The Alienist - Caleb Carr [161]
“And what of your views on the family as an institution, Doctor?” Morgan asked, firmly but without any trace of censure. “I have heard these and many other good men speak of them with great alarm.”
Kreizler shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette. “I have very few views on the family as a social institution, Mr. Morgan. My studies have focused on the multitude of sins that can often be concealed by the family structure. I have attempted to expose those sins, and to deal with their effects on children. I will not apologize for that.”
“But why single out families in this society?” Comstock whined. “Surely there are regions of the world where far worse crimes—”
Morgan stood suddenly. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the postal censor and the churchmen, in a voice that promised hard measures if there was further argument. “Inspector Byrnes will show you out.”
Comstock looked a bit nonplussed, but Potter and Corrigan had evidently experienced such dismissal before: they departed the library with remarkable speed. Alone with Morgan, I felt much relieved, and it seemed that Kreizler did, too. For all the man’s great and mysterious power (he had, after all, single-handedly arranged the United States government’s rescue from financial ruin just one year earlier) there was something comforting in his obvious cultivation and breadth of vision.
“Mr. Comstock,” Morgan said as he sat back down, “is a God-fearing man, but there is no talking to him. You, on the other hand, Doctor…Though I understand very little of what you have told me, I get the feeling that you are a man with whom I can do business.” He straightened his frock coat, dabbed at his mustache, and sat back. “The mood in the city is volatile, gentlemen. More volatile, I suspect, than you realize.”
The moment had come, I decided, to share my realizations: “And that’s why the bishops were here,” I announced. “There’s been more trouble in the slums and ghettos. A lot more. And they’re worried about their money.”
“Their money?” Kreizler echoed in confusion.
I turned to him. “They weren’t covering for the murderer. They were never concerned with the murderer. It was the reaction among the immigrants that had them spooked. Corrigan’s afraid that they’ll get angry enough to listen to Kelly and his socialist friends—angry enough to stop showing up on Sunday and coughing up what little money they have. Basically, the man’s afraid he won’t get to finish his damned cathedral, and all the other little holy projects he’s probably got planned.”
“But what about Potter?” Kreizler asked. “You told me yourself that the Episcopals don’t have many adherents among the immigrants.”
“That’s right,” I said, smiling a bit. “They don’t. But they have something even more profitable, and I’m an ass for not remembering it. Perhaps Mr. Morgan would be willing to tell you”—I turned toward the big walnut desk and found Morgan staring back at me uncomfortably—“who the largest slum landlord in New York is?”
Kreizler took in breath sharply. “I see. The Episcopal Church.”
“There is nothing illegal in any of the Church’s operations,” Morgan said quickly.
“No,” I replied. “But they’d be in a tight spot if those tenement dwellers were to rise up in a mass and demand better housing, wouldn’t they, Mr. Morgan?” The financier turned away silently.
“But I still don’t understand,” Kreizler puzzled. “If Corrigan and Potter are so afraid of the effects of these crimes, why obstruct a solution?”
“We have been told that a solution is impossible,” Morgan answered.
“But why try to frustrate an attempt?” Kreizler pressed.
“Because, gentlemen,” said a quiet voice from behind us, “as long as the case is thought to be unsolvable, no one can be blamed