Iris shot Joey a look that was starting to appear angry. He cringed.
‘‘You were supposed to change your name,’’ she said.
‘‘I didn’t think it mattered. All my identification was for Bobby Banks, my driver’s licence and everything.’’
‘‘It obviously mattered,’’ said Iris.
‘‘I had to show my driver’s license to the old landlady,’’ said Joey.
‘‘Oh, so then you had to use that name.’’ She looked back at Diane. ‘‘That doesn’t explain how you came to be here.’’
‘‘Iris,’’ said Kingsley.
Diane thought his voice sounded strained and weak. She could see he was tempted by the glass of water in front of him. But he resisted, keeping his hands in his lap.
‘‘You have to realize that people know we are here,’’ he said.
‘‘Don’t worry about that. I have an escape plan,’’ she said.
‘‘For all of you?’’ he said.
‘‘My sisters weren’t involved,’’ she said, ‘‘and you can’t prove that they were.’’
‘‘They were contributors to the pool of blood in my living room,’’ said Diane.
Iris smiled. ‘‘Maybe. But we are identical.’’
All three sisters smiled at Diane.
‘‘I can prove it,’’ said Diane. ‘‘And you are not identical, not anymore.’’
For the first time, Diane saw fear pass over Iris’ eyes, and she didn’t think Iris was faking it. She wondered whether Kingsley saw it too. That meant something to Iris—to be identical to her sisters.
‘‘You’re lying,’’ said Iris, calmly.
‘‘Am I?’’ said Diane. ‘‘How about this. Lily and Rose donated the blood for my living room; you didn’t. While they recovered in apartment 1-D, you and pal Joey here let yourselves into my apartment— probably with a key lifted from the landlady. That’s happened before. You and Joey set the stage to look like you were killed there and your body was dragged out to my car. You wiped down Joey’s apartment with Clorox. But you missed a drop of blood on the bedframe and a needle in the floorboards, both containing your sisters’ DNA. How am I doing?’’
Iris was very still. Lily and Rose looked at her, alarm evident on their faces.
‘‘You’re guessing,’’ said Iris.
‘‘Lots of things change DNA. You were identical when you were born. But after you are born you have different experiences that leave markers on your genetic code. We can read those differences. Lily’s and Rose’s genetic profiles are very similar to each other, with only small differences. But because you lived in Europe, and Seattle, and Richmond, and a host of other places and had such different experiences and environmental exposure, your genetic profile is very different from theirs. That’s how we could separate your DNA from theirs.’’
‘‘That’s not true,’’ said Iris.
Diane had made another hit. She saw that she had shaken Iris’ composure.
‘‘Iris,’’ said Kingsley, ‘‘right now there are only two marshals looking for you. If you don’t let us go, that number will increase exponentially. And they won’t be looking for just you, but all of you. They even know about Joey.’’
‘‘You just want to get away,’’ said Joey.
‘‘Hell yes,’’ said Kingsley, ‘‘but find the flaw in my logic. My desire to live doesn’t change the facts of what I said.’’
‘‘How did you find us here?’’ asked Rose. ‘‘Specifically here. That wasn’t in our DNA, was it?’’
‘‘No, that was written in your scrapbook,’’ said Diane.
All three looked at Joey.
‘‘I didn’t put that in the scrapbook, honest,’’ he said.
‘‘In the archaeology scrapbook you wrote next to a picture that the mail was just called over,’’ said Diane.
‘‘So?’’ he said.
‘‘That phrase, to call the mail over, is unique to the Outer Banks and the surrounding area,’’ she said.
‘‘But how did you know it was this island?’’ said Joey.
‘‘We didn’t,’’ Diane lied. ‘‘You brought us here. We just stopped at a convenience store to load up before we went to the motel to wait for the marshals, to begin a canvas of the area.’’
Iris threw her napkin down on the table. ‘‘All my planning . . .’’ she said.
‘‘Iris,’’ said Rose, ‘‘Joey did the best he could.’’
‘‘Well, we have a problem, don’t we? And we need to fix it,’’ said Iris.
‘‘We can hold them hostage,’’ said Joey.
‘‘I don’t want to hear from you,’’ said Iris. ‘‘If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess. The FBI won’t deal with hostage takers. We have to think of something else. We’ll put them in one of the upstairs rooms.’’
Chapter 51
It was Iris who took them up to the rooms. She had Kingsley’s gun with her and from the way she held it, Diane believed she knew how to use it.
Diane supposed Iris wasn’t trusting anyone but herself to do anything right. She and Kingsley had definitely ruffled her feathers, and they had done a fairly decent job of starting a schism between Iris and the other two. Diane tried to think of some way to widen it as she was climbing the stairs. Perhaps that was why Iris was taking them up instead of allowing the others to do it. Iris was afraid that Diane and Kingsley might make some progress.
The upper floor was as elegant as the rest of the house. Diane told her so. The wide hallway had several seating areas and a library at the end in an alcove.
‘‘Lily, Rose, and I decorated the house and grounds. Mother had such poor taste. You should have seen it. Of course, she’s the woman who slept with my father after he sold me. That’s how we got little Joey.’’ Iris sounded bitter. ‘‘He also gave her a fur coat to make up for her loss.’’
‘‘I’m sorry that happened to you,’’ said Diane.
‘‘So am I,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I can’t think of anything more terrible.’’
They stood there in the big elegant hallway near a pair of large double doors, Diane and Kingsley almost huddled together and Iris holding the gun on them.
‘‘One of my father’s clients was here looking for his quota of nubile young things and he caught sight of Rose. We had just turned fifteen. He offered my father a million dollars for her. Father agreed; after all, he had two more. Rose was terrified. Mother cried but did nothing. I offered to go in her place. Father didn’t care; he couldn’t tell us apart anyway.
‘‘Now you know my story. Profiler Kingsley, you are going in this room. Open the door.’’
‘‘Let us stay together,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You can see we’re a pretty pathetic pair, and he needs care.’’
‘‘Don’t try to poor-mouth yourselves. I know what you are capable of,’’ she said. ‘‘Open the door.’’
Kingsley opened the door. The room had a huge four-poster bed, plush maroon carpets with a maroon and gold brocade bed set and matching curtains. It was a little too ornate for Diane’s taste, but it was better than the building out back.