Doppelganger
By Ayesha Haqqiqa
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Dick Wolf. No money is made from this site—only a lot of fun!
“I hate working nights,” Lennie complained to Ed as they drove away from the precinct. “All we get is nusiance calls or cases that always carry over into the day.”
“Well, we’re on nights for the next three months,” Ed said. “Some brilliant idea by the new Commissioner to make us more efficient. And look at it this way. Instead of lounging in front of the TV watching sports, you get real exercise.”
“Yeah, sitting in a car with you, or pushing a pen at my desk. What is the call we’re going to tonight?”
“Break-in. Some studio down at Chelsea Piers.”
“There’s a studio there?” Lennie asked incredulously. “I thought it was all sports and shopping and the like.”
Ed shrugged. “You know how it is in this town. Landlords will rent out to anyone with the cash.”
“It’s probably some independent little outfit,” Lennie said as they got out of the car and went into the building. “I can’t imagine any big studio working in conditions like this.” He carefully stepped over a puddle of water before getting into the elevator.
They got off at the second floor, where they were met by a uniformed officer.
“Hey, Detective, you’re back again?” he asked Lennie incredulously.
“What do you mean back? I just got here,” Lennie replied.
The policeman shook his head. “No, you were here just after I called in the break in. You came upstairs, but you were dressed better than that.”
“Yeah, I always go back to change into my second wardrobe when I ride with Ed,” Lennie said sarcastically. “Didn’t you ask this guy for some id?”
“Why should I? I know you,” the policeman said.
“Get your eyes checked,” Ed told him. “Lennie has been with me all night.”
The policeman looked from Ed to Lennie, confused. “Well, I would have sworn it was you.”
“Is he still here?” Lennie asked. “That would clear things up.”
“No, no, he left about five minutes after he came. Said he’d come back for something.”
“That sounds more like the burglar, don’t you think?” Ed asked the policeman, who shrugged in confusion.
“What can I say?” the policeman answered. “He looked so natural.”
“I hope they tell him that at his funeral,” Lennie muttered as they walked down the hall. “Where did he break in?”
“Oh, he didn’t break in,” the policeman said. “He walked in to that room over there.” He pointed to a door with the name “Orbach” stencilled on the glass. “The breakin was here.” He showed another door that had obviously been jimmied. The name on that door was “Waterston”.
“Let’s see if we can determine what was stolen,” Lennie said. “Then we’ll look in the other room to see if anything is missing there.”
The room they entered was obviously a theatrical dressing room. There was a table with a mirror, and a rack of clothes, mostly suits. A book was knocked to the floor, and an empty coat hanger was beside it.
Ed picked up the book. “War and Peace. Between that and the suits, I’d say this outfit does documentaries for PBS.”
“Nothing seems to be missing on the table,” Lennie said. “But something has been added to the mirror—in lipstick. ‘We love you, Sam.’ Looks like women’s handwriting. Hmm. That leaves my lookalike out of it.”
“Maybe this PBS guy has some fans,” Ed said as he carefully placed the book back on the table. “Maybe that was was the break in was for—souveniers.”
“Like what?” Lennie looked around.
“Well, we have this clue,” Ed said as he held up the empty hanger. “This place is too neat for it to have just been flung there. Probably whatever was on this hanger went out in the hands of the perp.”
“Hey, Martin, did the guy you thought was me go out carrying any clothing?” Lennie asked the uniformed policeman.
“No, he came out of that room over there with his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t have taken much.”
“Let’s go over to that room and see,” Lennie said.
“I got the keys from the manager,” the policeman said as he unlocked the door and turned on the light.
Lennie was not prepared for what he saw. He stood stock still in shock. Ed came up beside him and said, “My God!”
Jack McCoy was awakened from a deep sleep by the buzzing of his phone. He jumped, letting the lawbook on his lap slip to the floor. He reached behind his couch and finally found the phone, which he brought to his ear with a growl.
“What Lennie? What? Look, it’s after midnight, and I was asleep. Repeat what you said again. I don’t believe you. Yes, I’ll be right over.”
“I mean it, Counselor,” Lennie said as he walked a still-groggy Jack McCoy down the hall to the dressing room marked “Orbach”. “I want to know if there’s anything illegal about stealing your identity.”
“I heard you the first time,” Jack said, suppressing a yawn. “And I told you then I’ll believe it when I see—“ He stopped short as he entered the room.
For the room contained many different items. On the clothes rack were suits and a trenchcoat. On the table was a PBA pin and a policeman’s cardfold with a badge. And on the windowsill were a stack of glossy photographs that looked exactly like Lennie.
Ed handed one of the photos to Jack. “This one says, ‘Best Wishes, Jerry.’ Jack, it’s spooky, how much they look alike. This Jerry character even came into the building after the break in, and sailed right past one of our men, who mistook him for Lennie!”
Jack examined the photo. “You said this is a television studio,” he said. “For making PBS documentaries?”
“That’s what we surmised,” Ed explained. “We’ll find out more when we get hold of the producers in the morning.”
“Well, if that’s what this turns out to be, it’s probably some actor made up to look like a typical New York City cop, Lennie. Be flattered that they chose someone who sort of looks like you for this show.”
“But I still feel weird—like someone’s stolen my character, or something,” Lennie said.
Jack shook his head. “I understand the feeling. My friends all told me about some actor on the History Channel who resembled me, but I never saw his commercials. But there’s nothing you can do unless this actor goes out and uses your credit cards or driver’s license or Social Security number. Then it’s theft of identity, and fraud. And then we can get him.”
“Better check your wallet, Lennie, and make sure everything’s intact,” Ed grinned.
“He’d be a pretty impoverished actor to want to try and tap my credit,” Lennie said as he took out his wallet and checked its contents. “All there.”
“Good,” Jack said. “What was it that called you over here, anyway?”
“A break in,” Ed explained. “In another dressing room. There was a love message scrawled in lipstick across the mirror and an empty clothes hanger. We’ll find out in the morning if anything’s missing.”
“Good,” Jack yawned again. “Let me know if you come face to face with your doppelganger, Detective.”
In the morning, the wardrobe mistress was able to supply the information about a missing costume—it was a pair of jeans. “Hardly worth a trip over here to see about it,” Lennie said as they walked back to the scene of the crime. “Even if we catch the perp, it’s petty theft at the best.”
“Are you sure you’re just stalling so you don’t have to meet that Orbach fellow?” Ed teased.
“Hey, I know how I look from my perspective,” Lennie said. “I’m not ready to see how I look on another person.”
But Lennie was in luck; apparently Orbach wasn’t working that day. The only actor they had to interview was the Waterston chap. He was dressed casually in LL Bean type clothes, with a baseball cap with earflaps pushed low on his head.
“Yes, I narrate The Visionaries, which is shown on many PBS stations,” he said, pleased that Ed had asked him. “But that’s not the job I have here. And it’s this job that may be getting a little out of hand, fan-wise.”
“You didn’t appreciate the note on your mirror?” Lennie asked.
“Don’t get me wrong—any man over sixty has got to feel good that so many women appreciate him. But I’m concerned when they start taking bits of my wardrobe. I’ve worn those jeans since I appeared in Second Opinion.”
“Well, if they were taken by a fan, I’m sure they will be treasured,” Lennie said, wondering if the show Waterston worked on now was some sort of medical drama. “Was anything else taken?”
“No, no. I’ve checked.” Waterston went over to the table and took off his hat. Ed and Lennie looked at him, and then at each other.
“Uh, do you mind coming by the station later today?” Ed finally managed to say. “Hopefully by then we’ll have something for you to see.”
“Why did you have me come over to watch a victim look at pictures of suspects?” Jack McCoy asked later that day as he walked into the room.
“Just look through the one-way mirror at the victim,” Anita Van Buren told him. “Doesn’t he seem a tad bit—familiar?”
“All I can see is his back,” Jack objected. “He’s certainly slow. I don’t have time for him—“ Just then, Waterston turned around to hand the photo array to Lennie. Jack took one look and staggered back.
“Think it might be a good idea to check you wallet?” Lennie said as he came out of the room. He handed the photo array to Van Buren. “He didn’t recognize any of the photos. Are you sure they are his fans?”
“No,” Anita said. “But it’s a roster of the official ‘I’ll Fly Away’ club, so I thought it was possible.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help—“ Waterston came out of the room and stared at Jack, who stared back.
“You look a lot like George,” both men said together.
“George is my younger brother,” Jack said.
“And he’s my older one,” Waterston said back. He looked at Jack warily. “Uh, well, I guess you don’t need me any more. If you find the jeans, just let the wardrobe mistress know.”
“Wait.” Jack put his arm on Waterston’s shoulder. “Do you believe in doppelgangers?”
Waterston raised his brows. “My taste in literature is more Russian than German, but I’m familiar with the term. That someplace on the earth, you have a double.”
“Well—I find it curious that both Lennie Briscoe and I seem to have found ours working together at Chelsea Piers.”
Waterston smiled slightly. “Well, yes, that is interesting. You know, when my Time Labs were shown on the History Channel, friends told me I looked a lot like a certain New York County prosecutor. You must be him.”
“Let’s not evade the subject,” Jack said impatiently. “How is it that both you and this Orbach actor are both working together at Chelsea Piers?”
Waterston sighed. “Well, it’s a long story. To find your answers, I think you need to call Dick Wolf.” With that, the actor beat a hasty retreat.
“What do we do now?” Van Buren looked at Jack. “Do I call this Wolf person?”
“No,” Jack shook his head. “I’m afraid we’d only find out HE looks like Ed!”