Their stepmother had a baby girl soon after the twins' ninth birthday. When the baby was three weeks old, she died in the middle of the night. Just stopped breathing. The doctor said it was a case of sudden infant death syndrome, a tragedy to be sure but surprisingly common. He said that the parents should go out and have another baby as soon as possible to help deal with their sadness.

They didn't. They both suspected that Wendell and Gordon had murdered their child, but they never had any proof. Their father beat them more regularly and more fiercely than ever. But he never asked about the baby. And he and his wife never tried to have another. They knew that it wasn't a smart thing to do to bring another child into their household.

They were right. Dogs and rodents had become mundane victims. So in the middle of the night, the boys had gone into their stepsister's room. Wendell held the baby down while Gordon smothered her with a pillow. They watched the baby thrash around and listened as she tried to cry. When the girl stopped moving, they put the pillow back under her head, went into the room they shared, read comic books for half an hour or so, then went back to a calm and dreamless sleep.

Over the next several years, they killed two more children. One boy they didn't know. They saw him on a street corner, lured him to an empty lot, and smashed his head in with a brick. Their second victim was a girl who had made fun of Wendell's handwriting in school. They waited for three whole months, until the dead of winter. Then they went ice-skating with her. Gordon found the patch of thin ice, Wendell dragged her there and pushed her through. They both watched her drown, went back home, and had dinner.

When they were in high school, Gordon asked a girl to their junior prom. She turned him down. It was quite a nice rejection; she said she already had a date but perhaps they could go to the movies or something. Gordon nodded, met up with Wendell, and told him what had happened. The next day, Wendell walked the girl home from school. He let her think that he was Gordon, the first time he'd ever pulled that trick on his own. They walked past a barn and he asked if she wanted to see the horse he kept inside. She did. When they got in, he waited until she realized that there was no horse, then he stabbed her to death with a knife he'd stolen from the school cafeteria.

The police interviewed both twins. They were suspicious by this time, as was everyone else who knew them. But once again there was no proof. No arrest was made in the girl's murder. For several months afterward, one cop, Sergeant Joe Dankowski, followed them, hounded them, convinced he could make them crack and confess. He couldn't. Eventually his superiors ordered him to leave the boys alone. He did, but not before he promised them both that he would, at some point, put them where they belonged. "Where do we belong?" Wendell had asked in all seriousness. Sergeant Dankowski had answered, "In prison. And then in h.e.l.l."

Gordon and Wendell joined the army soon after they graduated from high school. They liked the physicality of the training process. They were tireless and responded well to the army's discipline. They both went off to serve in the Gulf War, and they liked that a lot. The fighting didn't frighten either of them; in fact, they found it energizing. But there was a surprising amount of downtime. Bored when they weren't fighting, they discovered that movie studios sent VCRs and ca.s.settes to the men in uniform overseas. Gordon and Wendell began watching any movie they could. It kept them entertained. They found their entire war experience so entertaining that they barely felt the need to kill anyone just for fun. Their only extracurricular activity in Iraq was when, during a brief skirmish in the desert, they decided to get rid of a Hispanic private who played his salsa music too loud and too late at night. The brothers waited until the Hispanic charged ahead of them; then they both aimed their rifles and shot him in the back. He was later extolled as a hero and a tragic victim of friendly fire.

When they got out of the army, they returned to their hometown. But it was a brief stopover. One day only. During that twenty-four-hour period, they robbed a 7-Eleven, getting away with $364.27 and a case of beef jerky, and they murdered Sergeant Joe Dankowski. They followed him home, forced him into his own house, and carved him up the way an experienced hunter would skin a deer. It took the sergeant several hours to die, and the twins agreed that those were some of the best hours of their entire lives.

The next day, they went to Los Angeles. Their love of movies motivated them to try to become actors. They had the looks for it, they decided. And how hard could it be? Six months later, they had learned that it was a lot harder than they'd thought. They had landed several jobs as extras on feature films and one other job, with no lines, on the TV show Friends Friends. Jennifer Aniston was going on a date with a doltish guy and before she left she spotted the two handsome twins sitting at a table in the coffee shop. All she had to do was raise an eyebrow to show she was considering the possibilities. It got a laugh, but it didn't get any more jobs for either Wendell or Gordon. What they did get was hired by a producer to scare the s.h.i.t out of a bookie to whom he owed $260,000. During the moment of the big scare they went a little too far and the bookie died. Wendell and Gordon decided to take advantage of the situation so they moved into the dead man's apartment, found his records, and began to book bets. This arrangement lasted for several months before they got bored. They didn't really care about bookmaking. They didn't care about money. They cared about fun. And what was fun for them-they knew this now; it was inescapable-was killing people.

They'd been in Los Angeles nearly two years when they got the phone call that changed their lives. It was from a man named Newberg. He had talked to people in the army, he said. And to the producer who'd hired them to take care of the bookie. He'd even talked to people in their hometown. He said he would be in L.A. in a couple of days and he'd like to get together with them. Two days later they met in Newberg's suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. He asked them very specific questions for almost two hours; the session was very similar to a psychological test his company gave every potential employee. At the end of the test, he told them he wanted to review their answers and that he'd call them by the end of the week. He did. And when he called, he offered them permanent employment. Good money. A substantial relocation fee back East. And lots and lots of fun.

As Gordon Touay stood in front of the mirror now, flexing his arms, admiring his body, he saw his brother walk into the room. Wendell was wearing jeans but no shirt or shoes. The two of them stood in front of the mirror, posing, a joyous Kodak family moment. When the phone rang, Gordon answered it. He listened to Newberg explain what they were supposed to do next. When Gordon hung up the phone, he went back to the mirror and stood next to his twin brother.

"Good news?" Wendell asked, twisting his left arm a bit to the side so the muscles in his triceps would pop even more.

Gordon nodded. "We get to finish the job."

"The girl and the kid too?" the younger twin said.

The older brother nodded again. They both flexed one last time, lingered in front of the gla.s.s, admiring their reflections, then went off to get dressed and pack an overnight bag. On their drive to the airport, to catch a flight to Albany, the city nearest to the Leger Retirement Home, they decided exactly how best to kill three people, satisfy their employer, and get the greatest amount of joy out of their work.

19.

Justin Westwood glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove and caught a glimpse of Kendall Harper asleep on the backseat. His eyes shifted to his right and he saw that Deena was watching him, staring, as if, once again, attempting to understand what was going on inside his mind. For her sake, Justin hoped she never succeeded.

"They're not even worth a penny," he said.

"What?" Deena asked, startled.

"My thoughts. A penny would be way overpaying."

"I was that obvious, huh?"

"Well," he said, "I'm a trained investigator."

"I thought you said you were rusty."

"Okay, you were that obvious." His eyes went toward the mirror again. "She's a terrific kid," he said.

"I know. It's a miracle, really. I mean, I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm doing."

"Sorry to shatter your illusions, but you're doing something right."

Deena smiled ruefully. "Thanks. That's a nice thing to say." She hesitated, started to say something else but stopped. She chewed on her lip for a moment, then shrugged and said, "You're good with her."

"I'm glad you think so. I like her."

"You never wanted any?"

"Children, you mean?"

She nodded.

"Yes," Justin said. "I wanted children."

His words left a heavy silence in the air and she wasn't exactly sure why. When she glanced at him again, his face looked drawn and his eyes were sad. He looked as if a pain was hammering away at him inside his head. Or, she thought, inside his soul.

Before she could say anything else, they heard a stirring from the backseat. "How much longer?" Kendall yawned.

"Another hour or so," Justin said. "Not too much farther."

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" Deena asked.

"No," Justin said.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Oh."

"Do you have to go, sweetie?" she asked her daughter.

"No," Kendall said.

"Are you sure?"

"If he can wait, I can wait," the little girl said. And, looking straight at the rearview mirror, she nodded firmly and decisively.

Justin, eyes peering into the mirror, nodded back.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, just past 6:30 p.m., Justin pulled the Buick into the parking lot of the Leger Retirement Home. They were in upstate New York, about half an hour southeast of Albany, in a small blue-collar town called Woodlawn.

"You guys want to come in?"

"Yeah. Kenny can use the rest room."

"No," the little girl insisted. "I don't have to go and I'm not going to."

"Maybe we'll come in anyway," Deena said. "I'd like to use the rest room." like to use the rest room."

They went up the steps to the Home, a modern one-story building. The lobby, which also served as the reception room, was comfortable but devoid of charm. Several elderly people were scattered around the room watching a large-screen television or playing cards. An attendant wheeled a white-haired woman past in a wheelchair. Kendall looked around curiously; she had never before seen so many old people in one room.

"Is one of these people Grampy-gramps?" Kendall asked quietly.

"That's what I'm about to find out," Justin told her. He went up to the reception desk-it had the feel of an airline check-in counter-and he said to the woman holding down the fort, "I'm here to see Lewis Granger."

The woman at the desk paled and her eyes widened nervously. She gave Justin a pitying once-over, then quickly turned away, unable to look him in the eye. She said, "I'll have to call the manager," picked up the phone, and dialed. After a brief pause, she spoke into the receiver. "There's someone to see Mr. Granger," she said quietly. Another pause, then she hung up, turned to Justin, and said, "Mr. Depford will be right with you."

"Is there a problem?" Justin asked.

"Mr. Depford will be right here," she said, sat back down, and busied herself with what looked to be unnecessary paperwork.

In a few moments, a small, fortyish-looking man in a gray suit, white shirt, and blue tie came striding into the lobby. He walked directly up to Justin and stuck out his right hand. As they shook, the man in the suit used his left hand to grasp Justin above his wrist. Justin realized that this was meant to be a comforting gesture. Justin introduced Deena and Kendall as his wife and daughter; then he waited to find out why he needed to be comforted.

"Are you a relative?" Depford intoned.

"Yup," Kendall piped up. Deena instantly grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled the girl backward.

"I'm his son," Justin said, trying to match the manager's solemnity. "I'm very sorry to tell you this," the suited Depford said directly to Justin, "but I'm afraid your father has pa.s.sed away."

"He's dead?" Justin said incredulously.

"I'm afraid so."

"I just spoke to him yesterday. He sounded-"

"I know. He seemed fine up until the very end. That's often the way here. Which we're thankful for."

"What happened?"

"It seemed to be very peaceful. He died in his bed," Depford said.

"When?"

"Sometime this afternoon. He didn't come down for supper. Eventually, one of the nurses went to check on him and found him in bed, not breathing. He didn't look as if he suffered, if that's any consolation."

"Yeah, that's a big consolation," Justin said. "Is he still here?"

"Why ...yes, we-"

"Has he been moved?"

"No. We've called the hospital and they're going to come pick him up. I told them there was no extraordinary rush since he's already ... well ...I called his nephew."

"Ed Marion."

"Yes." Depford's eyes narrowed and he stared at Kendall. "You called yesterday, didn't you? I thought you said Ed Marion was your father."

"This is my dad," the little girl said, with a sweet smile on her face. "Right, Daddy?"

"Ed's my cousin," Justin said. "You must have misunderstood."

"Yes, well ...he's the only person we had on file. We were unaware there were any other-"

"Can I see him?"

"Mr. Marion? Well, no. He hasn't even responded to our call."

"No," Justin said. "Granger. I want to see ...my father."

"You mean you want to view the body?"

"That's exactly what I want to do," Justin said.

The four of them strode down the sterile hallway of the Leger Retirement Home until they reached a cheap wooden door that had the number 27, in even cheaper balsa wood, attached to it.

Depford stopped in front of the door, turned, and, in his most sorrowful tones, said, "Would you all like to go in?"

"Yes," Kendall said immediately and a bit too enthusiastically. When all three grown-ups looked down at her, she said, with a little less enthusiasm, "I've never seen a dead guy before."

Justin nodded and said, "Okay, we'll all go in."

Depford opened the door and started to step inside with them. Justin put his hand on the man's shoulder and said, "We'd like a few private moments, please."

"Of course," Depford murmured. He waited until they were all inside, then he shut the door and said he'd wait for them in the hallway.

As soon as the door was closed, Justin moved to the bedside and began examining the body.

"What are you looking for?" Deena asked.

"Give me a minute and I'll tell you."

"Can I see?" Kendall wanted to know.

"In a minute."

Justin picked up the dead man's right hand, lifted it up toward the light. He twisted Granger's head, fingering his neck and under his eyes, then he turned the body over on its side, doing some poking and probing.

"This is pretty yucky," Kendall said. "I don't think I want to see, after all."

"I'm with you, baby," Deena muttered.

Justin let Granger fall back onto the bed. When he turned around, he saw both mother and daughter staring at him expectantly.

"Look," he said, turning back to the corpse. He picked up Granger's left hand and ran his fingers down the wrist and arm of the corpse. "Red marks here. It looks like someone was holding him down, restraining him." Justin turned the corpse over and showed Deena the back of the dead man's right heel. "It's bruised. The night table over here's kind of skewed. My guess is he struggled and kicked it, that's how he hurt himself."