The cry of the newpaper vendor was heard through the street as he called out the headlines of the printed pages, "Parkland murderer hanged, read all about it!" Dr. Jolyson Briggs stopped in his brisk pace and exchanged the coin for a copy of the tabloid. He glanced at the printed words, which told of a gruesome murder ending in the punishment of the perpetrator. Judge Sir Simon Hester, the presiding justice, was alluded to as the ‘hanging judge’.

A nearby church clock tolled the morning hour of eleven. Dr. Briggs heard the pealing of the bells and with a quick glance to his pocket watch, hurried his pace, “musn’t be late for my appointment with Sir Hester. I wonder what is on his mind?”

Within a few minutes he reached an aged but imposing two-storied edifice with stones of granite constructed in a well-proportioned architectural form. A quick pace up the few steps led to the entrance. Within the cloakroom an attendant saw to his homburg and heavy fur-lined overcoat.

"Sir Simon Hester - I have an appointment with his honor," instructed the astute gentlemen. He placed his card on the silver plate proferred by the hall porter of the Beacon Club, a well-known club for gentlemen in the city of London; an establishment where the high and mighty enjoyed its quietness and comfort.

The hall porter glanced at card printed with the name Dr. Jolyson G. Briggs, LL.D, attorney at law. He eyes searched the tall upright guest dressed in dark grey serge with the correct tie and well-polished black shoes. The concierge took note of the gentleman’s groomed greying hair set on his bespectacled florid face, which was aged pleasantly. He blended well with the members of the exclusive establishment. Then he replied to the request, "this way sir!"

Dr. Jolyson G. Briggs followed the concierge through the carpeted vestibule to the clubroom; as they stepped, the man of law took note of the trophies in a glass case, hanging framed photos of past members, and testimonials to the achievments of the club and of its participators.

The hall porter, with a flair of pomposity, opened the portal to the clubroom. Then he directed the attorney-at-law to a far corner of the spacious, well furnished and properly decorated room; it was well populated with gentlemen in the dignity of their class, albeit one or two was asleep in the comfort of their armchairs, covered by a crumpled newspaper. The concierge glanced at the portly elder seated in a comfortable leather armchair. He solemnly addressed the club member, "Ahem, ahem! Sir Hester, beg your pardon, this gentleman a Dr.Jolyson G. Briggs has related that he has an appointment with you."

The elder jurist turned and faced the commisionaire, "thank you Masters. That will be all!"

"Very good, sir"

Judge Simon Hester jumped to feet, without a bit of hesitation and extended a pudgy hand to his guest, "Dr. Briggs it is good of you come! Please make yourself comfortable."

The magistrate proffered another comfortable leather armchair, which the good man at law, with good graces, set himself comfortably. Judge Hester then allowed his middling rotund body to return to the comfort of his own armchair. Without a thought he smoothed the few white hairs on his balding scalp, and rubbed his creased lined flabby features.

"What will you have to drink?"

"Scotch and water, no ice!" the solicitor gratefully replied.

A signal was given and the steward was called, "One scotch and soda, no ice and my regular!"

"Very good sir," he answered with a bow and a scrape. Within a moment or so the steward returned with the refreshment, which he placed with coasters at the appropriate positions on a small centered coffee table.

"Here's to your health!" offered the magistrate as he lifted up his glass; his guest returned the salutary gesture.

The two sipped their drinks quietly. Then the honorable Sir Simon Hester blurted out, "Did you see the tabloids? That chap really deserved the rope for his dastardly deed. I was the presiding judge at the judical proceedings and instead of getting praise for my good judgement I was called by a group of do-gooders against capital punishment the 'hanging judge'. pffft, nonsense, balderdash - 'hanging judge' - bahhh. Damn and damnation to these underserving words as it comes near to day of my retirement! That what was on my mind and I needed an understanding chap to listen to my words. That is the reason why I asked you to my club at such a busy time, to hear the true events."

Dr. Briggs simply leaned back in his comfort and nodded to the words.

"The perfect crime was what this chappie called his act of murder, perfect crime until he was shown the photos. Then he changed his plea to guilty to this despicable deed; he confessed to the truth and detailed the events."

The good judge hacked to clear his throat, "Let me start from the very beginning.

"James Hackett, the plaintiff… Yes, that was his name. A well built rather handsome youth in his late twenties with a good future ahead of him. Good future was the word; promoted to a top position in a well-known brokerage firm with a further chance to be managerial head of the company upon the retirement of its present chairman. Together with a promising employment his personal life was equally favourable; a lovely and brilliant lass from a respectable family accepted his proposal of marriage with a fine dowry to boot.

"But there was one fly in the ointment; that was a Mr. Frederick Colson, who stood a better chance of the top appointment due to his senority in the firm and, above all, family connections. Freddie, to those who knew him, was the typical personification of obnoxiousness, which was overlooked as he being the son-in-law of the aging chairman.

"More or less an advantaged person that depended more on correct connections than abilility," interjected Dr. Briggs.

"You're absolutely correct. Let me describe this Mr. Frederick Colson. He was a character in the middle thirties of middling built with a slight paunch to his form. His triangular features topped with a balding patch were seen with weak tearful eyes, a pointed chin and above all large buckteeth. He was always seen bent slightly, which co-workers attributed to his kowtowing to his father-in-law.

"To the ambitious James Hackett, this Freddie was more than a hinderance; he was a gall in his throat as this spineless chap stood a better chance in life, all because he married the spinsterish daughter of the chairman and founder of the brokerage firm. With a bitter laugh he knew that somehow Freddie was the father of a bookish and shy daughter, similar to the plain features and simple character of his woman who directed his future. He didn’t think it was possible for such a dolt to father any children.

"To James Hackett, Freddie was a stumbling block in his ambitious race to the top. Almost everytime James was in contact with his adversary he fantasized that his hands were around his scrawny throat, choking the life out of him. But, was it only fantasy?

"James Hackett came from simple surroundings; his father was a accounting clerk in a governmental office, while his mother was a cheerful housewife tending to the needs of her husband and two children. James, the elder of the two, was given the priveledge of attending a good university, while his sister found a good man, married and started to raise a family.

"James Hackett study of economics earned him a B.A. Economics' but being a top student earned a a scholarship that enabled to study for his Master's Degree. The M.A. degree, in turn, enabled him to find a good paying position with this brokerage firm. There was nothing that stood in was “towards advancement to the higher position, except for this cursed (in his words) Freddie.

"The youth, in plain English, was a typical Horatio Alger character, trying to go from the proverbial 'rags to riches'. Pity his ambition was overwhelming,’ interjected the worthy barrister.

"I thoroughly agree with you. To continue…. James's hate for his adversary grew everytime he had to bear out the words of instruction to a sale of new stock or bonds from that horsey mouth. And that neighing laugh that followed after a silly remark grated him. He had to endure this misery as this Freddie transmitted all instructions from the board to the firm’s brokers.

“Hate for Freddy increased to the point where James searched out his flaws and brought it to the attention of the officers of the firm. Still the hate stuck in his craw and the thought about placing the hands around the throat increased in tempo.

"The proverbial 'straw that broke the camel's back' came with the notice of chairman and founder of this brokerage firm that he will be 'stepping down' and that within period of three weeks a successor will be named upon the decision of the board. James Hackett, as well as the other employees, knew, without doubt, the name of the lucky fellow that will be appointed as successor - horse faced Freddie.

"The news was quite upsetting to the mind of James Hackett. As he sat in his well-appointed office his eyes did not see its comfortable furnishing or the view it offered from a large curtained window. He saw nothing except the sight of Freddie seated in a spacious office of deep walnut and a touch of marble. Murder was on James' mind and he plotted and schemed on the proper way to rid him of his adversary. Poison, a bullet or two or a push through a window in an upper floor were the methods that rumbled through his mind.

"Reason returned to his mind and he realized that only a perfect crime of murder will be the answer. One that its tracks will not lead to him and destroy his endeavors to the future. But how was he to carry out the deed?"

"The perfect crime, the perfect crime - how many times in the past had I encountered these words from from the lips of persons accused of foul murder. Sorry for interrupting," added Dr Briggs as he took a sip of his scotch and soda.

"Perfectly all right my dear fellow. Let me me see where was I? Ahh yes! The first step was carefully thought out. James would keep civility in relations with all and not allow the thought of murder to interfere with his daily routine. It was quite easy to perform as working in a brokerage house was full of tension and every nervous remark or reaction would be excused.

"James Hackett knew of the residence of his competitor: Many a time Freddy would brag of his Tudor-style home in a residential area of the deserving few with the imposing name of Foster Estate. This exclusive area was astride a nature reserve with the name of John Elliot Foster Nature Reserve or shortened by the common folk, The Parkland. Freddy admitted that always at six in the early evening before dinner, he would take a walk through the path in the meadows near the forest. "Invigorating air in such delightful surroundings, he bragged, "pity my wife is not of the same opinion and enjoyment."

"James Hackett had remembered the boasting, which gave hime an insight to where he will carry out the so-called perfect crime. For a few pleasant evenings weatherwise around six he had from a descreet distance watched as Freddie, dressed in a checked jacket, flannel trousers and comfortable walking shoes, departed from his home and walked the meadowlands. The chappie noted during his watch that the treks were of a short duration of an hour or so.

“The hour of the watch was long and tedious, but he held to the position steadfastly till he was assured of the timing. Still there was time afterwards to meet his lovely fiancee at the appointed hour or to an engagement with friends.

"The answer to the murder weapon came to him the following week. James, on business for his firm parked his vehicle next to a bar and grill in a small town where he planned to stop for a refreshing glass of beer. As he alighted he had to avoid a snarling threatening large dog of mixed breed. He was saved from discomfort by the burly barkeep that, upon hearing the commotion, rushed out with a swinging broom. "Sorry sir for the trouble. That dog is such a nuisance," he apologized.

"James Hackett learned all about the dog from the lips of the landlord, whose craggy face scowled at the animal's presence. James learned that the ferocious dog, a greying German Shepherd, belongs to a hermit-type chap living in a run-down caravan on the border of the Parkland. "Mean little chap, the owner, comes in t' me bar a'every day before six in the evening and milks a glass of suds, and rarely two, to about eight. Real loner, he is, never mixing with the crowd!"

"James was delighted with the words of the barkeep, which detailed the miserable life of the canine. He heard that when its owner left on an errand or to the pub, the dog was leashed to a long rusty chain, "It can be snapped as the broken links are held with pieces of thin fencing wire. The dog with its ferocity, is a good watchdog, but a killer when it was given command. The beastie is an old army dog, which passed from owner to owner, but the animal never forgot its training. Fortunately the present owner is unaware or doesn’t care about the dog's past, as long as it barked to approaching stangers."

"The barman showed James a trick to keep the dog quiet and ready for command, "Jest hold out a large stick and point it straight will quiet it. The stick pointed downwards will see the animal settling down. I was taught this trick from me brother-in-law who had worked sometime in the police kennels. That's all I can remember! But, all and all, the animal is a bloody nuisance. The police have cited the owner, but as long as the dog is chained and hadn't done any physical harm, the animal stays put. Bet if them upper crusts at the Foster Estate would call up a complaint, the doggie would be goners."

"The barman apologized for being so talkative, "and you being a stranger and all that and I am spieling about something unknown to you.” Somehow through his speechification James learned the whereabouts of the caravan and the its distance from the Foster Estate. A wicked smiled grimmaced on his face as as had found the tool to his perfect crime.

"James Hackett spent the following two evenings checking the tale of the bartender. From the dark of the interior of his vehicle he watched the hermit cycling to the tavern before the hour of six.

"After a few minutes he switched on the motor; the drive to caravan was less than five minutes. True to the words of the landlord the barking dog was stilled by the pointed stick held straight in his hand, and with the stick pointing downwards saw a docile dog. A few chunks of fresh meat and gristly bone saw to the friendship of the canine."

"It is amazing how this James Hackett was able to learn so quickly in handling this dog. It was equally amazing how this creature took to the commands. Really amazing," commented Dr. Briggs.

"You're correct as I couldn't understand this relationship during the trial. Let me continue. A week to the period when the board would come to its decision found James Hackett excused from his duties on the pretense of illness; his fiancee was told of the illness being very contagious and that her visit was not of the best nature, which she agreed.

"The weather had been promising that evening with clear skies in an invigorating atmosphere of fresh clear air. James Hackett was not abed but hidden near the house trailer watching the red light of the bicycle heading down the path. Quarter to six was the time registered on his watch. With the commanding stick in his hand and a packet of fresh meat he approached the animal that quickly responded to his commands.

It did not take long for James to loosen the wire and realease the Alsatian from his chained bond. With the sight of the commanding stick in hand and the command of 'heel', the dog walked side by side with the hurrying youth. After a quick short trot to Freddie's path for his constitutional was sighted. James with the Alsatian by his side, hid behind a nearby thick bush. The command 'down' was called and the dog was ready for the command of attack. Tension was in the air during the few moments of the vigil.

"True to his custom Frederick Colson was 'tra-la-laing' down the path with the swing of a walking stick without a care in the world; Mr Hacket stated grimly that he was whistling a merry tune as he traipsed along.

“‘Attack' was the command and a docile dog turned into a vicious killer as it jumped on Freddy's body; it's fangs tearing and ripping his neck. James Hacket, in the meantime, ran quickly to where he parked his vehicle, never looking back or listening to the blood-curdling screams.

"Events moved quickly. The medical examiner at the tribunal ruled that the death of Mr. Frederick Colson was caused by the ferocious attack of an Alsatian type dog; the date and time of death was properly recorded. The autopsy report was presented, which stated that the victim suffered severe lacerations to the throat and the severing of the artery in the neck; death was not instantaneous. The following witness, a park ranger, testified that he had heard the commotion from a near distance and rushed to the scene but it was too late; he told how he had to fight off the dog that was ravaging the body. He continued by stating that he was unable to attend properly to Frederick Colson’s wounds due to the severe injuries. The local veterinarian stated to the fact that the animal was free of rabies; that the park ranger did not require preventive injections. A police spokesman added that the constabulary was notified and all the required action taken; that the animal was tracked and put to sleep by lethal injection; its owner is now in police custody awaiting trial."

"God, what a terrifying story!"

"I would say more than terrifying. I would add that the crime was malicious and extremely vicious in its planning."

"To continue! Frederick Colson's funeral services were held in dignity at the graveyard of the church catering to residents of Foster Estate. Tears were shed by the kinfolk and the many mourners offered their condolences to the bereaved widow and the next of kin. James Hackett and his fiancee were amoung the mourners and they offered their sympathy in a proper manner.

"James Hackett didn't enjoy his position as chairman of the board of the brokerage firm. His residence in the room of dark walnut and a touch of marble was short-lived due the attention of an alert Afro-American in the uniform of his country, serving at a nearby American air force base. His words were direct to his superior officer. "Sir, take a look at these satellite photos taken in a test shooting with the new electronic scope optics. Enlarged the photos for a better view. Take a good look at that man and the dog. Examine the sequence..."

Judge Simon Hester sat back in the comfort of the soft leather and sighed, "A perfect crime! Really! Ohh I see your glass is empty. Another refill before we retire for lunch?"