Caleb Carr - The Angel Of Darkness

Lucius started to get up, but Mr. Darrow raised a hand. “Oh-there is one more thing, Detective Sergeant. You stated during your opening remarks that you’re a member of the New York City Police Department. Would you mind my asking-what’s your current assignment?”

Looking very startled, Lucius leaned back in the witness chair and tried to stall: “My current assignment? I was asked by the assistant district attorney to analyze-”

“I mean for your department,” Mr. Darrow said.

Lucius took a deep breath. “My current assignment is unconnected to this case, and it would be inappropriate-”

“Isn’t it true, Detective,” Mr. Darrow interrupted, his voice rolling in a righteous way, “that you were assigned several weeks ago to investigate Dr. Laszlo Kreizler-specifically, his role in the suicide of one of the children in his care at the Kreizler Institute in New York City?”

The crowd couldn’t keep quiet at that, and as they started to chatter in surprise Mr. Picton bolted out of his chair. “Objection! Your Honor, the state objects most strenuously! What possible bearing can the detective sergeant’s current assignment have on this case?!”

The judge gaveled the galleries back to silence, then grabbed one of his ears and turned to Mr. Darrow. “Counselor, I had hoped that you were leaving the job of insinuation up to the assistant district attorney. What do you mean, sir, by bringing up such an apparently unrelated matter?”

“Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow answered, “I’m afraid I can’t agree with the court’s assessment of this information as unrelated. When the state’s case rests so heavily on the work of one expert, and when that expert’s integrity and competence are the subject of an investigation being conducted by another of the state’s experts-well, Your Honor, the assistant district attorney is not the only man who can spot a remarkable coincidence.”

The judge bashed his gavel down, his eyes getting hot. “Perhaps not, sir-but this court will not tolerate the introduction of coincidences by the defense any more than it will condone similar behavior by the state! If the matters you’re touching on have some direct bearing on this case, then explain it right now, sir.”

Mr. Darrow just held up his hands, taking his turn at playing innocent. “I apologize, Your Honor, if my remarks were inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate and inadmissible,” the judge fired back. “The jury will ignore the defense’s remarks concerning the witness’s current assignment for the New York City Police Department, and those remarks will be stricken from the record.” The warning gavel was lifted once more, toward the defense table. “And don’t try that kind of thing with me again, Mr. Darrow. I will tolerate no mention or exploration of any subject that does not concern this case and this case alone. Now proceed with your questions.”

“I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow answered, sitting down.

“Mr. Picton?” the judge said. “Do you wish to redirect?”

“If redirection could wipe the jury’s memory clean of aspersions, Your Honor,” Mr. Picton said, “then I would redirect. As it cannot, I will not.”

“Then the detective sergeant is excused,” Judge Brown answered, “and the state may call its next witness.”

“The state,” Mr. Picton announced, “calls Mrs. Louisa Wright.”

There was a small commotion at the back of the room, as Mrs. Wright made her way in through the mahogany doors.

While the former housekeeper was walking down the aisle, the Doctor leaned over to ask Mr. Picton:

“What about Parker?”

Mr. Picton shrugged. “Two of Dunning’s deputies were supposed to escort him up on the early train this morning. They should have arrived by now. I’ll have to get to him this afternoon.”

Wearing an old-style blue dress, Mrs. Wright walked steadily and proudly through the gate in the oak railing, turning her gray-haired head and sharp features to the defense table just once and registering no emotion of any kind when she saw Libby Hatch. To Bailiff Coffey’s oath she near yelled a solid “I do!” and then stated her name like she expected somebody to challenge her on it. It was an attitude what she never lost through all of Mr. Picton’s opening questions, during which time he established a very clear picture of what life in the Hatch house had been like. Libby had been a woman of very changeable temperament, Mrs. Wright said, and when she felt that her own desires were being frustrated, she was capable of flying into extreme rages. Mr. Picton made sure the jury understood that Louisa Wright had no great love for Daniel Hatch and felt no jealousy toward her former mistress: as she’d told Miss Howard when we first got to town, the only people that she felt any genuine sympathy for or attachment to in the house were the three kids, who’d grown up so rattled by their father’s crankiness and their mother’s changeable moods that they sometimes seemed to be in a constant state of nervousness.

“Now, then, Mrs. Wright,” Mr. Picton finally asked, after he’d painted this none-too-pleasing picture of the Hatch home, “when would you say that the Reverend Clayton Parker became a regular visitor to the house?”

“Well,” the old girl answered, mulling it over, “he generally dropped by at holidays, Christmas and such, and of course he took care of christening Clara-but he didn’t start paying what you’d call regular social visits until later. Clara’s first birthday, I think, was the first night he actually stayed to dinner.”

“And how often did he visit after that?”

“Oh, at least once a week, and sometimes more often. Mr. Hatch was taking more of an interest in the church’s business by then, you see. A lot of people’ll do that, when they start thinking that they don’t have much time left.” Mrs. Wright hadn’t meant the statement as a joke, and she was surprised when it got a laugh from the galleries. “They will!” she insisted, folding her hands tightly, like she was embarrassed. “I’ve seen it happen.”

“Of course you have,” Mr. Picton answered. “But was Mr. Hatch’s interest in the church the main reason for Reverend Parker’s increased presence at the house?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow droned. “The question calls for a speculative answer.”

“I shall rephrase it, then,” Mr. Picton said, before the judge could order him to. “Mrs. Wright, was it Mr . Hatch that the reverend spent the greater portion of time with during his visits?”

“No, sir,” Mrs. Wright answered with a little scoff. “After all, how long does it take to write a check?”

That got more laughs out of the crowd, and the judge responded in his usual manner: with irritated raps of his gavel. Leaning over, he scolded Mrs. Wright gently: “The witness will please try to keep the element of sarcasm out of her responses.”

“I am , sir!” she answered, looking a little offended. “That’s all Mr. Hatch did when the reverend came-write checks, and maybe talk for a few minutes about theology. The rest of the time it was the missus that looked after their- guest .”

“And why was that?” Mr. Picton asked.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Mrs. Wright replied. “I only know what I saw, six or seven times.”

“And what did you see?”

Stiffening her back and narrowing her eyes, Mrs. Wright lifted a pointing finger in the direction of the defense table. “I saw that woman and the Reverend Parker. Out in the birch grove, about a quarter of a mile from the house.”

“And what were they doing?”

“They were not doing the sorts of thing that a reverend generally does with a married woman!” Mrs. Wright answered, as offended as she would’ve been if the incidents had occurred just yesterday.