Tedd and Todd's secret (13 page)

Fletcher complimented him. "Very good, expert. Then, you'd know that twins aren't identical, wouldn't you? There are many factors involved in their development. And as adults there are several differences."

"But their DNA is still the same," Lance insisted.

"Not like you're imagining it to be. If you close the mouth under that mask, I'll explain it to you."

Aidan looked angrily at Lance.

Fletcher continued. "The DNA of twins is the same, just as Doctor Lance Norwood informed us. But their chemical characteristics are different. It's one of the reasons that, for example, the fingerprints of twins are different. But that's not the case here. Everything, I repeat everything, is exactly the same. I did the test twice just to make sure. Genetically, it's impossible to separate them."

Aidan was intrigued. "How is that possible?"

"I haven't got the least idea. It's without precedent and, as far as I know, impossible. They're totally identical to such a point that I can't even explain why the eyes and hair are a different colour. After studying William's head in detail, I was inclined to think that if this James is the true owner of the DNA that I've studied, he would have to exist in William's body. He must have dyed his hair and be wearing contact lenses."

"The hair didn't look dyed," Aidan recalled. "It looked natural enough, but then again I didn't pay that much attention to it. Let's go through this step by step. If I understand this correctly, these two dwarves are genetically identical. A fact which you maintain is impossible. Is that right?"

"Correct," Fletcher confirmed. "It's like they were two toys made by the same manufacturer."

"There must be an explanation," Aidan said. "Could they be clones?"

"We've got the same problem there," the pathologist explained. "If we take your DNA and clone you, we'd start from the same point. But the clone would grow up in a different environment. His genes would be the same, but there would be chemical distinctions. Never mind that when he gets to your age, you'd be ninety years old."

"Take your speculative marks. Ready, set…" Lance interrupted, not to be left out. "Has someone invented a method so that the clone would grow instantly to the same age as the man cloned?"

"Considering that argument," Fletcher said. "The clone's mind wouldn't develop. It wouldn't have experiences. It would be like creating someone with an amnesia that we've never seen before. He wouldn't be developed emotionally either. He wouldn't know how to talk."

"Then the only explanation that makes this work is that someone has copied another person in every aspect. Mentally, physically, emotionally," Aidan said. "Somebody has developed a method of making exact copies of a human being. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"It's completely absurd, but I can't find any other way of justifying the DNA results, unless you can think of anything better."

Silence consumed them, as they tried to assimilate the impossible conclusions involved.

Lance had nothing to offer, and neither did Aidan. It was hard enough to swallow that someone had invented a human photocopying machine, without them having their names changed so that they could start fighting. A simple look at the pathologist was enough to verify that he couldn't believe it either. But there was no other way of explaining it.

"Perhaps there's another explanation," Lance said, breaking the silence. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Fletcher, seeing as I haven't studied genetics, but could the samples be identical because you used the same sample twice?"

Fletcher's face twisted on hearing the comment. Lance went on. "No problem, we all make mistakes. I understand, old man. At your age, the neurons are fewer and further between, never mind this filthy air that you've been breathing in for more than twenty years. Really, it's lucky that–"

"Shut up, Lance!" Aidan yelled.

Fletcher exploded, spitting insults at Lance. It took Aidan several minutes to calm him down. Lance, on the other hand, looked satisfied. He'd touched the old man's nerve.

"I need to think," Aidan said. "There must be a logical explanation and I have yet to find it."

"To tell you the truth, I can't think of one," Lance advised him.

"We already know that, dumbo," Fletcher said. "I don't know how the delinquency rate hasn't gone up with you out there patrolling the streets."

"Enough," Aidan snapped, the telephone interrupting his fury. "Yes… We're there now. But we're working on a case… Give it to someone else… check with the Inspector. He'll confirm we're busy. Wait… wait a minute. Who is it…? His name doesn't mean anything. What's his surname? OK, we'll look into it," Aidan said, hanging up. The others looked at him. "We're going to the floor above. They've just brought Earl White's body in."

CHAPTER 9

"This is a disgrace," James White cursed, kicking the traffic light, which he regretted straight away as a shot of pain ran up his leg. The kick had been too hard and he was angry with himself for not checking his fury. He began to curse some more and limped towards a shop window and slumped against it. The pedestrians gave the madman a wide berth as he sat down on the ground and ran his hand through his blond hair, staring across the street. Luck hadn't been on his side lately, and now it was interfering with one of his basic pleasures. He gave the problem some thought for a few seconds as the pain left his bruised foot and a solution came to him.

His blue eyes flashed. He got up and took a parking ticket off the windscreen of a car. He ripped a scrap off the printed paper and scribbled a few lines, then began studying the crowd of pedestrians filing down the street. He studied their faces, like a hunter would his prey, and soon saw someone who pleased him.

"Hey, you!" he called out, approaching a youth who looked like a student, waiting to cross at the lights. "I want to talk to you, man. Hey, don't look like that."

The student was confused. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I want to ask you a favour. Nothing complicated at this time of the day."

The young man frowned, adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and turned round, ready to cross the street.

"It'll only take two minutes of your time and I'll pay you for it," James informed him.

The mention of money made him follow James a few paces along the pavement. "What is it?"

"It couldn't be any simpler. See that shop over there," James said, pointing across the street. "I want you to go–"

"I don't understand. What's this all about?"

"I can't go over there myself, that's all," James White said, thinking that he would've liked nothing more than to cross the street in person, instead of putting his trust in this hairy teenager. But what choice did he have? He was trapped in this new world and couldn't break free. He'd already had to give up the rendezvous with his dream nurse and couldn't brook any more disappointments, at least not today. But he couldn't explain that to the student, couldn't explain it to anyone, really. Quite frankly, he'd had enough.

"And why can't you cross over?" the youth asked, starting to find the whole thing ridiculous. "I can help you across if that's your problem."

"Very funny, friend. Listen, I want you to take this across," he explained, giving him the scrap of paper.

The youth read it and his eyebrows arched.

"I'll pay you well," James White told him, pulling a wad of notes out of his pocket.

"Do you need three? Isn't one enough?"

"Still, the jokes keep coming. OK, I like you," he said, taking a few of the notes out of the wad and putting them in the student's hand. "There's enough there to buy them. Bring them back here and I'll give you a good tip. If you hurry up, I might even give you a bonus."

"OK, weirdo. I'll be back to see how generous you really are."

"Good decision. I'll wait for you in that park there, on the bench seat."

As soon as the stretcher hit the ground, someone pushed it hard to one side. The ambulance driver spun around to confront the aggressor without having seen who had pushed it away. His jaw dropped when he saw the two metres of unfriendly bone and muscle in front of him.

"I'm DI Aidan Zack. I'm taking charge of the body," Aidan informed the ambulance driver, flashing his badge.

"I can't let you do that," the ambulance driver said. "Only authorized personnel from the mortuary–"

Aidan was looking at the zipper on the bag, not paying the slightest attention to what the driver was saying. His impatience to find out if Earl White looked the same as James and William was burning him up inside. The thought of a knife through the plastic had already shot through his head.

"I'll take over," Fletcher said, joining them with Lance Norwood in tow. Aidan had beaten them to the ambulance with his long strides. "Don't worry about them, they're police."

The driver gave them a dubious glance, but ceded to Fletcher's authority. He shrugged his shoulders and got back into the ambulance.

Lance was excited. "Well, is he the same?"

"I don't know. I can't unzip this bastard of a bag."

"Get out of the way," Fletcher ordered, pushing him aside. "The first thing is to get the body inside."

Aidan wasn't pleased about that.

"Just a quick look then."

Lance felt satisfied with that decision. He took off the oxygen mask. He preferred to examine the body there instead of going into that hell of a place again. Aidan and he bent over the stretcher. Fletcher opened the zip slowly and revealed the face of Earl White. Not knowing why, Lance felt slight disappointment when it became clear that the man under the black plastic didn't look like William at all. The face was much broader, the features were not the same, and the neck and part of the shoulder revealed that the man was much taller and ten times stronger than William. He must have done bodybuilding, a lot of it, Lance thought. He was wearing an elegant white suit.

All of a sudden, Aidan gasped with astonishment. Just when Fletcher was about to close the zip, Aidan stopped him and looked at the body anxiously. Lance looked at his partner, confused. He tried unsuccessfully to guess what had drawn Aidan's attention. He hated that sensation: Aidan knew something he didn't.

"I don't know what you are looking at," Lance said. "But you can be sure he doesn't look like William."

"I know him."

"Could you explain that?" Fletcher asked.

"Well, I don't know him personally." Aidan closed the zip. Fletcher waved his hand and two assistants took the body away. "This man's name is Earl White. OK, last night I met Earl Black."

"You're kidding me," Lance exclaimed. "You've forgotten to have your pills. Or you've mixed them up!"

"Listen, it's true. Carol can confirm it. She was with me when I met him…"

"That reminds me that you haven't told me yet what happened yesterday. I left you with this twenty-eight-year-old stunner. I did the right thing leaving you alone, didn't I?"

"Lance, stop kidding me," Aidan said in a grave tone. Lance grasped the meaning at once and nodded. "Yesterday I was with Carol in a bar. She went to the toilet and suddenly a man appeared there out of the blue. He was identical to the one we just saw, except for the colour of his eyes, hair and suit, which were black. His name was Earl Black. Carol can confirm that. She is a reporter, a friend of ours," he explained to Fletcher.

"The twenty-eight-year-old one?" the pathologist asked.

"What's wrong with the two of you?" Aidan replied in a bad mood. "God, I'm trying to work–"

"It's just hit me," Lance said, snapping his fingers. "This guy, Earl Black, is a goalkeeper. He disappeared from the stadium in the middle of a match, just when the other team was shooting a penalty, and appeared in the bar. I don't know if they lost the match because–"

Judging by the expression on Aidan's face, Fletcher could have bet Lance was in danger of an imminent attack.

"Lance!" Aidan seized his partner by the shoulder and shook him. "What did I tell you about that kind of joke?"

"No, listen to me. There is something important I have to tell you. The chat at the station this morning. John said a goalkeeper vanished in front of a stadium of people during a game yesterday. I made a few jokes about it at the time, but he insisted it really did happen, and just to make sure that I didn't keep up with the jokes, he pointed out that no one could make a story like that up. It was only a third-division match but I checked it out in the local newspaper. The goalkeeper's surname was Black. I'll bet it was the same bloke who appeared in the pub at thirteen minutes past ten."