Silence

the metal box and approached Wendy. “We’ll start by taking a couple of head shots, if you don’t mind, Miss Harper.”

“Okay.”

“You may or may not look exactly the same as you did six years ago, but the biometrics will be the same. Your eyes will be the same distance apart, have the same flecks in them, and so on.”

“I understand,” she said.

Fallon was uncomfortable working with so many people watching him, and he performed each task with exaggerated care. He asked Wendy to stand by a plain white wall, then took four digital photographs of her from the front and four from the side. He held a tape measure up beside her and muttered, “Same height,” apparently to himself. He used a counter in the kitchen to lay out his fingerprint equipment, then inked her fingers and pressed her prints onto a card. Then he had Wendy sit at the kitchen table while he drew three small vials of blood and scraped two cotton swabs on the inside of her mouth. When he had finished, he packed up all of his samples.

“Well?” Chernoff said. “When will we have the results so we can get an official concession from the DA’s office that what we can see with our own eyes is accurate?”

“It should be a faster identification than usual,” Fallon said. “Our own print people are backed up for months. But Miss Harper has been in the federal system for six years as a missing person, and the FBI Fingerprint Identification Records System can probably do an online match today. The DNA gets sent to two private labs, both of which have analyzed other samples of Miss Harper’s DNA during the earlier parts of this investigation. The National DNA Index System has it, too, and they may be faster. We’ll have a positive answer within a couple of weeks.”

“You took photographs,” said Chernoff. “When can you analyze those?”

“Right now, if you’d like.”

“Then please do it.”

Fallon took a laptop computer out of his briefcase and turned it on, then connected his digital camera to it and transferred the pictures he had taken.

Wendy stepped close to Linda Gordon and said, “I really am Wendy Harper.”

Linda Gordon only turned her head to look at her long enough to say, “We’ll see,” then turned away again. As Till watched the exchange, it occurred to him that the argument for Wendy’s identity might have seemed stronger to Linda Gordon if the two women had not looked so similar. They were both in their thirties, about the same shape, and blond.

Fallon’s screen was changing. “Okay. This photograph was taken at the DMV when she renewed her driver’s license the last time six years ago, and here’s the one four years before that, when she first moved to California.”

“For Christ’s sake, look at that!” Chernoff said triumphantly. He pointed at the screen, then at Wendy Harper.

Linda Gordon said nothing.

Fallon continued, as though he had not heard. “I’m putting the first picture I took today beside the most recent DMV photo. Now I’m superimposing the two. What we can see right away is that the general shapes are identical. We can see the measurement from chin to crown is the same, the eyes and nose are the same size and in the same positions. We’ll do much more scientific measurements and comparisons when we’re at the lab.”

“Come on,” Chernoff said. “You’d have to be blind not to see it’s the same person.” He turned to Linda Gordon. “Can’t you drop the charges on the strength of these pictures?”

Linda Gordon said, “Your client was granted bail the day after he was arrested. Waiting to be certain of the evidence imposes no hardship on him.”

“But it’s an obvious injustice. Eric Fuller is accused of killing a woman who is standing here in front of us. What could possibly be the point of prolonging this?”

“She looks like Wendy Harper. We all knew that from the minute she walked in the door. Do you imagine that if someone wanted to bring in an impostor, they would bring in someone who didn’t look like Wendy Harper?”

“I am Wendy Harper. Who would be crazy enough to impersonate me? People are trying as hard as they can to kill me.”

Linda Gordon turned to Wendy. “You think you can stroll in here, say you’re Wendy Harper, and the whole criminal-justice system will move instantly to do your bidding? Well, it’s not quite that easy. The system works on its own time, after all the evidence is in. When we hear what the FBI’s experts have to say about the fingerprints and the DNA, then we’ll know who you are.”

Till said, “This isn’t fair. Miss Harper came here voluntarily because you said her presence was the only proof you would accept to prove she hadn’t been murdered. There was an assurance that if she took that risk, the charges would be dropped.”

“Who assured her it would all happen in ten minutes?”

“The whole point of framing Eric Fuller was to get her to Los Angeles. Every minute that she’s here, the danger increases.” He turned to Fallon. “What more can we give you?”

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” he said.

Till looked at Linda Gordon. “Then I’ll take Miss Harper out of here, and someday we can all hear officially what we already know.”

“Don’t leave Los Angeles,” said Linda Gordon. “And make sure my office knows exactly where you are at every moment.”

“What?” said Wendy.

“You heard me. If you aren’t Wendy Harper, then what you’ve just done is an obstruction of justice, for starters. Mr. Till will be your codefendant. If you are Wendy Harper, then there are other things that you need to talk about with the police. We understand you have been withholding information about a possible homicide that occurred six years ago. You also may be charged with grand theft in connection with a fraudulent life-insurance claim. I’m being very casual about this because you came on your own. But don’t test me.”

“Excuse me,” Chernoff broke in. “Since this isn’t over, we might as well get a few more things on the record. Don’t anyone leave just yet.”

Till said, “All right, Jay. What is it?”

“Give me a few more minutes.” He took out his cell phone and dialed. “Okay. Pull up ahead of my car and come in. We’re expecting you.”

Linda Gordon turned to stare at Chernoff. “What are you doing? This isn’t the time for the kind of antics you pull in the courtroom. We all have other things to do.”

“Nothing as important as this,” Chernoff said.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Your client isn’t sitting in a cell surrounded by psychopaths. He’s in his very expensive house or his famous restaurant.”

“His reputation is priceless, and his arrest has been all over the press. He deserves to be exonerated as quickly as possible. And when it’s appropriate, as visibly as possible.”

There was the sound of a car’s tires scraping the curb across the street, then a car door slamming, then another. Poliakoff pushed the curtain aside a few inches to look out the front window, then stepped to the door and opened it.

The first person in the door was a pretty woman about thirty years old with long brown hair and blue eyes. “Wendy!” She rushed to throw her arms around Wendy Harper. “Where have you been?”

Wendy said, “Olivia. Did you come back just for this?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve been back for three years. I still work at Banque.”

A man in the doorway came forward. “Wendy, it’s really good to see you again.” He took his turn to hug Wendy, but there was a self-conscious, reserved quality to the embrace. “We were all afraid you were dead.”

Wendy said, “It’s nice to see you too, David. Are you still at the restaurant, too?”

“No,” he said. “Except once in a while if somebody is sick. I’ve been getting work as an actor. Olivia and I are married.”

Olivia held her left hand out to Wendy, and Wendy said, “Wow, look at that rock!”

Olivia said, “David got an airline commercial. He makes a cute pilot.”