The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [232]
Libby Hatch—or, as she was labeled in the grand jury indictment, Mrs. Elspeth Hunter—was arrested at Number 39 Bethune Street in New York on Tuesday afternoon. Sheriff Dunning had gotten in touch with the New York City police on Friday, and had been referred to the Bureau of Detectives. Together with officers of the Ninth Precinct, the bureau had put Mrs. Hunter under surveillance right away, and reported that she didn’t seem to be making any moves toward beating it out of town. (During the time they were watching her, the city cops apparently didn’t experience any interference from the Dusters, which we took as a further demonstration that Libby didn’t intend to avoid capture.) Sheriff Dunning directed the Ninth’s detectives not to make any moves toward actually arresting the woman before his arrival, unless it suddenly started to look like she was going to bolt; then, on Monday, he took the train down to the city with two of his deputies.
This slightly leisurely way of going about capturing a murderess had those of us on the Doctor’s team a little confused; but Mr. Picton explained that the longer we delayed Libby Hatch’s arrival in Ballston Spa, the longer we could take advantage of the eerie, spooked calm what’d descended on the town. So when he saw Sheriff Dunning and his boys off at the train depot, he didn’t urge them to go about their business too hastily, an instruction what Dunning took to mean that he and his deputies were free to enjoy a night in the big city before returning home with their prisoner. They were met at Grand Central Terminal by a couple of the detectives from the bureau, who proceeded to take them down to the Ninth Precinct’s station house on Charles Street. (Being unaware that any New York City detectives had been involved in Mr. Picton’s investigation, Sheriff Dunning spared himself the cold reception he almost definitely would’ve received if he’d dropped the Isaacsons’ names.) Together the lawmen decided to wait until Tuesday morning to actually clap the irons on Mrs. Hunter; and we were left to imagine what the sheriff and his deputies got up to that night, since it would’ve been tough to come up with anybody better suited to showing them a good time in the big city than the men of the Ninth. The fact that Dunning waited until Tuesday afternoon to pinch Mrs. Hunter seemed proof positive that he and his boys had taken full advantage of the cultural “resources” of New York. But as things worked out, a hangover wouldn’t have been much of a disadvantage to them on Tuesday: when they arrived at Bethune Street, they found Mrs. Hunter packed and ready to go—almost, Sheriff Dunning told Mr. Picton when he called from Grand Central Terminal before boarding the train north, like she was anxious for the trial to begin. Dunning went on to report that, barring delays, he and his deputies would be arriving with their prisoner at midnight.
All through that Tuesday, the citizens of Ballston Spa had continued to stew over what Mr. Moore, true to form, insisted on calling the “moral implications” of the case. They had no choice but to stick with that activity on into the evening, as everyone began to anticipate Libby’s return in irons; in fact, it was starting to feel like brooding would keep the town occupied indefinitely, or at least until somebody came up with an explanation for the killings what would let their society (which, if it hadn’t actually produced Libby Hatch, had certainly believed her lies) off the hook. Of course, if they’d known that one of the only men in the entire country who was capable of coming up with such an explanation was at that point packing his bags in Chicago and getting ready to journey to their town, their mood might’ve been considerably