The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [249]
This was all very interesting stuff, and Miss Howard and I continued to wish that we could’ve been there to see some of it; but no one envied the Doctor’s becoming the specific object of Libby’s hatred, given how many examples we’d uncovered of how she dealt with people—young or old—who frustrated her designs. I’ll confess that the more I heard about the assessment process, the more I began to worry about the Doctor, until I finally asked him if he was making sure that there was somebody present during the interviews who could prevent the woman from doing him any sudden, unexpected physical harm. He answered that yes, the guard Henry was outside Libby’s cell every minute that he was inside it, paying careful attention to all what went on.
As for the detective sergeants and Mr. Moore, their attempts to find out what Mr. Darrow was up to in Saratoga were about as fruitful as our group’s efforts to learn about Libby’s past—until Saturday, that is. That night, as the rest of us sat in Mr. Picton’s dining room listening to the Doctor talk about his most recent interview with Libby, the three of them showed up later than usual, their mood considerably better than it had been when they’d left the house that morning. It seemed that they’d finally gotten a break, in the form of a private investigator who’d been working for Mr. Darrow in New York: Lucius knew the investigator, and when the man had shown up at the Grand Union Hotel to give his report to Mr. Darrow, the detective sergeant had intercepted him and pumped him for quite a bit of information—without, of course, saying that he was working for the opposing side. Though the investigator hadn’t offered a lot of specifics, his general comments had been enough to confirm that Mr. Darrow was indeed trying to find out everything he could about the Doctor’s current activities and situation in the city, including the troubles he’d run into after Paulie McPherson’s suicide. None of this was all that shocking: we’d guessed from the beginning that Mr. Darrow would use the Doctor as his way of attacking our case against Libby Hatch. But what you might call a passing reference what Lucius made to something else that the investigator’d told him caused the Doctor considerably more concern.
“Oh, by the way,” Lucius said, smiling up at Mrs. Hastings as she put a big plate of food down in front of him. “He’s got an alienist of his own coming to do an assessment of Libby.”
Mr. Picton suddenly looked puzzled. “Really? I wonder why. He’s already made it fairly clear that he doesn’t intend to pursue an insanity defense.”
“True,” the Doctor said, “but when the prosecution plans to bring in testimony about someone’s mental condition in a case like this, the defense generally feels the need to answer in some way. In all likelihood Darrow will use the opportunity to show just how distressing the deaths of the children were to Libby, while at the same time demonstrating that she’s a fully competent person, balanced enough to look after not only her own children, but those of strangers, as well. Your colleague didn’t happen to mention the alienist’s name, did he, Lucius?”
“Mmm, yes,” Lucius answered, as he attacked the home cooking what we’d all grown very devoted to since our arrival in Ballston Spa. He began to search his pockets with one hand, refusing to put down his fork. “I wrote it down somewhere … ah.” He pulled a small piece of paper from his inside his jacket. “Here—White. William White.”
The Doctor stopped chewing his food suddenly, and looked up at Lucius with concern. “William Alanson White?” he asked.
Lucius checked the paper again. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What’s the matter, Kreizler?” Mr. Moore said. “Do you know the man?”
“Indeed,” the Doctor answered, pushing his plate aside. Then he