Caleb Carr - The Angel Of Darkness

“And?” Miss Howard asked.

“ And , he lost, of course,” Mr. Picton answered. “But it was quite a good fight. And, more importantly, while Debs and the others were serving several months in jail for the civil violations, they were indicted on a more serious criminal charge: attempting to obstruct the mails by way of the railway strike. Darrow took the case again, and won by default-the government eventually dropped the charges. So while he lost the less serious civil case, Darrow won the more important criminal one.”

“Which doesn’t tell us,” Lucius said, “why Mr. Vanderbilt thinks that a man who splits his time between working for railroad corporations and workers’ unions-a combination that strikes me as awfully odd, by the way-is the ideal candidate to come in on a murder case.”

“No,” Mr. Picton answered, his mood brightening. “No, it doesn’t. But I’ll tell you, Detective-I’m relieved! Whatever Darrow’s talents may be, Vanderbilt could, as I say, have brought some very big guns up from New York, once he chose to get involved.”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” the Doctor said. “Perhaps Mr. Vanderbilt senses that there may be something untoward about this case, and doesn’t want his name connected to it in any New York circles.”

Mr. Picton considered that, then nodded. “I suspect you’re right, Doctor-I suspect you’re absolutely right! Doubtless Marcus can confirm the theory for us when he gets back. But for now”-Mr. Picton clamped his pipe between his teeth and put his hands on his hips-“I vote that we go home and have ourselves a pleasant dinner. Things are starting to look up, I daresay!”

Feeling much relieved by this turn of events, as well as by Mr. Picton’s confidence, we all started to head for the office door, hungry and more than ready to take his advice regarding a relaxing evening at home. True, we had the grand jury to wrangle with in the morning; but with Clara Hatch now talking, there seemed little reason to think that we wouldn’t proceed easily past that obstacle to the criminal trial what lay beyond, where, we happily assured ourselves, we’d be faced by a lawyer inexperienced in such cases, who wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight against two men as seasoned in these sorts of contests as the Doctor and Mr. Picton.

It was one of the worst errors of judgment we made during the entire case.

Mr. Moore arrived that night, looking bedraggled and persecuted, and rightfully so: he’d had a pretty devilish week in the city, and had barely gotten back out with all of his organs and limbs intact. And even when he and Marcus hadn’t been in situations where their lives were in immediate danger-like when they’d gone to interview the Reverend Clayton Parker-violence had been a topic of conversation: apparently the reverend had been set on about six months earlier by several men who we could reasonably assume to’ve been Hudson Dusters, and’d had both of his knee caps shattered with baseball bats, along with one of his ears cut off. Even as he retold the story to us, Mr. Moore got so jittery that he needed a couple of stiff belts of Mr. Picton’s best whiskey to calm his nerves. But the news that we were ready to face the grand jury the next morning cheered him up considerably, as did the leftovers from our dinner, with which he stuffed himself ’til fairly late in Mr. Picton’s kitchen. By the time he retired, he’d taken in enough encouraging intelligence-along with enough whiskey-to be able to sleep as soundly as the rest of us.

Before I could let him go to the rest he so richly deserved, though, I had to find out whether he’d actually been in touch with Kat and, if he had, what the outcome’d been. As he was unsteadily scrubbing his teeth in his bathroom after pouring half a tin of Sozodont powder over his brush and into the sink, I snuck on in and put the questions. His mouth foaming like a mad dog’s, Mr. Moore told me that yes, he’d met up with Kat outside Duster territory and informed her about our predicament, then asked if she’d be willing to keep a watchful eye on Ana Linares. Kat’d demanded money for her services, making it seem certain to me that all we’d given her, and probably the train ticket too, had gone to Ding Dong; but Mr. Moore said that such wasn’t the case, that Kat’d shown him the ticket and told him that she was just waiting for word from her aunt before setting out for California. When I asked Mr. Moore if he thought Kat was still blowing the burny, he answered that he hadn’t been able to tell, in a nervous way what made it plain he was lying; but I decided that all I had time or energy to do was take heart from the fact that Kat still had the train ticket and was still willing to work for us. The rest I’d have to cope with when we got back to New York.

Mr. Picton had prepared us for the possibility that some of the townsfolk of Ballston Spa would take an interest in the activities of the deliberative body what was slated to convene on Friday morning at eleven in the smaller wing chamber of the county court house; but we weren’t at all ready (and I don’t think he was, either) for the sight that greeted us when we rolled up to the building in the surrey. There must’ve been a hundred people of every age, size, and description on the steps and lawn of the place, milling around like so many hungry chickens. The guard Henry was at the top of the steps barring the entrance, being as the activities of grand juries are not open to the public (a fact what many of those would-be spectators were obviously unaware of). But the big, horse-faced Henry seemed to be talking sympathetically with the crowd as much as holding them at bay. And the closer we got, the clearer it became that the general mood among all of them-Henry included-was not a happy one.

“Oh, good,” Mr. Picton said, as he reined his horse to a halt. Then he huffed in an irritated manner, causing his pipe to shoot sparks upward. “I was so hoping that my fellow citizens would take an interest in the proceedings-nothing like the public getting involved in the affairs of government, especially when they’re too ignorant to know at what point they’re not allowed to be involved!” He brought the surrey to a halt and, picking up one of the several big stacks of books and files what were sitting on the floor under the driver’s bench, jumped down to the street. “I’d advise you not to fetch Clara alone, Dr. Kreizler,” he said, as the Doctor moved up from the back to the front seat. “God knows how many more of these people have come out to offer their opinions in other parts of town.”

“Cyrus and Stevie will accompany me,” the Doctor answered with a nod as I moved on up to take the reins.

“And El Niño, too!” the aborigine said, swinging around toward us from his perch on the outside of the rig. “If you have El Niño to guard you, there will be no trouble for the Señor Doctor!” He flashed a grin, one that the Doctor, even in that uncertain situation, couldn’t help but return.

“Very well, El Niño,” he said. “You shall come along, too. But don’t be too quick to reach for the tools of your trade.” The Doctor glanced at the crowd in front of the court house. “People such as these are to be feared more for their ignorance than for their daring.”

“Yes, Señor Doctor!” El Niño said, jumping onto the back seat beside Cyrus as Mr. Moore vacated the spot. “Is true!”

“You don’t want me to come along, too, Laszlo?” Mr. Moore said, still looking sleepy after his first decent night’s rest in five days.

“I think we’re an impressive enough little escort, John,” the Doctor said, eyeing those of us what were still in the surrey. “And someone’s got to get Mr. Picton through that crowd. Someone, that is”-the Doctor gave Miss Howard a quick smile-“who won’t reach immediately for a firearm.”