The Alienist

Japheth and he would go off trapping together, while I hunted larger game. I’d explained to this—this thing that I thought was a man that Japheth was to be discouraged from tormenting any animals they might catch. The fellow seemed to understand the situation thoroughly. I trusted him, you see, to look after my brother.” A dull knocking sound came from the outer wall of the barn. “And he betrayed that trust,” Dury said, getting to his feet. “In the worst way a man can.” Opening the filthy window and sticking his head out it, Dury called: “Now, you! Go on away from there, I’ve told you—go on!” He came back inside, scratching at the few hairs on his head. “Fool horse. Covers himself in burrs to get at a little patch of clover that grows behind the barn, and I can’t seem to…I’m sorry, gentlemen. At any rate, I found Japheth in our camp one evening, half-naked and weeping, bleeding from the—well, bleeding. The fiend I’d left him with was gone. We never saw him again.”

From the exterior of the barn came the same muffled pounding, prompting Dury to grab a long, thin switch and head for the door. “If you’ll just give me a moment, gentlemen.”

“Mr. Dury?” Kreizler called. Our host stopped and turned at the barn doorway. “This fellow, the farmhand— can you recall his name?”

“Indeed I can, Doctor,” Dury answered. “Guilt has burned it into my memory. Beecham—George Beecham. Excuse me.”

The name struck me harder than had any piece of information that had been revealed thus far, and turned much of the triumphant exhilaration that I’d been feeling back into confusion. “George Beecham?” I whispered. “But, Kreizler, if Japheth Dury is, in fact—”

Kreizler held up an urgent, silencing finger. “Save your questions, Moore, and remember one thing—if we can avoid it, let’s keep our true object from this man. We know almost everything we need to know. Now—make an excuse, and let’s depart.”

“Everything we need—well, you may know everything you need to know, but I’ve still got a thousand questions! And why should we keep it from him, he’s got a right—”

“What good can it do him?” Kreizler whispered harshly. “The man has suffered and agonized over this affair for years. What purpose can it serve, of his or ours, to tell him that we believe his brother responsible not only for his parents’ murders, but for the deaths of half a dozen children?”

That gave me pause; for if, in fact, Japheth Dury was alive, but had never tried to contact his brother, Adam, then there was no way in which this tormented farmer could further assist our investigation. And to tell him of our suspicions, even before they were substantiated, did indeed seem the very height of mental cruelty. For all these reasons, when Dury returned from disciplining his horse, I followed Kreizler’s instructions and concocted a tale about a train back to New York and deadlines that had to be met, using all the standard excuses I’d employed a thousand times in my journalistic career to get out of similarly difficult situations.

“But you’ve got to tell me something, honestly, before you go,” Dury said, as he walked us back to the surrey. “This business about writing an article on cases that have gone unsolved—is there any truth in that? Or are you going to reopen this case alone and speculate about my brother’s involvement by using the information I’ve given you?”

“I can assure you, Mr. Dury,” I answered, the truth enabling me to speak with conviction, “there will be no newspaper articles about your brother. What you’ve told us allows us to see how the police investigating the case went wrong—nothing more. It shall be treated just as you’ve told it to us—in the strictest confidence.”

That brought a firm shake of my hand by Dury. “Thank you, sir.”

“Your brother suffered a great deal,” Kreizler answered, also shaking Dury’s hand. “And I suspect that his suffering has gone on, in the years since your parents were killed—if indeed he is still alive. It is not our place to judge him, or to profit from his misery.” The tight skin of Dury’s face grew tighter as he strained to hold back strong emotions. “I have just one or two more questions,” Laszlo went on, “if you wouldn’t mind.”

“If I have the answers, they’re yours, Doctor,” Dury said.

Kreizler inclined his head appreciatively. “Your father. Many Reformed ministers place little emphasis on church holidays—but I get the feeling he did otherwise?”

“Indeed,” Dury answered. “Holidays were among the only pleasant occasions in our house. My mother objected, of course. She’d get out her Bible and explain why such celebrations amounted to papistry and what punishments those who celebrated them could expect. But my father persisted—in fact, he gave some of his finest sermons on holidays. But I can’t see how—”

Kreizler’s black eyes were positively alight as he held up a hand. “It’s a small point, I know, but I was curious.” Climbing up onto the surrey, Laszlo appeared to remember something. “Oh, and another detail.” Dury looked up expectantly as I joined Kreizler in the carriage. “Your brother, Japheth,” Laszlo went on. “At what point did he develop the—the difficulty in his face?”

“His spasms?” Dury answered, again puzzled by the question. “He always had them, to the best of my recollection. Perhaps not when he was an infant, but soon after that and for the rest of his—well, for as long as I knew him, at any rate.”

“They were constant?”

“Yes,” Dury said searching his memory. Then he smiled. “Except, of course, in the mountains. When he was trapping. Those eyes of his were as calm as a pond then.”

I wasn’t at all sure how many more revelations I could hear without bursting, but Kreizler took it all in stride. “A sad but in many ways remarkable boy,” he pronounced. “You wouldn’t have a photograph of him, I suppose?”

“He always refused to be photographed, Doctor—understandably.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Well, goodbye, Mr. Dury.”

We finally pulled away from the little farm. I turned to watch Adam Dury tread heavily back into the barn, his long, powerful legs and large, booted feet still sinking deep into the mire and refuse that surrounded the building. And then, just before he went inside, he stopped suddenly and turned quickly toward the road.

“Kreizler,” I said. “Did Sara mention there being anything about Japheth Dury’s tic in the newspaper stories about the family?”

“Not that I recall,” Kreizler answered, without turning around. “Why?”

“Because based on Adam Dury’s present expression, I’d say it wasn’t ever mentioned—and he’s just realized it. He’s going to have a tough time figuring out how we could’ve known.” Though my enthusiasm was still mounting, I tried hard to get it under control as I turned back around and declared, “Good God! Tell me, Kreizler—tell me we’ve got him! A lot of what that man said confuses the hell out of me, but please, please tell me that we’ve got a solution!”

Kreizler allowed himself to smile, and held up his right fist passionately. “We’ve got the pieces of one, John— that much I’m sure of. Perhaps not all the pieces, yet, and perhaps not correctly arranged—but yes, we have most of it! Driver! You may take us directly to the Back Bay Station! There is a 6:05 train to New York, as I remember—we must be on it!”

For what must have been miles we were full of scarcely coherent expressions of triumph and relief; and if I’d known how brief this feeling would be, I might have savored it more than I did. But an hour or so past the halfway point of our return trip to the Back Bay Station, a sound not unlike the short, sharp crack of a broken tree limb rang out in the distance, signaling the end of all exultation. I can distinctly remember the crack’s being immediately followed by a very short, hissing sort of sound; and then something slammed into the horse that was drawing our surrey, bringing a fountain of blood from the beast’s neck and knocking it stone-dead to the ground. Before the driver, Kreizler, or I could react there was another sharp crack and hiss, and then an inch or so of flesh was torn out of Laszlo’s upper right arm.

CHAPTER 35

With a short cry and a long curse Kreizler spun to the floor of the surrey. Knowing that