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This was all very interesting stuff, and Miss Howard and I continued to wish that we could’ve been there to see some of it; but no one envied the Doctor’s becoming the specific object of Libby’s hatred, given how many examples we’d uncovered of how she dealt with people-young or old-who frustrated her designs. I’ll confess that the more I heard about the assessment process, the more I began to worry about the Doctor, until I finally asked him if he was making sure that there was somebody present during the interviews who could prevent the woman from doing him any sudden, unexpected physical harm. He answered that yes, the guard Henry was outside Libby’s cell every minute that he was inside it, paying careful attention to all what went on.
As for the detective sergeants and Mr. Moore, their attempts to find out what Mr. Darrow was up to in Saratoga were about as fruitful as our group’s efforts to learn about Libby’s past-until Saturday, that is. That night, as the rest of us sat in Mr. Picton’s dining room listening to the Doctor talk about his most recent interview with Libby, the three of them showed up later than usual, their mood considerably better than it had been when they’d left the house that morning. It seemed that they’d finally gotten a break, in the form of a private investigator who’d been working for Mr. Darrow in New York: Lucius knew the investigator, and when the man had shown up at the Grand Union Hotel to give his report to Mr. Darrow, the detective sergeant had intercepted him and pumped him for quite a bit of information-without, of course, saying that he was working for the opposing side. Though the investigator hadn’t offered a lot of specifics, his general comments had been enough to confirm that Mr. Darrow was indeed trying to find out everything he could about the Doctor’s current activities and situation in the city, including the troubles he’d run into after Paulie McPherson’s suicide. None of this was all that shocking: we’d guessed from the begi
“Oh, by the way,” Lucius said, smiling up at Mrs. Hastings as she put a big plate of food down in front of him. “He’s got an alienist of his own coming to do an assessment of Libby.”
Mr. Picton suddenly looked puzzled. “Really? I wonder why. He’s already made it fairly clear that he doesn’t intend to pursue an insanity defense.”
“True,” the Doctor said, “but when the prosecution plans to bring in testimony about someone’s mental condition in a case like this, the defense generally feels the need to answer in some way. In all likelihood Darrow will use the opportunity to show just how distressing the deaths of the children were to Libby, while at the same time demonstrating that she’s a fully competent person, balanced enough to look after not only her own children, but those of strangers, as well. Your colleague didn’t happen to mention the alienist’s name, did he, Lucius?”
“Mmm, yes,” Lucius answered, as he attacked the home cooking what we’d all grown very devoted to since our arrival in Ballston Spa. He began to search his pockets with one hand, refusing to put down his fork. “I wrote it down somewhere… ah.” He pulled a small piece of paper from inside his jacket. “Here-White. William White.”
The Doctor stopped chewing his food suddenly, and looked up at Lucius with concern. “William Alanson White?” he asked.
Lucius checked the paper again. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What’s the matter, Kreizler?” Mr. Moore said. “Do you know the man?”
“Indeed,” the Doctor answered, pushing his plate aside. Then he slowly got to his feet and picked up a glass of wine.
“A problem?” Mr. Picton asked.
The Doctor’s black eyes turned to the window and stared out into the night. “A mystery, certainly. White …” Giving the matter a few more seconds thought, the Doctor finally shook himself and came back to the conversation. “He’s one of the best of the younger generation-a brilliant mind, and highly imaginative. He’s been working at the State Hospital at Binghamton and has done some fascinating work concerning the criminal mind-the criminal unconscious, in particular. He’s become a skilled expert witness, too, despite his comparative youth.”
“Is he an enemy of yours?” Marcus asked.
“Quite the contrary,” the Doctor replied. “We’ve met many times, and correspond frequently.”
“That’s strange,” Miss Howard said. “You’d think that Darrow would want to get someone openly hostile to your theories, if he’s bothering to bring in anybody at all.”
“Yes,” the Doctor answered with a nod, “but that’s not the strangest part, Sara. White and I do tend to share low opinions about this country’s penal system and its methods of discouraging crime and caring for the mentally diseased. But we generally disagree on the definition of mental disease itself. His classifications tend to be far broader than mine, and he includes more criminal behavior in his categorization of ‘insane acts’ than I could ever do. Because of this, when he serves as an expert witness it is almost always for the purpose of demonstrating that a given defendant is somehow unbalanced, and therefore not legally responsible for his-or her-actions.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Picton noised. “Which would seem to lead back to the idea that Darrow may be holding on to some sort of an insanity card, in case he needs to play it later. Although I wouldn’t think him so stupid.”
“Nor would I,” the Doctor agreed. “The insanity defense, when introduced midway through a trial, is rarely effective-few juries fail to recognize a change in plea as an act of desperation.”
“Well, then,” Mr. Moore said, looking blankly from the Doctor to Mr. Picton, “what do you suppose Darrow’s up to?”
The Doctor just shook his head slowly. “I don’t know-and that fact disturbs me. Indeed, there is much about our opponent that disturbs me.” Pacing by the window, the Doctor rolled his wineglass in his hands. “Did you discover when White is to arrive?”
“Tuesday night,” Lucius said. “After the trial’s begun.”
“Leaving me little time to confer with him,” the Doctor answered, nodding again. “Yes, it’s the smart move. But what in God’s name is it that Darrow wants him to say?”
We’d learn the answer to that question soon enough; and it, like almost everything else about Mr. Darrow, made it easy to understand just why he would one day become the greatest criminal defense lawyer the country has ever seen.
CHAPTER 43
Our education began on Tuesday morning, when men called in from fields, shop counters, and parlor rooms all over Saratoga County crowded into the Ballston Spa court house to find out whether they’d spend the next couple of weeks as jury members in what was becoming popularly known as “the Hatch trial.”
From the begi