The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [150]
Lucius described the woman’s reaction to all this. She’d gone from playing the coy temptress to forcing some tears and protesting her innocence, then moved on to saying that the detective sergeants just didn’t understand the “extenuating circumstances” of what she’d done (such being Lucius’s phrase, not hers). Finally, pure malevolence had made its way into those golden eyes. That was the only moment, both the brothers said, when they’d become truly unsure of what they’d started. They were, after all, in the heart of Hudson Duster territory and open to attack from the gang, assuming that Libby Hatch felt like having her boyfriend’s thugs tend to the matter and didn’t just shoot the pair herself. But the Isaacsons had warned her that plenty of people in the department knew where they were and what they were doing, and if they didn’t make it back to headquarters, nobody’d have any trouble figuring out why. When he and Lucius walked back to the cab they had waiting, Marcus said, he could feel the pure hatred coming from the doorway of Number 39, like bright sunshine on bare skin; then as they left they’d heard a loud slam of the door and a small cry of rage from inside. But they’d made it out of the neighborhood without any trouble, and had stopped on their way to the Doctor’s house only long enough to calm themselves down with a quick shot of rye and a short beer—a rare thing for Lucius—at the Old Town Bar on Eighteenth Street and Park Avenue.
And so, as Mr. Moore put it, war had been declared, and directly to our enemy’s face. But the Doctor was quick to remind him that, while we could be happy that all had gone well and the detective sergeants were safe, thinking of Libby Hatch as our “enemy” was not going to help our cause. We were on our way upstate not only to learn exactly what she’d done, but why; and while it might be tough, given all the things we knew about her, to try to see things as she’d seen them during her years of growing up and becoming a mother, it was more important than ever that we do so. Talk about “enemies” and a “war” wasn’t going to help that process: if we were ever going to understand what had driven the woman to her past and current acts of violence enough to guess at her next moves, we were going to have to let go of the image of her as the Devil’s handmaiden. She was a person, one who’d been made capable of unspeakable things by unknown events what we would never really appreciate if we couldn’t see them through the eyes of first the girl and then the young woman she’d once been.
This was all sensible talk, and I’d heard similar from the Doctor many times before; and maybe if the weather had calmed down at all on Wednesday, it would’ve been easier for me to stay equally reasonable. But dawn that morning saw the sky black and every window in the house starting to rattle in its frame. By noon a howling gale had roared up from the southwest to slam into not just the city but the whole eastern part of the state, as well. Up in Matteawan, we later learned, the rain was so heavy that a whole set of dams burst, and eight people were killed in the flood that followed. Maybe it’s true that what goes on in the sky is just weather and doesn’t signify anything more; but the notion that we’d stirred the wrath of some powerful being somewhere flitted into and out of my head all day long as we made our final preparations for departure the next morning.
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