The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [278]
“Of course I didn’t!” Mrs. Wright protested. “I was only asked for my opinion a week or so ago!”
“Exactly, Mrs. Wright,” Mr. Darrow answered, very satisfied. “Tell me—have you ever known any other women who raised a hand to their children?”
Mrs. Wright’s face grew puzzled. “Yes, of course.”
“Ever heard of any who were unfaithful to their husbands?”
Shifting nervously, Mrs. Wright tried to rein her voice in. “One or two, perhaps.”
“How about any that married rich old men to get their hands on their money?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you think any of them would’ve been capable of murdering their own children?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say, Mrs. Wright.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“But you’ve got pretty definite suspicions about Mrs. Hatch. Now, I mean.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Mr. Darrow replied, coming in close again. “Mrs. Wright, isn’t it true that you only think Mrs. Hatch might have killed her children now because the assistant district attorney and his investigators suggested to you that she might have done it?”
“Your Honor!” Mr. Picton shouted, popping up. “If the counsel for the defense is implying that the witness is lying—”
“Your Honor, I am implying no such thing,” Mr. Darrow answered. “I’m simply trying to trace the origins of Mrs. Wright’s suspicions, and to show that they, like so many other things in this case, seem to lead back to the assistant district attorney—and to the people who are advising him in this matter.”
“Mr. Darrow,” Judge Brown said, “I thought we had seen the last of insinuation, here—”
“And so we have, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow answered obligingly. “I have no further questions for this witness.”
There was a long pause, during which Mr. Picton watched Mr. Darrow sit back down with a combination of anger and temporary confusion in his face.
“Mr. Picton?” Judge Brown finally said. “Do you wish to redirect?”
Mr. Picton turned to the bench. “No, Your Honor.”
“Then the witness is excused,” the judge said, at which the shaken Mrs. Wright made her way down from the stand. Judge Brown looked to Mr. Picton again. “Do you have another witness for us, sir?”
Trying to get himself fully composed, Mr. Picton looked anxiously to the door and then to Sheriff Dunning, who only shrugged once. “Actually, Your Honor,” Mr. Picton replied, “the state’s next witness has apparently not arrived yet. He was due to be escorted to town by two of Sheriff Dunning’s deputies, but I don’t know—”
Just then a young boy slipped through the mahogany doors. He was wearing the uniform of the Western Union company, and in his hand he was clutching an envelope. After asking the guard at the door a question, he was directed toward Mr. Picton’s table, and made his way down the aisle.
Seeing him, Mr. Picton said, “This may be word of the witness now, Your Honor—if I may have just a moment.”
“A moment, Mr. Picton,” the judge said, sitting back.
The delivery boy passed by our two rows of seats, then handed the envelope to Mr. Picton and asked him to sign for it. Doing so quickly, Mr. Picton tore the telegram open and read it quickly; then he read it again, as if its contents made no sense to him. Finally, on the third reading, his face lost all its color, and he sank into the chair behind him.
“Picton,” the Doctor whispered, watching him, “what is it?”
Judge Brown leaned forward in his chair, looking both concerned and a little irritated. “Mr. Picton? Are you well, sir?”
“Your—Your Honor,” Mr. Picton breathed, struggling to get back to his feet. “I—” Staring at the floor underneath him without really seeming to see it, Mr. Picton finally caught his breath, cleared his throat, and looked up. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. At this time the state was to have called the Reverend Clayton Parker. He was due to take the early train this morning in the company of two of Sheriff Dunning’s deputies.