The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [258]
Lifting a heavy finger and pointing it in Mr. Picton’s direction, Mr. Darrow started to pound away: “They’ll tell you that they have physical evidence, supported by ‘experts,’ that the gun used to shoot the Hatch children belonged to their father, and was fired by their mother. But that entire theory is based on forensic ‘science,’ which, as the defense’s expert witnesses will explain to you, isn’t worthy of the name. The prosecution will then tell you that my client had financial and romantic reasons for wanting her children dead. But, gentlemen—household gossip is not evidence!” His blood getting hot, Mr. Darrow spun round to look at the galleries, the first really quick movement he’d made. “Finally, they’ll tell you that my client is sane, and that, being sane, she deserves to be taken to a terrible little room in the state penitentiary and strapped into a chair that would’ve had more place in the dungeon of some blood-crazed medieval tyrant than it does in the United States, and that she should then be assaulted by the vicious power of electricity until she’s dead—all so that the state can declare the case closed and its citizens can have their ‘peace’ restored!”
Stopping himself suddenly and catching his breath, Mr. Darrow dropped his hands helplessly. “Well, that’s really the point, isn’t it, gentlemen? Yes, my client’s sane. And in the days to come you’ll hear, from people who have a long experience with these matters, that no sane woman could or would commit such violence against her own children. Oh, the prosecution will give you precedents—they’ll tell you a lot of ghastly tales about women who’ve committed such crimes in the past, and were found sane by courts of law, and were locked away forever or hanged as punishment. But, gentlemen—prior injustices should not make you feel any better about committing an injustice here. Yes, there have been such women. But you will hear—again, from people who’ve studied these matters carefully—that those women, too, were suffering from terrible mental disorders, and that they were sacrificed to the same craving that drives the state in this case. The craving, not for justice, but for revenge—revenge and, even more urgently, an end to the uneasiness, the fear, that is engendered by a horrible crime that admits of no solution.”
Wandering in front of the jury box, Mr. Darrow went back to work on his neck again. “Gentlemen, I can’t tell you why this happened. I can’t tell you a lot of things. I can’t tell you why babies are born dead and deformed, why lightning and cyclones destroy lives and homes in an instant and without warning, or why disease, eats away at some good but unfortunate souls, while letting others lead long and useless lives. But I know that these things happen. And I wonder… if a bolt of lightning had flashed down out of the sky that night and put an end to those three poor children—just as the prosecution now seeks to put an end to their mother—would the district attorney’s office have tried to coax an explanation out of the sky, so that the citizens of this county and this state could rest easier? Because in the end, that’s the only place you’re probably