Mr. Picton paused, staring up at the ceiling. “The Charlton road…” He turned to the jury again. “We are here-reluctantly, gentlemen, never doubt it-because something unspeakable occurred three years ago on the Charlton road. An event of a kind that we, as a community, pray never to see repeated-and would, perhaps, like to forget. But we cannot. There are two graves in the Ballston Avenue Cemetery that will not let us forget it, and there is a little girl-half paralyzed and, until several days ago, stricken dumb with terror-who will not let us forget it. Her very existence has been a reminder, for these three years, of the horror that took place that night. Yet now, suddenly, she can offer us more than simply her poignant presence. Finally, after three long years during which she has endured a private torment that is beyond the imagination even of those brave men who survived the carnage of our great Civil War, finally, little Clara Hatch can speak! And can anyone believe, gentlemen, that when she at last feels safe enough to give voice to her terrible memories, such a child could be persuaded to lie? Can any of you seriously believe that after all she has endured, this eight-year-old girl could be approached by agents of the state and persuaded to fabricate a history of what occurred on the Charlton road, where her two brothers were shot to death and she herself received a wound that her assailant clearly hoped was mortal?”
Taking a moment to stare at the jury, Mr. Picton made a visible effort to get his passions under control-an effort what I could already tell, knowing him as well as I did, was going to fail.
“The defense would have you believe so,” he went on, nodding. “Indeed, the defense would have you believe many things. They will refer you to the sworn affidavit of the woman who was then known as Mrs. Libby Hatch, and will call her to the stand to again tell her strange, unsupported story concerning a mysterious Negro assailant who attacked her children but not herself and then vanished into the night, never to be seen or detected again despite the most vigorous of searches. But the facts as the only other witness to the events of that night tells them are too simple and too clear, even in all their horror, for you to be further led down any fantastic garden paths by the defense. I am sure of that-sure, because I have heard little Clara’s version of the events from her own lips. And it is only because I have heard that fateful tale that the state brings these charges against the former Mrs. Hatch. Do not doubt that, gentlemen. Do not doubt that if Clara Hatch had not stated-in this very building, under oath and before all the frightening power of a court of law-that it was her own mother who did the infamous deed, who coldly put the muzzle of a forty-five-caliber revolver against those three small chests and deliberately pulled the trigger not once but repeatedly, until she was convinced that all her children were dead-I tell you, do not doubt that if anyone but Clara Hatch had made such an assertion, the state would never have had the temerity to bring this awful charge against this woman! No, gentlemen! We serve no ulterior motive here. We would not trifle with the mental composure, with the very sanity, of a child, simply to close the books on an unsolved crime. Better a hundred crimes go unsolved than that the state engage in such behavior! We-you-are here for a single reason: because the only person who witnessed what happened on the Charlton road that May night three years ago has come forward to tell her story. And when such a horrifying account is presented to the state, it has no choice but to reluctantly-I say it again, gentlemen, reluctantly!-to reluctantly set the machinery of justice into motion, no matter how much the ensuing events may disrupt the peace of the community, as well as the peace of each of its citizens.”
At that point Mr. Picton paused again to draw a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as if it did indeed pain him to speak about the case.
“Smart,” Marcus whispered to the Doctor. “He’s taking on Darrow’s criticisms before Darrow’s even stated them.”
“Yes,” the Doctor answered. “But watch Darrow. He has a nimble mind, and is manufacturing new avenues of attack even as Picton closes the old ones down.”
Glancing at Mr. Darrow, I could see what the Doctor meant: though he was holding himself in a pose of slouching carelessness, his face showed that his mind was working like a dynamo.
“In a moment, gentlemen,” Mr. Picton continued, “you will hear just what evidence the state will present and what witnesses it will call, along with what you may expect to learn about this matter as a result. But as you listen, a question will linger in the back of your minds. And lest that question cause your attention to the details of evidence to wander, I feel I must address it now. All the evidence and all the witnesses in the world will not stop you from wondering how-how could a woman be guilty of such a crime? Surely she would have to be mad to commit such an act. But the woman before you has no history of madness, nor does the defense seek to portray her as being mad. Neither were her children born out of wedlock, the other explanation most commonly cited for ‘prolicide,’ the murder of one’s own offspring. No. Thomas, Matthew, and Clara Hatch had a home, a father whose name they bore, and a mother whose mind was and is wholly sound. And so, you will ask yourselves, how could this happen? Time and the rules of procedure prevent me from arguing the state’s theory of how at this juncture-the evidence must do that. I ask now only that you be aware of the reluctance of your own minds to countenance even the possibility that such an argument may be proved true. For only if you confront your prejudices, just as those of us who have investigated this case have reluctantly-yes, I repeat it again, reluctantly!-confronted ours, can justice be served.” Pausing once more to make sure the jury’d gotten this point, Mr. Picton sighed deeply and then went on. “As to the matters of means and opportunity, the evidence will show…”
Here our friend launched into a detailed but quick-paced review of every bit of circumstantial evidence we’d collected, moving from that recital into a discussion of what his other two principal witnesses-Mrs. Louisa Wright and the Reverend Clayton Parker-would have to say about Libby Hatch’s possible motives for committing the crime.
“Well, Moore,” the Doctor whispered as all this was going on, “he’s doing quite a job. Even I almost believe he’s reluctant to pursue the case.”
“I told you,” Mr. Moore answered, nodding as he watched Mr. Picton, “he was born for this kind of thing.”
“It’s a strange reversal,” Miss Howard added. “He sounds more like an advocate than a prosecutor.”
“That’s the trick,” Marcus said. “He knows Darrow’s going to argue in the negative, so he assumes the positive. He’s defending his witnesses and his case, even before they’re attacked. Very smart-should take a lot of the wind out of Darrow’s sails.”
“I wish I believed that,” the Doctor whispered.
We all turned our attention forward again as Mr. Picton brought his discussion about the evidence what the prosecution would present to a close. He returned to his table, almost as if he was getting ready to sit down; but then, pausing like he’d just thought of something he wasn’t sure he should bring up, he held a finger to his lips and approached the jury box again.
“There is one more thing, gentlemen. The court and the state have raised no objection to the accused’s being represented by out-of-state counsel. It is her right, and the counsel for the defense is an accomplished attorney. I should like you to remember that. A very accomplished attorney. In his years of practice he has represented the interests of clients humble and mighty, of great corporations and lunatic assassins. What brings him, you might reasonably ask, to our little town, so far from the teeming city of Chicago, and to this case in particular? The state cannot pretend that there are not forces at work here-for the accused, during her years of residence in New York City, found employment with some of the most powerful people in that metropolis. And they, perhaps naturally, seek to aid her in this, her hour of need. And so they have reached out of state for the assistance of, as I say, a very accomplished attorney. That is their affair. But you should be aware of this much: in the process of becoming so accomplished, the counsel for the defense has learned a thing or two about juries. He has learned about how they think, how they feel, and how they view the terrible responsibility of deciding a fellow human being’s fate in a capital case. Yes, you will doubtless hear a great deal about your responsibility, when the counsel for the defense makes his opening remarks.”