The Oxford Murders Page #2

I wasn't suggesting anything.

Do you really expect me to believe|you chose this house by chance?

No, not by chance, no.

Nothing happens by chance.

I wanted to meet|your mother, that's true,

but I never planned to use her.

There's no need to apologize.

I like people who|go for what they want.

I wish I was more like you.

You're not missing much,|I assure you.

Oh, really?

You come here from another country,|all on your own,

and no sooner do you get here|than you make friends with a girl.

With two, I hope.|At least that's what I thought

- until a moment ago.|- It's not just that.

You're happy,

you only have to look at|your face to see that.

I try to be.

How do you do it?

It's easy.

It's a case of going|with the flow.

And what if it goes badly?

I'd rather make mistakes|than do nothing.

I'd rather mess up|than miss out completely.

It works for me.

You should try it.

Just a minute!

I thought you might|find this interesting.

Seldom is giving a lecture|on his latest book

at Merton College on the 24th!

There's your big chance!

There is no way|of finding a single

absolute truth, an irrefutable|argument that might help to answer

the questions of mankind.

Philosophy,|therefore, is dead.

Because "Whereof we cannot speak,

thereof we must be silent."

Oh, it seems that|someone does wish to speak.

It appears you are not|in agreement with Wittgenstein.

That means either you have found|a contradiction in the arguments

of the Tractatus, or you have an|absolute truth to share with us all.

I believe in the number Pi.

I'm sorry,|I didn't understand you.

What was it|you said you believed in?

In the number Pi, in the Golden|Section, the Fibonacci Series.

The essence of nature|is mathematical.

There is a hidden meaning|beneath reality.

Things are organized following|a model, a scheme, a logical series.

Even the tiny snowflake

includes a numerical basis|in its structure. Therefore,

if we manage to discover|the secret meaning of numbers,

we will know|the secret meaning of reality.

Impressive!

Translating his words into

the Queen's English,

we find ourselves|faced with a fresh,

rousing defence of mathematics,|as if numbers

were pre-existing ideas in reality.

Anyway, this is nothing new.

Since man is incapable|of reconciling mind and matter,

he tends to confer|some sort of entity on ideas,

because he cannot bear the notion|that the purely abstract

only exists in our brain.

The beauty and harmony|of a snowflake.

How sweet!

The butterfly

that flutters its wings

and causes a hurricane|on the other side of the world.

We've been hearing about|that damn butterfly for decades,

but who has been able|to predict a single hurricane?

Nobody!

Tell me something...

Where is the beauty|and harmony in cancer?

What makes a cell

suddenly decide to turn itself|into a killer metastasis

and destroy the rest of|the cells in a healthy body?

Does anyone know?

No.

Because we'd rather think|of snowflakes

and butterflies than of pain,

war

or that book.

Why?

Because we need to think|that life has meaning,

that everything|is governed by logic

and not by mere chance.

If I write 2 then 4 then 6,|then we feel good, because we know

that next comes 8.

We can foresee it,

we are not in the hands

of destiny.

Unfortunately, however,

this has nothing to do with truth.

Don't you agree?

This...

is only fear.

Sad...

but there you go.

You must

be Martin.

At last we meet.

But, I don't get it,|are you leaving?

Yes, I'm leaving. It was a mistake.|It was all a big mistake.

Things have not turned out|as you expected, I guess.

No, they haven't.|You bet they haven't.

I hope the hastiness|of your decision

has nothing to do with

Professor Seldom.

News travels fast in Oxford.

We are a little village of gossips.

Anyway, I think you are wrong|about the great sage.

He was the best in his day, but...

now he just wants to sell books.|Like those a**holes.

A real Seldom fan, eh?

I have a framed photo|of him in my room.

So he refused you too?

I would rather jump out of|a window than ask him for help.

I want nothing to do|with him or his books.

I prefer the Reader's Digest.

Taxi!

Hello.

Ah, we've got|the book you wanted!

There.

F***ing hell!

What are you doing here?

I live here.|What's your excuse?

I came to visit an old friend.

I'm sorry about before.

No, don't apologize.|I talked a lot of rubbish.

I tend to overact|when I have an audience.

The truth is I just wanted|to attract your attention.

You succeeded.

September the 24th,

Investigating the murder|of Mrs. Julia Eagleton.

According to this report,|you and Professor Arthur Seldom

discovered the body...|at the same time.

Yes, we entered|the room together.

Are you one of|Professor Seldom's students?

No.

- Do you work for him?|- No.

Can you explain|why you were there together?

No.

To tell you the truth, I can't.

I was also surprised|to see him there.

So it was pure coincidence?

Everything seems to point|to that being the case.

And was this the first time|you'd seen Professor Seldom?

Not exactly. I was at|a conference he gave this morning.

I asked him a few questions.

What sort of questions?

Mathematical ones.

It's not by chance that I went

to Mrs. Eagleton's house|this afternoon.

I went there because|the murderer told me to.

The murderer warned you?

Yes, I received a note|during the conference.

What did it say?

Just one sentence:

"The first of the series,"

written in capital letters.|Underneath,

Mrs. Eagleton's address

and the time.

Can we see it?

No.

Why?

I threw it away.

You threw away|a vital piece of evidence?

Yes, well, let me explain.

After the conference,

I signed a number of copies.|When I'd finished, I set off home.

And that is when I realized|that the address on the note

was familiar

but honestly, I...

it just never occurred to me that|anything like this could happen.

Of course, when I got there,|it was too late.

We should call the police.

You're right.

Call them.

Hello,

I'm calling to report a death.

It's an old woman.

Thank you.

What do you think happened?

I don't know.

We should wait outside.|We'd better not touch anything.

I shouldn't have|even used this phone.

Try to etch on your memory|everything you can see.

This moment is crucial.

She was playing Scrabble|when it happened.

Was she playing on her own?

Yes, she has both|the letter racks on her side.

You don't think she's been killed?

I can't see any other alternative.

Whoever did this obviously|intended to smother her

with the cushion|while she was sleeping.

She wakes up, puts up a struggle,

he presses down harder,|using both hands perhaps,

breaks her nose, hence the blood.

Or it could have been a woman,

using her knee|to add extra pressure.

When the killer removes|the cushion, sees the blood,

he drops it on the carpet|and doesn't even bother

to put anything back in its place.

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