“She was making a bang-up society debut,” Jackman said. “The Tyders are one of the oldest families in Philadelphia, a lot older than those people out on the Main Line. And they’re rich as hell. They’ve got three signers of the Declaration in the family, four delegates to the Constitutional Convention, and a list as long as your arm of war dead, from the Revolution to the Civil War on down. And when old Owen Tyder married his first wife—that would be Margaret and Elizabeth’s mother—he converted to Catholicism, and the Tyders have been Good Catholic Laypeople, in capitals, ever since. The cardinal is taking an interest. But even if the cardinal didn’t, I’d have to, because there’s something else you don’t know about Henry Tyder.”
“What’s that?”
“The Tyders are Green Point. Green Point Properties. The biggest landlord in the city. They have to own close to a quarter of all the residential rental space in Philadelphia, and the company is entirely privately held. No stock, no stock-holders, at least not until the end of the year, when they’ve got an IPO going out. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be the biggest IPO for any company based in this city ever; and the Tyders, all three of them, stand to pocket close to a billion dollars off the deal.”
“My God,” Gregor said. “But what was this Henry Tyder doing living on the street? Is he the one who didn’t get any money?”
“He’s got money, but they’ve fixed it so that he has limited access to it,” Jackman said. “In fact, he’s got no access to it at all except through them. I don’t think that little shenanigan would bear scrutiny; but the man’s a drunk, and my guess is that the family lawyers were more than happy to go along to make sure he didn’t go through everything he had, which was considerable, although not as much as the girls got. But that’s not why he was on the street. He was on the street because the sisters keep putting him in rehab, and he doesn’t want to go.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “One of those.”
“Exactly, ‘one of those.’ But you see what I mean,” Jackman said. “If we’re not careful, we’re going to get killed. And the last thing I want is for us to get killed and lose the chance of putting the Plate Glass Killer behind bars. I’d end up heading the police department in Petaluma, California.”
Gregor paused. “So you think it really is him,” he said. “Russ said on the phone that it was a case of false confession, but you don’t think so. You think he’s the Plate Glass Killer.”
“Maybe. I think he’s a killer, at any rate.”
“Is there any reason for this, John, or is it some kind of natural protective ness of the department?”
Jackman stood up. “Do you know how many of these guys I’ve seen over the years? Over the decades, really. I was a homicide detective. I was chief of police in at least three places. I’ve been an assistant district attorney. I wouldn’t want to convict anybody on my hunches, but this is more than a hunch. I don’t know if Henry Tyder is the Plate Glass Killer, but I do know that he’s killed at least one human being in his life—and not in a war. I can smell it. It might have been this woman, or the one we picked him up on before. It might have been somebody he knew in college or another bum on the street twenty years ago. But he’s killed someone, Gregor. You can bet on it.”
Gregor would not bet on it. He had seen other men in John Jackman’s mood, and he knew everything that was wrong with it. This was how cases went to hell and killers went undiscovered and innocent men landed in jail. This was the cop’s version of being struck down on the Damascus Road. It was all about zeal and passion and that rock-hard, deep-gut certainty that had everything to do with human weakness and nothing to do with reality.
“Maybe I’d better talk to Russ,” Gregor said. “He’s the one who called me. Or isn’t Russ in on this case anymore?”
“Oh, he’s in on it,” Jackman said. “Henry Tyder likes him, and he’s legally an adult and he hasn’t been declared incompetent, so he gets to pick his own lawyer. Whether the sisters will pay for it is another story, but Russ came down pro bono when we all thought Henry was just another street person, so I’m not sure that matters. I’ll send them in. I just wanted you to know—”
“What?”
“What the situation was,” Jackman said. “I’m no more interested than you are in throwing the wrong man in jail for the Plate Glass Killings. I’m more happy than you know to have you in on this and watching everybody’s backs. I just wanted you to understand how things are shaping up. The cardinal’s sending a guy to check up on us. He’ll be checking up on you, too.”