The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [143]
“I did not say, Mr. Moore. But she departed from our service the following May, when she was remarried and her nephew was left in her care. I offered her a recommendation, and it would have been an unqualified one, but she said that she wished to pursue a career in nursing. I told her that if I could be of any service in that regard, she should not hesitate to contact me. She never did. And that, gentlemen, is really all I can tell you.”
I heard the sound of a door opening, and then a careful little voice said, “Excuse me, sir, but the missus says it’s time for you to rest.”
“Yes,” Mr. Vanderbilt answered, “I’m coming. Well, gentlemen. I must obey the orders of my physician. I hope you will be able to locate Mrs. Hatch—although I suppose her name must have changed.”
“Yes,” Mr. Moore said. “Thank you, Mr. Vanderbilt, for seeing us. You have been exceptionally gracious—and helpful. Will you be leaving for Newport soon?”
“Tomorrow, in fact. Which is why I must gather my strength. I’ll have someone show you out.”
“Please, sir,” the Doctor said, “do not trouble yourself. We are quite capable. And thank you, once again.”
There were some general sounds of movement, and that was my cue: waiting ’til just a few people were passing by on the avenue, I ran full out for the iron fence, threw myself up and over it, then landed on the sidewalk and walked breezily away, ignoring the stares of a couple what were strolling by and trying to look like I jumped millionaires’ fences every day, twice on Sundays.
I got back to the calash a few seconds after the Doctor and Mr. Moore had reached it, making it necessary for me to explain where I’d been. This had the advantage of making it unnecessary for them to tell me about their conversation with Mr. Vanderbilt, though my second act of trespassing in a week didn’t please the Doctor much. But the shock of what they’d heard inside overrode any other considerations.
“I hate this!” Mr. Moore said as we started the drive back downtown. “I hate it! It’s exactly as Lucius said: every time we think we’re getting somewhere, slap!, some new piece of information crops up that changes the whole picture.”
“And what makes you so sure that the picture has changed, Moore?” the Doctor asked.
“You heard what he said, Kreizler!” Mr. Moore shouted in frustration. “The woman’s children were ‘shot down in front of her by a madman’! What the hell was that all about?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Any number of things. It may be true. It may also have been a fantasy she created.”
“Kreizler,” Mr. Moore answered, banging one hand against the door of the calash in annoyance, “he said he was told about it by friends. What’s she doing, going all over the state making up stories about dead children to gain people’s sympathy?”
“Not all over the state. The event occurred near the town where she was born, apparently. So if there’s any truth to it at all, your friend in the district attorney’s office should be able to tell us about it. Have you been able to contact him yet?”
“I wrote on Monday,” Mr. Moore answered glumly, settling into a mood that matched the hot, humid weather. “And sent a telegram on Tuesday. But I suppose now I’d better wire him again, or try to get him on the telephone. Let him know about this.” He roused himself just once more. “And what did he mean about her ‘nephew’ being left in her care, anyway?”
“That,” the Doctor said, “was almost certainly a fantasy. Or, to be more explicit, a lie. She had to create some story to explain the sudden appearance of the Johannsen boy in her life.”
“Oh. Yes.” Mr. Moore’s understanding of this detail didn’t cheer him up any. “Christ, it’s like trying to keep up with the machinations of three different people.”
“True,” the Doctor replied. “Layers upon layers …”
On hearing that statement, Mr. Moore gave up on trying to make any more sense out of the strange things Mr. Vanderbilt had said and just took to smoking cigarettes and knocking his feet against the wall of the carriage every few minutes, saying “I hate this!” over and over, like we hadn