The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [285]
“I created nothing!” the Doctor protested, grabbing at his left arm without realizing it.
“Are you so sure, Doctor?” Mr. Darrow asked, his own voice rising. “Are you certain that you didn’t plant the idea in Clara Hatch’s mind, as only a clever alienist could, that it was her mother, not some lunatic who’d disappeared and could never be caught, who was responsible—all so that she can talk and enjoy a happy life again?!”
“Your Honor!” Mr. Picton called out. “This is blatant badgering of the witness!”
But Judge Brown only waved him off.
Seeing that, Mr. Darrow kept going: “There’s just one problem, though, Doctor, one thing that gets in the way. For your scheme, your and the state’s scheme, to work, my client has to go to the electrical chair! But then, what does that matter to you? You’ll be vindicated—in your own mind and in the eyes of your colleagues, the McPherson case will be more than balanced out by the Hatch case! Your precious integrity will be restored, and the state can close the books on an unsolved murder! Well, forgive me, Doctor, but I’m not willing to make that trade. There are tragedies in this life that don’t have answers!”
Suddenly, in a move what caused Miss Howard, Mr. Moore, Cyrus, and me to gasp, Mr. Darrow grabbed his own left arm, mirroring what the Doctor was doing; then he held it out, making it clear that he knew, he somehow knew, the secret of the Doctor’s past.
“Yes—tragedies without answers, Doctor, as you well know! And trying to balance the books isn’t going to change that! Tying the guilt for this, case around my client’s neck won’t put movement back into Clara Hatch’s paralyzed arm, and it won’t bring Paul McPherson back to life. Things just aren’t that neat, Doctor, not that explicable. A madman committed a crime and disappeared. A boy walked into a washroom and hanged himself. Horrifying, inexplicable events—but I won’t let you and the state nail my client to the cross, just because you can’t live without explanations! No, sir—I will not do it!” Turning to the jury, Mr. Darrow lifted a thick finger toward the heavens, then let it fall, as if he were suddenly completely exhausted. “And I hope—maybe I even pray—that you gentlemen won’t do it, either.” He took a deep breath and wandered back to his seat. “I have no further questions.”
It seemed like a very long time since Mr. Darrow had started talking, and I don’t think I ever felt more sympathy for the Doctor than I did when he was excused from the witness stand and had to make the long walk back over to where the rest of us were sitting. I knew how he felt, how deeply Mr. Darrow’s words had cut into him; and so when he didn’t pause at his seat, but just kept moving on toward the mahogany doors, I wasn’t at all surprised. I didn’t make any move to follow just yet, knowing he’d want to be alone for a few minutes; but as soon as the judge had ordered court recessed until ten o’clock the next morning I bolted for the exit, Cyrus and Mr. Moore following close behind me.
We found the Doctor across the street, standing under a tree and smoking a cigarette. He made no move at all when we approached, just kept staring at the court house with narrow, squinting eyes. Cyrus and I each stood to one side, while Mr. Moore faced him head-on.
“Well, Laszlo,” he said, gently but with a smile. “I guess you’ve got more to learn from him than you thought.”
The Doctor just blew out a smoky sigh, and smiled ever-so-slightly back at his childhood friend. “Yes, John. I suppose so …”
Then we heard Mr. Picton’s voice calling and saw him appear on the court house steps with Miss Howard, the Isaacsons, and El Niño. When they caught sight of us, they rushed on over, Mr. Picton smoking his pipe and swinging one fist at empty air.
“Damn the man!” he said, once he was sure that the Doctor was okay. “Of all the blasted cheek! I am sorry, Doctor. He was wrong—terribly wrong.”
The Doctor’s eyes moved to Mr. Picton, while his head remained still. “Wrong?” he said quietly.