The Alienist - Caleb Carr [259]
Laszlo turned to me as Stevie took a left turn onto Prince Street in order to avoid the intersection of Houston and Broadway. “You really didn’t feel much pity for him by the end, did you, Moore?” Laszlo asked.
“Ah,” I noised uncomfortably. “To be honest, I felt more than I wanted to. You certainly seemed shaken up by his death.”
“Not so very much by his death,” Kreizler answered, producing his silver cigarette case. “By his life. The evil stupidity that created him. And the fact that he died before we could truly study him. The entire thing seems so wretchedly futile…”
“If you wanted him alive,” I asked, as Laszlo lit a cigarette, “then why did you say that you were hoping Connor would follow us? You must have known he’d try to kill Beecham.”
“Connor,” Laszlo said, coughing a bit. “There, I must confess, is something I don’t regret about this night.”
“Well”—I tried to be judicious—“I mean, he’s dead, after all. And he did save our lives.”
“Nothing of the kind,” Kreizler replied. “McManus would have stepped in before Beecham could have done any real harm—he was watching the entire time.”
“What? Then why did he wait so long? I lost a tooth, for God’s sake!”
“Yes,” Kreizler answered uneasily, touching the small incision on his face, “he did make rather a close thing of it. But I’d told him not to interfere until he was certain the danger was mortal, because I wanted to observe as much of Beecham’s behavior as I could. As for Connor, all I was hoping for from his appearance was that we’d apprehend him. That, or…”
There was a terrible finality and loneliness in Laszlo’s voice as he said this, and I knew that I’d better change the subject if I wanted to keep him talking:
“I saw Kelly tonight. I take it you went to him because you had no other option.” Kreizler nodded, still staring off with bitterness in his black eyes. “He told me why he agreed to help you. Or rather, he hinted at it. He thinks you’re quite a danger to the status quo in this society.”
Laszlo grunted. “Perhaps he and Mr. Comstock should compare notes. Although if I’m a danger to society, such men as they will be the death of it. Particularly Comstock.”
We took a right turn on MacDougal Street, wending our way past small, dark restaurants and Italian cafés toward Washington Square. “Laszlo,” I said, after he’d grown silent again, “what did you mean when you told Beecham that you might be able to arrange a less severe fate for him? You wouldn’t have argued that he was mad, just to keep him alive for study?”
“No,” Kreizler answered. “But I intended to remove him from immediate danger, and then to plead for a life sentence rather than the electrical chair or the gallows. It had occurred to me some time ago that his observation of our efforts, his letter, even his murder of the boy Joseph, all indicated a desire to communicate with us. And when he began to answer my questions tonight, I knew that I’d found something I’d never really come across before—a man who murdered apparent strangers and was willing to talk about his crimes.” Kreizler sighed again and held up his hands weakly. “We’ve lost a tremendous opportunity. Such men will seldom do that, you see—discuss their behavior. They’re reluctant to admit their deeds after capture, and even if they do, they won’t discuss the intimate details. They don’t seem to know how. Look at Beecham’s last words—he’d never been able to say just what it was that made him kill. But I believe I could have helped him find words for it, in time.”
I studied my friend carefully. “You know that they wouldn’t have let you.” Kreizler shrugged obstinately, unwilling to concede the point. “With the political dimension this thing was assuming?” I went on. “He’d have had one of the fastest trials in recent memory, and been strung up in a matter of weeks.”
“Perhaps,” Kreizler said. “We’ll never know, now. Ah, Moore—there are so many things that we’ll never know, now…”
“Will you at least allow yourself credit for finding the man? That’s a fairly amazing feat on its own, damn it all.”
Laszlo shrugged again.