their conversation found its way into the local newspapers following Douglas’s eventual retirement, since Lambton Everett had placed no stipulation of secrecy upon him, and Douglas clearly felt that it did not reflect badly on the man: quite the opposite. The article in question was one of the final entries in the album, although my grandfather felt that it had been placed there with a degree of reluctance, as it had not been as carefully cut and pasted as the others, and was separated from the previous cutting by two blank pages. My grandfather took the view that it had been added out of a desire for completeness, but Lambton Everett was somehow embarrassed by it.
In the oak-lined quiet of his chambers, the judge was requested by Lambton Everett to spare Harman Truelove from death by hanging at the state penitentiary in Fort Madison. He did not want ‘the boy’ to be executed, he said. The judge was surprised, and more. He asked Lambton why Harman Truelove should not be subject to the full vengeance of the law.
‘You don’t need me to tell you, sir,’ said Judge Douglas, ‘that what Harman Truelove did was evil, as bad a thing as I ever heard of.’
And Lambton, who knew some but not all of Harman Truelove’s past, replied, ‘Yes, your honor, what he did was as close to pure evil as makes no difference, but the boy himself isn’t evil. He never had the start in life that the rest of us had. What followed wasn’t much better, and I think it drove him crazy. Somebody took a child and twisted him until he wasn’t even human any longer. I looked at him in that courtroom, and I reckoned that he was in even more pain than I was. Don’t misunderstand me, your honor: I hate him for what he did, and I can’t ever forgive him for it, but I don’t want his blood on my conscience. Put him away somewhere that he can’t hurt anyone ever again, but don’t kill him, not in my name.’
Judge Douglas sat back in his leather chair, folded his hands across his belly, and thought that Lambton Everett might well be the most unusual individual who had ever set foot in his chambers. He was more used to hearing the hounds baying for blood, ready to tear apart the accused themselves if the law wasn’t prepared to sate them. Few lambs crossed the threshold of his courtroom, and fewer merciful men.
‘I hear you, Mr Everett,’ he said. ‘I even admire you for your sentiments, and it could be you’re right in some of what you say, but the law requires that the boy should die. I suggest otherwise, and they’d curse my name right along with his until the day they put me in the ground. If it helps you to sleep any easier, his blood isn’t on your hands, nor on mine. And maybe ruminate on this: if that boy is in as much pain as you think, then it could be that the kindest thing anyone could do for him is to put an end to it once and for all.’
Lambton Everett took in his surroundings, the leather furnishings and the book-lined walls, as Clarence Douglas marked the traces of grief upon his face. He had not met Lambton until the case came to trial, but he was well versed in trauma and loss. What kind of man, he wondered, pleads for the life of another who has cut apart his wife and child? Not merely a good one, he decided, but a man who carried something of Christ Himself within him, and Clarence Douglas felt humbled in the man’s presence.
‘Mr Everett, I can tell the boy that you asked for his life to be spared. Should you choose to do so, it could also be arranged for you to visit with him, and you could tell him yourself. If you had any questions, you could put them to him, and see how he responds.’
‘Questions?’ said Lambton, looking up at the judge. ‘What questions could I have for him?’
‘Well, you might want to ask him why he did what he did,’ said Clarence Douglas. ‘He never told anyone why he murdered your wife and son. He never said anything at all, barring the word “no” when they asked him if it was he who had taken the lives of your wife and boy, even though there’s no doubt that it was his hand