by David Hosp
Barneton nodded. “I think I understand. You’re still in shock, of course, and you’ve been confronted with a tragic, completely foreign situation. I suspect you’re treating her death as something to be solved—something to be fixed. I’m sure it’s normal to gather all the information you can, so you can sit down and analyze it—try to make sense of it.” He spoke like a professor, with a tone that was at once paternal and condescending.
“I thought your specialty was the law. Do you teach psychology, too?”
Barneton smiled. “Strictly amateur in this field,” he admitted. “Though I’d wager I’m one of the better amateurs. Most people don’t realize that law relies on an innate understanding of psychology to choose its direction. After all, the goal of the law is to get individuals to conform to collective goals and norms. In order to accomplish that, you have to understand what makes people tick.” She shifted in her chair, and he seemed to notice that she was uncomfortable being psychoanalyzed. “It’s not a bad thing, what you’re doing,” he tried to reassure her. “Just remember that, no matter what you find, death is something that ultimately can’t be solved—and certainly can’t be fixed.” He looked at her in earnest, leaning forward and staring straight into her eyes.
“I understand that,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair again. “Good. Now, what is it that you wanted to ask me?”
“I wanted to know what she came to see you about.”
He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it escape his lungs in a massive sigh. “Eugenics,” he said.
“Eugenics?” she prodded.
He nodded. “Yes, eugenics. Or, I suppose, to be more accurate, not eugenics generally, but the legal history of eugenics in this country.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, but it was a fascinating conversation. We talked for over an hour.”
“Eugenics?” Sydney repeated, still baffled. “Hitler, right?”
“Well, yes, Hitler is the most extreme and well-known proponent of eugenics. But eugenics extends well beyond its use in the Third Reich. Eugenics is the science of controlling the gene pool—improving it, in theory—through selective breeding. It was a theory of social science based on Darwinism that was dominant throughout almost the entire first half of the twentieth century.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of eugenics except when someone was talking about the Nazis.”
“That’s not surprising. We all like to shift history to focus on the sins of others, rather than to examine our own failings. And, in all fairness, the Nazis were the most active proponents and followers of eugenics. Their notions of ‘racial purity’ and superiority gave rise to a massive eugenics program to ‘cleanse’ the gene pool. In pursuing his goal, Hitler implemented mass sterilization programs to weed out what he considered ‘inferior’ genes. Most of these programs were directed toward the handicapped, or mentally retarded, as well as gypsies, Jews, and foreigners. In a few short years, he had more than three hundred and fifty thousand people involuntarily sterilized. As I’m sure you know, he wasn’t ultimately satisfied with sterilization as a long-term cure of what he considered ‘bad genes,’ and as a result instituted his Final Solution—the death camps.”
“Why would my sister have been interested in Hitler’s social science policies?”
“She wasn’t. As I said, she was interested in the history of eugenics in America.”
“American Nazis?”
“No, no.” Barneton shook his head. “It was far too widespread in this country to simply be labeled a ‘Nazi’ issue. Eugenics has had a long history in the United States. In fact, this country was the first to try to apply the principles in government programs, and many of Hitler’s own sterilization laws were taken directly from model laws in effect in the United States.”
Sydney frowned. “I find that hard to believe. How could there be that many ignorant people controlling the country?”
“Well, what seems like ignorance to us now seemed like self-evident truths to many people a century ago. And I’m not talking about ignorant people; I’m talking about some of the most intelligent, progressive individuals of the times. People like Oliver Wendell Holmes, probably the most famous, brilliant, and well-respected judge we’ve ever had on the Supreme Court; Margaret Sanger, one of the leaders of the early feminist movement and a founder of Planned Parenthood; scientists from Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Stanford, the University of Michigan, and NYU.”
“But wasn’t the eugenics movement discredited after we found out what Hitler had been doing?”
“Certainly the term ‘eugenics’ fell out of favor in the second half of the twentieth century, but the notion of improving the gene pool has never died. Most of the states in the nation have had forced sterilization laws at one time or another, and in several instances the laws survived into the late 1970s. These laws allowed states to sterilize criminals, prostitutes, the mentally retarded—all without their permission. Most government studies estimate that between sixty and two hundred thousand people were involuntarily sterilized in the United States between the 1920s and the 1970s, but some experts believe that the numbers could be far higher.”
“But couldn’t the courts stop this kind of thing from taking place?”
Barneton raised his eyebrows. “Of course they could have. But they chose not to. In fact, they supported it.” He got up and plucked a text off one of the many shelves. He flipped through the heavy volume. “The question of whether states could involuntarily sterilize an individual based on the principles of eugenics actually made it all the way up to the Supreme Court in 1927, when Virginia wanted to sterilize a prostitute named Carrie Buck who had been diagnosed as an ‘imbecile.’ Her mother and daughter had also been diagnosed as imbeciles. It took the high court fewer than four pages to conclude that the state of Virginia was well within its rights, and Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes delivered the decision of the Court. In the ruling, Holmes concluded that, ‘It is better for all the world, if instead of waiting to execute degenerate offspring for crime, or to let them starve for their imbecility, society can prevent those who are manifestly unfit from continuing their kind. ...Three generations of imbeciles are enough.’ ”
“That’s awful,” Sydney gasped, recoiling.
“Yes, it is,” Barneton agreed. Then he took a sip of his coffee. “But remember, many of those who believed in eugenics thought they were doing the right thing—that which was best for mankind. And many of the general principles of eugenics survive today in progressive, modern medical practices. In recent years, scientists, none of whom would consider themselves eugenicists, have developed ways to ‘improve’ the genetic code. With the mapping of the human genome, the hereditary architecture of the human race, in the 1990s, scientists have been able to isolate certain genes that are responsible for various diseases and conditions. ‘Gene therapy,’ or the medical application of ‘fixing’ these genes, is likely to be one of the next great leaps in the history of modern medicine—on a par with the development of sterile surgical procedures, or the development of antibiotics.”
The professor in Barneton had fully taken over, and Sydney felt like she was in a lecture now. He was growing more and more animated, and she could see why his classes were so well attended. “Think about it,” he continued. “In a few short years, we’ll not only be able to ‘fix’ defective genes—genes that cause disease—we will also be able to enhance our genetic makeup. We’ll be able to make sure that our children are intelligent, or tall, or athletic.”
“That’s far different from a eugenics program that weeds out weak genes through sterilization, or murder,” Sydney protested.
Barneton smiled. “That’s exactly what your sister said.” He sipped his coffee. “And of course you’re right, arguably, from a traditional moral prospective. But you’re really talking about trying to achieve the same goals through different methods. It’s the difference between what might be called ‘po
sitive eugenics’ and ‘negative eugenics.’ With gene therapy—‘positive eugenics’—the goal is to correct defective genes and allow people to procreate freely. With ‘negative’ eugenics, the goal is to prevent those with defective genes from reproducing at all.” He paused and looked at Sydney in earnest. “At the macro level, however, the direction in which we are heading is arguably every bit as dangerous as the eugenics programs that tried to weed out ‘inferior genes’ through sterilization and murder. In both cases you’re talking about limiting the gene pool. No matter how you set out to accomplish that, it still has serious biological consequences.”
“But if all that’s being done is to weed out bad genes, how can that be anything but a positive thing?”
Barneton shook his head. “Nature doesn’t make judgments about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ with respect to the gene pool. Nature only cares about what helps the species survive in every possible situation. The most important genetic principle for the survival of the human race is diversity.” Sydney felt lost, and Barneton explained. “Take, for example, sickle-cell anemia,” he began. “It’s a genetic disease that results in the production of misshaped blood cells that are less effective at carrying oxygen. In some cases, the disease can be fatal. As a result, it could reasonably be viewed as a ‘bad gene’ disease that could potentially be cured through gene therapy. However, what’s interesting about this ‘disease’ is that it is a recessive genetic condition, meaning that a person must inherit it from both parents, both of whom must be carriers. Those who are carriers, though, are resistant to malaria, and, particularly before the widespread use of pesticides, were more likely to survive in malaria-infested areas of the world. In those situations, the ‘disease’ allowed people to survive in a broader range of environments. The same could potentially be said for all genetic ‘defects.’”
Sydney still looked confused. “And this is what Elizabeth came to talk to you about? Gene therapy?” she asked.
“No, not exactly,” Barneton admitted. “We’ve strayed a little bit from the conversation that I had with your sister. She asked me for any information I might have about some of the eugenics programs from the 1950s and ’60s, and how they were implemented in mental institutions.”
“Why?”
“I assume it was because, a number of years back, I wrote a book on the changing interpretation of fundamental rights in the context of constitutional theory and the power of the states to regulate reproductive and medical rights. The bulk of the book deals with issues like abortion and voluntary euthanasia—issues that are still at the forefront of the legal and political agendas of this country—but it also had a chapter on the origins of eugenics and the various programs that were deemed legal in the twentieth century.”
“No, I don’t mean ‘why you,’ I mean why was my sister interested in the topic at all?”
Barneton tipped his head to the side. “I don’t know, really; she didn’t say. She told me she was a reporter, and I guess I assumed it was for some sort of story she was writing. The way mental institutions were run in the middle of the last century would shock most people today. The patients were often used for medical testing and generally received very little actual therapy. I had the impression that your sister was writing an article about it all. I have to say, I don’t think I was very helpful to her.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to know specifically how sterilizations were actually carried out, and what kind of medical testing was performed. She seemed particularly focused on what went on at the Virginia Juvenile Institute for the Mentally Defective—one of the state-run facilities that sterilized thousands of people into the 1960s.”
“There’s really a place that’s called that?”
Barneton chuckled softly. “Not anymore. It was renamed the Virginia Juvenile Institute for Mental Health in the 1970s. Most people just call it the Institute. In any case, I didn’t have any of the information she wanted. I’m a bit of an expert on the development of political and legal theory in this area, but I’m afraid I’ve never done any real research into the nitty-gritty of what actually happened ‘on the ground,’ as it were. As a result, I didn’t have much information to give her. She said that she’d been up to the Institute, and I think she was hoping to follow up on some of the things she’d seen there.”
Sydney leaned back in her chair. She felt like there was something she was missing, some important information that she should be asking about but that was eluding her. “Was there anything else that she asked you about?” she asked finally.
Barneton thought for a moment. “No,” he said, “nothing I can think of.” He looked at her with an expression of sympathy. “How about you? Have I answered all your questions?”
Sydney nodded. “Yes, thank you for your time. You’ve been very kind.”
“Not at all.”
Sydney rose and walked to the door. Barneton followed and extended his hand in a warm gesture. “I know it’s silly,” she said, “but if you think of anything else you discussed with my sister, will you let me know?”
Barneton nodded and clasped both of his hands over hers. “Of course. I’m very sorry for your loss. As I said, your sister and I had a very pleasant conversation, and I’m distraught to hear of her death.”
Sydney nodded to him in thanks and walked out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
JACK CASSIAN STOOD on the front steps of the Chapin mansion. Although it was evening, the temperature still loomed near eighty, and the air was heavy with the taste of honeysuckle and wisteria. He was off duty, technically, but still on the job. Chief Torbert had made it clear that although they were to intrude on the Chapin family as little as possible, he still wanted them to keep them up to date on the investigation. Train had personal business to attend to and was already offended at the special consideration granted the wealthy family, so Jack had offered to give that evening’s update.
Sydney Chapin opened the door, dressed much as she’d been the last time he’d been there—worn jeans and a loose-fitting top—and her hair was down, falling in golden brown streams around her shoulders. It took a moment for him to realize how attractive he found her. Her beauty wasn’t obvious in the way it was for many attractive women; she had the kind of looks that snuck up on you.
“Detective Cassian, right?” she asked, interrupting his musings.
“Yes. Hi, Sydney,” he said, feeling oddly unsure of himself. “I’m sorry for disturbing you during the evening again.”
“That’s all right, Detective. My mother and niece went out to dinner—Amanda’s been cooped up here all day, and my mother thought it would be a good idea for her to get out of the house, even if just for a little while. It’s pretty much just me here.”
“Oh,” Cassian said stupidly. “Well, I have an update on the investigation, but maybe I should come back tomorrow when everyone’s here.”
“No, no,” Sydney insisted. “Please, tell me what’s happening, and I’ll pass the information on to my mother and Amanda. I won’t get to sleep without knowing.”
Jack nodded. “Okay.” He stood in the doorway for a moment before suggesting, “Should I come in?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Sydney said, looking flustered. She opened the door wider and ushered him in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It seems like I’ve been walking through the last couple of days or so in a haze.”
“You seem better tonight than the other evening,” Jack commented. It was true, too. The color had returned to her face, and there was a certain determination to her carriage that had been absent the first time they met. She led him into a huge kitchen and offered him a seat at a polished granite island the size of Nantucket.
“Well, yeah, I hope so,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was a mess. I’m still a bit of a mess now, but I think the shock has worn off, at least.”
“It’ll take some time,” Jack said. “Don’t rush it.”
She nodded. “So, what have you found out about Liz’s mu
rder?”
“We’ve got a possible suspect.”
She nodded. “I read that in the newspaper. I think the police chief also called my mother.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“My mother was thrilled with how quickly you all are moving on this. We’re very happy you caught the man.”
“I’m glad, although I should warn you that we haven’t charged him yet. We still have to complete our investigation.”
“Still, it’s good that you found him so quickly, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded. “That’s the way it usually works. Most murders are either solved in the first day or two, or they’re never solved. In this case, we got lucky with a fingerprint.”
“Have you learned anything about the man who you’ve arrested?”
“Nothing surprising. He’s a lowlife and a drug dealer who hangs out in your sister’s neighborhood. We’ve run into him before, but never for something like this.”
“But you’re pretty sure he did it?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
“He’s our best suspect right now,” Cassian said. “We checked his alibi; not surprisingly, a couple of his homies swear he was with them, although we think their stories will probably break down in the end. We’re also looking to connect him to your sister’s credit cards or any of the other things stolen from the apartment.”
“What happens if you can’t?”
“That’s up to the prosecutor. I’m not convinced we’d have enough to convict on the fingerprint alone, but you never know.”
Sydney walked over to one of the two huge refrigerators that took up almost the entire space along one wall of the kitchen. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle of beer, turning to look over her shoulder at Jack. “Can I offer you anything— beer or something?”
Jack was tempted. He was technically off duty, after all, and sharing a drink with this attractive young woman would be nice. On the other hand, he knew he’d catch hell if it ever got back to the chief, or even to Train, for that matter. “Just a water would be great, thanks.”
