The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [177]
Mr. Picton slowly started to smile. “Why, yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, Clara. I’m sure that the Doctor will know how to make your little girl feel much better. That’s his job, you see, to make children feel better. Perhaps you should take him inside, and show him what’s wrong.”
The girl took the Doctor’s hand again, but before going anywhere she looked up to Mrs. Weston.
“Of course,” the woman said, reading another question in the little face. “I’ll go with you. Maybe some of your other friends could use the Doctor’s help, too.”
The three of them walked toward and then into the house.
“That’s the damndest thing,” Mr. Weston said quietly, scratching his head. “Three years she’s been here, and I’ve never seen her take to a stranger that way.”
“As I told you, Josiah,” Mr. Picton answered. “Dr. Kreizler is no ordinary visitor! Alone in his field, you might say—and his field is made up of cases like Clara’s. Well, then—Stevie? Cyrus? Shall we go inside, too?”
Cyrus nodded and began to move toward the door with Mr. Picton and Mr. Weston. But I stayed where I was. “If you don’t mind, sir,” I said, “I think I’ve pretty well served my purpose here. Unless there’s anything else, I’d like to get out to the old Hatch place and see what the detective sergeants are up to.”
Mr. Picton gave me a slightly puzzled look. “It’s over three miles from here, Stevie.”
“Yes, sir. But I’m used to walking. I can find my way.”
Mr. Picton nodded. “All right. We’ll see you back at my house, then.”
I looked to Cyrus, who signaled the okay to me with a little nod. Starting to run down the drive, I suddenly remembered what manners I had, and turned to call, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Weston!”
“What?” the man answered, still sort of stunned by what he’d witnessed. “Oh—yes, and you, too, son!” he called with a small wave, as he continued to guide Mr. Picton and Cyrus toward the house. Once they were inside I took off at top speed, waiting ’til I was well out of sight of the farm to light up a cigarette.
CHAPTER 31
I hadn’t got halfway back to town before I began to wonder just how bright an idea my walking three or four miles alone on those shady country roads had been. The sun was starting to edge ever closer to the treetops, but even at high noon the strange, scurrying sounds that came out of those forests would’ve been worrisome. So when I found myself on the edge of Ballston Spa again, a peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment at being back in “civilization” came into me. I kept moving quickly, onto Charlton Street, which road, like Malta Avenue, took its name from the town that it eventually led to. Before long I was back out among the farms and the woods again, moving south and west through country that was even less inhabited than those stretches what lay to the east of Ballston Spa. I had close to two miles to cover, and I was determined to enjoy the adventure and not let myself get wrapped up in fear again; but I have to admit that it took the sound of exactly one hooting owl to kick me from a fast walk into a solid run, and by the time I finally began to hear familiar human voices in the distance, I’d grown nervous enough that I actually broke out into a grin, and felt a few tears of relief come into my eyes.
The sight of the old Hatch house, though,