Chapter 29

That following Sunday at approximately six o'clock in the evening, Herb Hawkins approached the Newton's residence. To his surprise, a suspiciously eager Charlie immediately greeted him.

"Herb!" she exclaimed, practically dragging him into the house.

"Um… Good evening, Charlie," he mumbled, unaccustomed to anyone exerting so much excitement for his sake. But he was hardly a fool. He was well aware of what was motivating her to act in such a peculiar fashion. He had to admit that it had been rather unwise of him to be so conspicuous when Mr. Oakley ad found him with the letter. He had been torturing himself over it for days. If Mr. Oakley had actually seen him reading the letter, he was practically a dead man. If he were a character in a book, he would have been done in immediately. For this reason, he had been avoiding the Newton's house. But even the security of his own home was not enough to calm his nerves. His imagination was at last proving to be his downfall.

Every time he stepped into his bathroom, he felt the need to heck the tub, meat cleaver in hand, prepared for the Merry Widow Murderer to leap out at him with vengeful fury. Truthfully, Herb was greatly opposed to the idea of killing someone with a meat cleaver. It seemed far too savage and unoriginal. He had always hoped that if he were to commit a murder, he would have the opportunity to use a unique weapon, like his hypodermic needles or his Indian arrow poisoning. But if a relatively young, strong serial killer were to leap out and attempt to strangle the life out of him, Herb's sensible side convinced him that perhaps elite weapons such as poisonous mushrooms might not be the best choice.

With an ill-fated attempt to seem casual, Herb crossed to the living room, stretching himself across the sofa awkwardly. As Charlie stared down at him, a melancholy expression upon her face, Herb resisted the impulse to wipe the perspiration from his brow. It was only a matter of time now, he thought.

As soon as he discovered the letter, Herb had made several attempts to call Jack Graham with news of his discovery. He was only able to contact him that previous night. Graham warned him that it would be unwise for him to speak over the telephone about the case, but assured him that he would return to Santa Rosa within the next couple of days. Until then, Herb was to remain calm and act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. This was incredibly difficult for Herb. He knew that Oakley would only grow in his suspicions if Herb suddenly stopped visiting all together. For this reason, he forced himself to leave the comfort of his own house and enter what he now mentally referred to as the Death Trap.

As Charlie scrutinized him, he felt compelled to grasp at the butter knife he had in his pocket. (Though he was aware that this was a slightly pathetic choice of weapon, he figured that a meat cleaver might not only prove to be conspicuous, but also, in all likelihood, would prove to be far more injurious to himself than Mr. Oakley).

Herb looked about, suddenly aware that the house was silent. "Uh… Charlie… Where is everyone?"

"My uncle took everyone out for ice cream," she explained calmly, sitting next to him on the sofa. Suddenly, Herb was feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh?" he asked nervously, trying to formulate a plan of escape. "Well, if your father isn't home, I suppose I should-"

"Don't go," she entreated, grasping his arm. Herb felt as though his stomach had leaped into his throat. As an aspiring detective, Herb was becoming more and more aware that his awkwardness around people was a great impairment. His skittish behavior around women, however, would certainly destroy him. "Herb," she whispered gently. "I think we should have a conversation, don't you?"

A drop of sweat slowly rolled down the back of his neck. "Do we?" he asked, attempting to be coy, though his voice was cracking. He felt her large, desperate eyes burning into the side of his face.

"I know- That is, we know… what you've discovered," she said quietly, placing a hand on his in an oddly comforting manner. Herb, however, was not feeling the least bit comforted. But he refused to succumb to her sweetness. "I can't expect you to return the evidence," she continued. "I have no right to ask anything of you. But you have to understand. I love him… so very much."

"Yes, I… know," he mumbled, trying to suppress a grimace.

Charlie arched her eyebrows, suddenly aware of what he must be thinking. "Oh! Herb! It's not what you're thinking! You're mistaken. I know what you must believe after reading that letter. But… rest assured… It's not-"

"Charlie," he interjected. "It's none of my business. You don't have to explain a thing to me. I'm only interested in… doing what's right."

"But you don't understand!" she exclaimed. "He's not my uncle! I mean… Not really. It's a long story and probably not one that he'd want me to spread. But I can't have you thinking that we're doing anything… disreputable."

"I believe you," he began, his heart beating pounding in his ears. "But I still know that he's a murderer and you're aiding him. That's disreputable to me."

Charlie could feel his hand shaking violently beneath her own. "Herb…" she began desperately. "Don't you think that if he really was the horrible monster you think he is, I would be the first person to turn him in? Forget what you read in that letter. You know me, Herb. You know my family. We all love him so very much. He's not the same person he was then. He's controlled now."

"Psychopaths don't change," he said simply.

"He's still sick. I'm not trying to convince you that he's become a warm, caring individual. But he needs to get well. And I can cure him. Or at least help him. I'm not claiming to be a doctor or anything. But I know that I'll be much more beneficial to him than a prison cell would be. After all, I'm the only thing in the world that he loves."

"And what happens when he stops caring about you?" Herb asked. "What if you have another 'accident' in the garage?"

Charlie suppressed a gasp, suddenly recalling the events of two years earlier that Herb obviously remembered as well. "I know there are risks, but-"

"I can't have your death on my conscience. And what about the others? Are you forgetting about the older women he robbed and murdered? What about the man who was falsely charged with his crime and ended up dead because of it?"

"It's all true," she said. "But how can I convince you that it's not the same now?"

"Maybe it's not the same," he replied, rising from the sofa. "But that won't excuse the past."

"Herb," she began, making one last desperate attempt to convince him as she followed him to the door. "I know you think that what you're doing is right. In a way it is. But I'm asking you to have some compassion. Not for him. For me."

Something about her tone as she said this caused Herb to stop and slowly turn his eyes to her. Till that point, he had only looked upon her as the villain's accessory. But he suddenly became aware that she was more than this. She was the daughter of his very best friend. And Charles Oakley was beloved by all of the Newtons. Perhaps he had no reason to have pity for Oakley. But by sending him away to prison, would he not be inflicting just as much pain upon the Newtons, his dearest friends and the closest thing he had to a family (besides his sickly old mother, of course)?

Until now, Herb ad found it to be incredibly easy to remain focused on his goal. But suddenly, the evidence he had in his pocket no longer filled him with a sense of pride. Rather, it caused him to feel guilty, despite his perfectly logical reasoning that condemned Mr. Oakley.

Silently, Herb left the Newton's residence, feeling completely confused and utterly miserable.