These Honored Dead (A Lincoln and Speed Mystery #1) - Jonathan F. Putnam Page 0,90

did not betray whatever inner feelings he had on the subject.

“Even the word ‘lunatic’ itself harbors the concept of an affliction waxing and waning, I suppose,” Martha said.

“Just so,” said Lincoln. “The idea of a person made insane only by particular phases of the moon.”

Unsettled, I stood and walked over to the small window and squinted up at the glittering night sky. It was almost time for the luminous harvest moon to make its appearance. Even through my visceral anger, I could understand the intellectual force of Lincoln’s argument, but—

“Doesn’t it dishonor the dead?” I asked aloud.

“What do you mean?” said Martha.

“I mean, three vital persons have had their lives ripped away. That’s an awful thing any way we look at it. It’s a violation of God’s plan for each of them, even though we can’t know what His full plan was. And now, Lincoln’s suggesting no one needs to bear guilt for these terrible acts if they were acts of irrationality. That the victims’ pain, their abject fear at the moment of attack, the loss their loved ones feel”—I swallowed before continuing—“none of it matters depending on what was inside the mind of the man committing the crime. That the dead don’t matter, only the villain.”

“You’re thinking like a philosopher, Speed,” said Lincoln. “I don’t have that luxury as an advocate.”

“I am not thinking like a philosopher,” I said as another jolt of anger raced through me. “I’m thinking like someone who lost a woman I cared for deeply.”

“Of course you are,” said Lincoln more quietly.

One of the two candles in the center of Lincoln’s worktable had burned down to a stub. Lincoln wetted his thumb and forefinger and put it out. Immediately, the room was cast into shadow.

“It seems to me the most important point,” said Martha, “is the law recognizes this as a valid defense. You’re saying you can get the doctor acquitted with this argument.”

“It’s a fool’s errand,” I said. “The man’s a liar—and a murderer. He deserves to hang.”

“Let’s let the jury decide the question, Speed,” Lincoln replied. “That’s their charge after all. Though I admit this defense reminds me of a story Logan told the other day, about when he commenced his law practice in Springfield. This is years ago, when he was but an eager young lad. Logan came upon an elderly gentleman in town and he said, by way of introduction, ‘I’m from Kentucky, and a lawyer. What’s my prospect here?’

“And the gentleman took one look at Logan and gave a discouraging shake of his head. ‘Damn slim for that combination,’ he said. ‘Damn slim.’”

“Course, today, Logan’s the leading lawyer in town,” I said.

Lincoln nodded.

CHAPTER 35

Lincoln stood tall and announced, “Your Honor, for my first witness, I call Dr. Allan Patterson.”

As the courtroom gallery, if possible even more crowded than yesterday, clamored excitedly, Patterson arose from his seat at the counsel table and walked slowly to the witness chair. The doctor looked as if he had taken a little extra time on his appearance this morning. His thinning hair was combed back neatly, and his elaborate moustache was waxed into place. Even his surgical coat seemed less soiled than usual, although several dark splotches remained.

The judge looked over at Prickett to see if he planned to object. The law disfavored a defendant testifying on his own behalf. But Prickett, smiling a self-contained smile, remained mute. He’s confident he can ruin him on cross examination, I thought.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Lincoln said.

“Morning,” Patterson managed in reply as his voice cracked. He damn well should be nervous, I thought, with what he’s about to try to pull off.

“Tell the jury about yourself.”

“I was born in ninety-seven on a farm near the settlement of Cincinnati, then in the Northwest Territory, now part of the state of Ohio. After grammar school, I showed an aptitude for medicine, and so I did an extended preceptorship with our neighbor, who happened to be the village doctor. That went well, so I enrolled in the Medical Department of Transylvania University, in Lexington, Kentucky. It was a brand-new medical faculty at the time, very interested in modern, innovative methods.” He looked up at Lincoln.

“Go on,” Lincoln prompted.

“After I’d completed the course of instruction at Transylvania, I heard about a shortage of qualified doctors in this state,” Patterson continued, looking directly at the jury, who were listening with interest. The doctor’s voice was strong now and his tone confident. He was regaining, sentence by sentence, the imperious bearing he carried before his