

  “Did it occur to you to wonder how she knew?”

  “I guess I assumed that reporters have their sources.”

  “Since Dr. Ferrami hasn’t published anything about this project, the source must have been an individual.”

  Berrington hesitated and looked to Quinn for guidance. Quinn stood up. “Sir,” he said, addressing Jack Budgen, “the witness shouldn’t be called upon to speculate.”

  Budgen nodded.

  Steve said. “But this is an informal hearing—we don’t have to be constrained by rigid courtroom procedure.”

  Jane Edelsborough spoke for the first time. “The questions seem interesting and relevant to me, Jack.”

  Berrington threw her a black look, and she made a little shrug of apology. It was an intimate exchange, and Steve wondered what the relationship was between those two.

  Budgen waited, perhaps hoping another committee member would offer a contrary view so that he could make the decision as chair; but no one else spoke. “All right,” he said after a pause. “Proceed, Mr. Logan.”

  Steve could hardly believe he had won their first procedural dispute. The professors did not like a fancy lawyer telling them what was or was not a legitimate line of questioning. His throat was dry with tension. He poured water from a carafe into a glass with a shaky hand.

  He took a sip then turned again to Berrington and said: “Ms. Freelander knew more than just the general nature of Dr. Ferrami’s work, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “She knew exactly how Dr. Ferrami searched for raised-apart twins by scanning databases. This is a new technique, developed by her, known only to you and a few other colleagues in the psychology department.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It looks as if her information came from within the department, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What motive could a colleague possibly have for creating bad publicity about Dr. Ferrami and her work?”

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  “But it seems like the doing of a malicious, perhaps jealous, rival—wouldn’t you say?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Steve nodded in satisfaction. He felt he was getting into the swing of this, developing a rhythm. He began to feel that maybe he could win, after all.

  Don’t get complacent, he told himself. Scoring points is not the same as winning the case.

  “Let me turn to the second claim you made. When Mr. Quinn asked you if people outside the university had commented on the newspaper story, you replied: “They certainly did.’ Do you want to stick by that assertion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly how many phone calls did you receive from donors, other than the one from Preston Barck?”

  “Well, I spoke with Herb Abrahams—”

  Steve could tell he was dissembling. “Pardon me for interrupting you, Professor.” Berrington looked surprised, but he stopped speaking. “Did Mr. Abrahams call you, or vice versa?”

  “Uh, I believe I called Herb.”

  “We’ll come to that in a moment. First, just tell us how many important donors called you to express their concern about the New York Times allegations.”

  Berrington looked rattled. “I’m not sure anyone called me specifically about that.”

  “How many calls did you receive from potential students?”

  “None.”

  “Did anyone at all call you to talk about the article?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Did you receive any mail on the subject?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It doesn’t appear to have caused much of a fuss, then.”

  “I
don’t think you can draw that conclusion.”

  It was a feeble response, and Steve paused to let that sink in.

  Berrington appeared embarrassed. The committee members were alert, following every cut and thrust. Steve looked at Jeannie. Her face was alight with hope.

  He resumed. “Let’s talk about the one phone call you did receive, from Preston Barck, the president of Genetico. You made it sound as if he were simply a donor concerned about the way his money is being used, but he’s more than that, isn’t he? When did you first meet him?

  “When I was at Harvard, forty years ago.”

  “He must be one of your oldest friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “And in later years I believe you and he set up Genetico together.”

  “Yes.”

  “So he’s also your business partner.”

  “Yes.”

  “The company is in the process of being taken over by Landsmann, the German pharmaceuticals conglomerate.”

  “Yes.”

  “No doubt Mr. Barck will make a lot of money out of the takeover.”

  “No doubt.”

  “How much?”

  “I think that’s confidential.”

  Steve decided not to press him on the amount. His reluctance to disclose the figure was damaging enough.

  “Another friend of yours stands to make a killing: Senator Proust. According to the news today, he’s going to use his payout to finance a presidential election campaign.”

  “I didn’t watch the news this morning.”

  “But Jim Proust is a friend of yours, isn’t he? You must have known he was thinking of running for president.”

  “I believe everyone knew he was thinking of it.”

  “Are you going to make money from the takeover?”

  “Yes.”

  Steve moved away from Jeannie and toward Berrington, so that all eyes would be on Berrington. “So you’re a shareholder, not just a consultant.”

  “It’s common enough to be both.”

  “Professor, how much will you make from this takeover?”

  “I think that’s private.”

  Steve was not going to let him get away with it this time. “At any rate, the price being paid for the company is one hundred and eighty million dollars, according to The Wall Street Journal.”