The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [243]
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” she said, her lips curling up a little as she did. “I’m afraid I never had any Latin.”
Little whispers to the effect of “Me, neither” and “Well, of course she didn’t” circulated through the crowd, bringing another rap of the gavel.
“Pro hoc vice,” the judge explained, as gently as I’d guess he was capable of, “simply means ‘for this occasion,’ Mrs. Hunter. It grants Mr. Darrow the right to practice in New York, but only for this case. Is that your wish?”
Libby nodded gently, then sat back down.
“And does the state have any objection?” the judge asked.
Mr. Picton smiled gamely, tucked his thumbs into the vest of the crisp gray suit he was wearing, and stood up. “Not at all, Your Honor,” he said, moving out beside his table and seeming even shorter, more wiry, and quicker up against Mr. Darrow. “The court knows of Mr. Darrow by reputation, and if the defense contends that adequate counsel cannot be found in Saratoga County, then, while we may not share their assessment of our native talent, neither can we think of any reason why Mr. Darrow should not be permitted to serve.”
The audience wasn’t in much of a mood to find anything Mr. Picton said funny—but they couldn’t help a few proud, satisfied smiles at his statement.
Mr. Darrow also smiled, in a gracious sort of way; but his face went straight when, looking over toward Mr. Picton, he caught sight of Marcus. Quickly recovering, he made a quick motion what said he took his cap off to the detective sergeant for his clever bit of research work. Marcus smiled and saluted back as Mr. Darrow said, “I thank the honorable district attorney. And I must say I’m impressed by his efforts to learn all about my—reputation.”
Mr. Picton, having seen the little exchange what’d taken place between Mr. Darrow and Marcus, grinned. “Mr. Darrow inflates me, Your Honor. He is perhaps unaware that I am only an assistant county prosecutor, District Attorney Pearson being, as yet, unwilling to quit his very fine suite of offices.”
Putting on a puzzled face what was so extreme as to make it plain that he actually knew exactly what Mr. Picton’s rank was, Mr. Darrow scratched at his head. “An assistant? Well, I beg the state’s pardon, I’m sure, Your Honor—I’d assumed that in a capital case as fraught with importance as this one the state would’ve wanted its senior officer to represent the people.”
“As Your Honor knows, here in Ballston we enjoy as few temperate weeks as do the citizens of Chicago,” Mr. Picton answered. “And we did not wish to deprive Mr. Pearson of any of them. Since I was the investigating officer in this case, we felt safe entrusting it to my meager talents.”
Judge Brown was nodding his head and looking a little annoyed. “If you two gentlemen are finished needling each other,” he said, “I’d like to see if we can’t get a plea in this matter before noon. Mr. Darrow, the state having no objection, you are permitted to serve as primary counsel for your client in this court. I hope you don’t regret the trip. Now, then, Mrs. Hunter, you have heard the very grave charges against you. How do you plead?”
Looking to Libby Hatch, who was staring up at him anxiously, Mr. Darrow nodded. Then Libby stood again, folded her hands before her, and said, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
A wave of whispers went through the courtroom, bringing a bang from Judge Brown’s gavel. “Very well,” he said, scowling around the room again. “Now, Mr. Picton, as to the matter of—” The judge paused as he noticed Mr. Picton staring at Mr. Darrow with a puzzled face, one what was about as genuine as the bigger man’s had been just a few seconds earlier. “Mr. Picton? Are you mesmerized, sir, by the learned counsel from Illinois?”
Shaking himself, Mr. Picton turned to the bench. “Hmm? Oh! I am sorry, Your Honor. I confess I wasn’t aware that the defense had completed its plea.”
“You find their plea inadequate, Mr. Picton?” the judge asked.
“It isn’t for me