Chapter 11

Herb Hawkins sat awkwardly on the edge of a sofa, waiting for Joe to enter the living room so they could commence with their homicidal speculation. He heard footsteps at the head of the stairs and felt himself rise awkwardly out of politeness when he saw Charles Oakley crossing down the stairs towards him. Charles smiled cordially, despite the fact that he seemed to be slightly agitated.

"Hello, Mr. Oakley. I think we met when you last visited," Herb whispered in his usual low, unconfident tone. Charles watched as Herb rubbed his index finger up and down the edge of the newspaper he was holding nervously.

"Yes, I think I remember you. I'm afraid I've forgotten your name though. It's quite rude of me, considering that you seem to remember me so well."

"Herb Hawkins, Mr. Oakley," Herb said quickly, holding his hand towards Charles. Charles shook it, still smiling.

"I'm surprised to see you here so late, Mr. Hawkins. Not that it's any of my business."

"Oh, I usually come over later now. Joe and I don't like to disturb the others when we have our discussions." At this, Joe Newton entered from the door at other side of the room.

"Hello, Herb. Sorry I made you wait. Emma needed me to go out to the garage to- Oh. I see you're getting acquainted with my wife's brother."

"We've met before," Charles explained, pulling a fresh cigar from his coat pocket. "I won't keep you from your discussions. I simply came down for a glass of water."

"Why don't you join us, Charles? Our discussions might be dull to someone as high up in the world as yourself, but who knows?"

"Well…" Charles had originally had no intention of staying downstairs, but to avoid being rude, he felt slightly obliged to accept Joe's offer.

"Unless of course you're tired. That's fine."

"No, Joe. I'm hardly ever tired."

"We'd be happy to include you in our discussion, Mr. Oakley," Herb said quietly.

Finally, after a moment of reluctance, Charles feigned a charming smile and nodded his head in affirmation. He seated himself in a chair next to the sofa and lit his cigar. Meanwhile, Joe searched excitedly for his mystery novel as Herb situated himself on the sofa, placing the newspaper on a table between Charles and himself. Charles lifted the paper and turned the pages absent-mindedly as Herb and Joe flipped through the pages of their books.

"This little Frenchman still beats them all!" Herb said with a surprising amount of confidence as he pointed to the cover of the novel. Joe shook his head in disgust.

"There you're wrong, Herb. I've been telling you for the past two years that your little Frenchman uses the same cheap tricks in every novel. None of it's realistic. Where's your imagination, Herb?"

Herb sat up straight, slightly offended. "I'm telling you, Joe. These murders are far more plausible than what you read about in the news. Sometimes you have to wonder where the planning is when these common criminals go after their victims. They practically put themselves in prison."

"Really, Herb? And how would you commit the perfect murder?"

"I've told you before. It would have to involve poison. It's the only way."

"Most homicides that involve poison are detected."

"That's the point! Where would your murder mystery book be if no one knew it was a murder?"

"I'm not asking how you would write a book, Herb. I'm asking how you would kill me!"

Herb was now becoming excited. "Nevertheless, I still think that poison would be the perfect choice!"

"There are many problems with poison. First of all, like I said, it's unlikely that you'd get away with it. Next, you gotta be careful with poison because an innocent party could always be at risk."

"And I'm telling you that no matter what method I use I'm at risk for being caught! Isn't that so?" Joe shook his head stubbornly. Desperate for some support, Herb turned to Charles, who was buried in his newspaper. "Um… Excuse me, Mr. Oakley. What would you say about it? Don't you think that poison would be a perfect murder weapon?"

Charles hardly glanced over the edge of the paper. He was quiet for a while, but eventually was able to speak. "No, Mr. Hawkins. Poison is traceable."

"Well, most things are traceable, Mr. Oakley." Herb never would have had this type of confidence if his perfect murder scenario was not under attack. "Leave one clue at the crime scene and it's traceable."

"That's why one should never use a weapon," Charles said quietly, wondering what was possessing him to engage in such a dangerous conversation.

Herb thought about this for several minutes. Finally his eyes lit. "Oh, you mean strangling. With your bare hands. I see…" Herb stared at his hands for a moment. "But some people wouldn't be strong enough to strangle others with their hands. What then?"

"What type of crime are we discussing?" Joe asked.

"Well… I don't know," Herb muttered. "What if I wanted to murder a mass number of victims?"

"What type of victims would you attack?" Joe asked.

"Probably… people who wouldn't be missed," Herb replied. He could have sworn that he heard Charles sigh at this. "What? Is that wrong?"

Charles glanced up, surprised. "No. Nothing. It's only that… If one were to… go on a killing spree… Do you really believe that the murderer would handpick the victims involved? Is it really a matter of logic or precise planning anymore? Killing sprees can't be planned out. They're… spontaneous… unique to each individual person- or, rather, killer. If every murderer were to think it through before going after his victims, how likely is it that any of them would be found?"

"So… what you're saying is that you would go after… any person you felt like killing? No planning?" Herb asked, confused.

Charles' eyes suddenly grew dark. "I'm not saying that I would go after anyone at all. However… if I were to… I think it would have to be a victim that… didn't contribute to the world… someone weak and helpless… always taking and spending but without any self respect or regard for other members of the human race… Those are the people to dispose of. They'd hardly me missed, I'm sure." Herb watched Charles, who no longer seemed to be speaking to anyone in particular. His thoughts had trailed off and his eyes were staring towards the carpet, expressionless.

"Well…" Herb began, grinning slightly. "I suppose I could always strangle an old lady."

Charles was no longer staring out into space. When he heard this, his head shot up and he stared at Herb fiercely. "What?" he demanded roughly tearing the paper in his perspiring hands.

Herb shifted uneasily. "I- I was only joking, Mr. Oakley. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just… you said… Never mind."

Charles slowly calmed himself, attempting to smile back at Herb, in order to ease the tension that he had built. "No. It's not that I was offended. I only…" He chuckled softly and turned his attention to the newspaper. "I'm sorry, Joe. It seems I destroyed your paper. I don't know what came over me."

"It's fine, Charles. I was finished with it anyway." Herb and Joe watched Charles as he rubbed his hand over the paper's tear, as though by doing so, it would suddenly repair itself.

"Perhaps I am slightly tired," Charles said, rising. "I beg your pardon. I think I need to go upstairs. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Hawkins."

Herb nodded and said a quiet, "Good evening," as Charles ventured towards the bedroom upstairs. As soon as he heard Charles close his door, Herb quietly turned towards Joe. "Did I say anything offensive, Joe?"

"No… Not really," Joe replied. "You mustn't mind Charles. He's a pleasant fellow, but sometimes is a bit 'on edge'. It's hard to explain. You'd have to ask Emma. She seems to know something about him that none of us can really understand… Except Charlie, of course. She's practically his double."

Herb grinned, still glancing towards the stairs every couple of seconds. "Still… I hope he knew I was joking. Actually, the only reason I said it was because for some reason, I remember a specific murder case that was popular when he was here two years ago. I don't know why I remember that it happened when he was visiting. But for some reason, as soon as you told me he was here, it made me think of it."

"Which case?" Joe asked, intrigued.

"Oh… I don't remember. The killer had some catchy name. I just remember he was killing rich old women… strangling them, I think. The murderer, that is."

"Oh right," Joe mumbled, disappointed. "That one never really interested me."

"I know," Herb said disapprovingly. "I thought it was quite interesting. Especially considering that the suspect ran directly into an airplane propeller when the police were tracking him. You know… technically, they hadn't any proof that it was him… but it was fairly obvious."

Joe did not seem to be listening any more. He was now quite involved with his book. Herb glanced up at the stairs once more. "Does seem a little strange though."

"What does?" Joe asked, not bothering to glance up.

"Oh, nothing. Never mind. I… just hope I didn't offend Mr. Oakley."