The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [169]
“You don’t know her yet, Rupert,” Mr. Moore answered, settling in further. “Sara despises deference to her sex.”
Cyrus had snatched an oak desk chair from outside. “Here you are, Miss Howard,” he said, setting it near her.
“Thank you, Cyrus,” she answered, sitting down and giving Mr. Moore a sharp kick in the shin as she did.
He let out a yelp and bolted upright. “Dammit, Sara! I will not take any more abuse! I mean it! I’ll go to Saratoga and start gambling right now, and you and your señora can go hang!”
“As you can see, Mr. Picton,” the Doctor said, shooting Mr. Moore a warning with his eyes, “ours is a rather unusual investigative style. But please, if you would return to your story?”
“Certainly, Doctor.” Mr. Picton handed a file across to him. “Here is the sheriff’s report on the incident—Sheriff Jones was his name. Since retired.”
The Doctor began to read the document quickly as Mr. Picton related its contents to the rest of us in a way what was not only agitated, but hinted at the kind of dramatics the man might be capable of in a courtroom.
“Mrs. Hatch claimed that on the night of May thirty-first, 1894, she was driving her family’s depot wagon home after spending the afternoon buying groceries and gardening supplies in town and then taking her children over to Lake Saratoga to watch the sunset. At what she guessed to be about ten-thirty P.M., out on the Charlton road about half a mile shy of her house, a colored man armed with a revolver jumped out of a stand of bushes and demanded that she come down off the wagon. She refused, and tried to drive quickly on. But the man leapt onto the driver’s seat and forced her to stop. Then, seeing the children, he said that if Mrs. Hatch did not do everything he told her to, he would shoot all three of them. At that point, although close to hysteria, she agreed to follow the man’s orders.
“He told her to get down off the wagon and remove her clothes. She followed the command. But as she was removing her undergarments she stumbled, apparently making the man think that she was trying to either flee or go for a weapon. The man shouted, ‘Lousy white bitch—this’ll be on your head!’ and shot each of the children. Thomas and Matthew—ages three and four, respectively—died instantly. Clara, aged five and a half, survived, though she was comatose. The man, after firing the shots, jumped down from the wagon and fled back into the woods, leaving the now-distraught Mrs. Hatch to first try to tend to her children and then, when she realized how dire the situation actually was, to make for home as quickly as possible. Dr. Lawrence, one of our medical men who doubles as the town’s coroner, was summoned. However, he could do nothing. Clara Hatch survived, but did not regain consciousness for quite some time. When she did, it was found that she had lost the ability to speak, along with the use of her right arm and hand.”
There were some quiet expressions of sadness in the room (though none of surprise), along with the scratching sound of Lucius taking notes. Then the Doctor asked, “Was the little girl shot in the head?”
Mr. Picton looked very happy with the question. “No, Doctor, she was not. The bullet entered the upper chest and traveled at an upward angle, passing out through the neck.”
“But—that doesn’t make sense,” Lucius said softly.
“Nor do a great many other things, Detective,” Mr. Picton answered. “Our next chapter”—he handed the Doctor another file—“is Dr. Lawrence’s report. By the time he arrived, Mrs. Hatch and her housekeeper had moved the children inside. Mrs. Hatch was in a state of hysterical distraction, alternately trying to revive the boys and racing through the house—through every room in the house, including her dead husband’s—screaming incoherently. Lawrence quickly determined that