The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [163]
“That is gracious indeed, Mr. Picton,” the Doctor said in an even tone, as he carefully and curiously studied our host.
Mr. Picton took his seat at the foot of the table and rang a small bell, at which Mrs. Hastings appeared through a swinging door what led through to the kitchen. She was carrying the first of many platters of food. “All from the farms and streams of our own county,” Mr. Picton explained. “And, though simply prepared, no less appetizing for its humility. John, there’s some decent claret on the side table there, if you wouldn’t mind pouring.” As Mr. Moore eagerly moved to follow the order, Mr. Picton looked my way. “And we have a full case of root beer in the kitchen for you, Master Taggert—Mrs. Hastings will bring you a bottle. John tells me you are a devotee, and I confess, I have a weakness for the stuff myself.” Glancing around the table as the rest of us started heaping chicken, brook trout, sweet peas, baby carrots, and mashed potatoes onto our plates, Mr. Picton held up his glass. “And so—welcome, all of you!” He took a deep drink, and then his silvery eyes opened wide. “Now, then—let me tell you what I know about Libby Hatch …”
CHAPTER 29
She arrived here,” Mr. Picton began, as he put some food onto his own plate, “just over ten years ago, as near as I can tell. From Stillwater.”
“Yes,” Miss Howard said. “She listed it as her place of birth on one of the hospital forms we saw.”
“Did she?” Mr. Picton answered. “Well, that was just another lie, I’m afraid. I’ve checked the birth records of every town in this county. There’s no listing for an ‘Elspeth Fraser,’ which was her name back then. She did, however, live in Stillwater for a time—though just how long, I don’t know.”
“And you never ascertained where she actually was born during your investigation?” the Doctor asked, a little surprised.
“You proceed from the assumption that I was allowed to conduct an investigation, Doctor. The case of Libby Hatch, her assaulted children, and the phantom Negro never got past a coroner’s inquest—my superior at the time could find no justification for either the effort or the expense of a formal investigation, and neither could the sheriff.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that, unfortunately,” Marcus said. “I doubt if there’s one case in twenty involving dead children that gets past a coroner’s inquest. The crimes are too private—it’s just too damned difficult to figure out who did what.”
Mr. Picton looked up with some interest. “I get the feeling you’ve had some legal training, Detective.”
Marcus had just filled his mouth with some of the sweet, buttery peas, so it was Lucius who answered: “Marcus was on his way to becoming a lawyer, when we got involved in police work instead. I was slated for medicine.”
“I see,” Mr. Picton said, smiling and looking very interested. “Well, your analysis is correct, though I’d say your numbers are a little low. I’d be surprised if one child’s death in a hundred is really investigated. And when a white woman claims that a colored man is responsible—I’m sure Mr. Montrose is aware that racial bias is very much alive in the North.” Cyrus just bent his head a little, as if to say he was only too aware of that fact. “So I wasn’t really surprised that the district attorney and the sheriff were so willing to accept Libby’s version of events. As for me, I confess I wasn’t yet aware of what bearing the woman’s background might’ve had on the matter. You see, Dr. Kreizler, I hadn’t yet encountered your writings—your theory of ‘context’—and I was fairly focused on the circumstantial evidence.”
The Doctor gave a polite little shrug to that. “Circumstantial and forensic evidence are invaluable, Mr. Picton—that is why we depend so much on the detective sergeants. But there are crimes that offer few such clues, and that cannot be solved if the personal lives of the participants are not studied in depth.”
“Oh, I completely agree with you