Glass Houses(12)

The two police officers went through a remarkable complicated ballet to get the handcuffs off Henry Tyder, but left the shackles on. Then they said “Excuse me” and left the room. Russ waited until they were well and surely gone before he went over and shut the door.

“Henry,” he said, “this is a friend of mine. His name is Gregor Demarkian. He’s—”

“I know who he is,” Henry said, and his voice sounded clear and lucid, “the Armenian-American Hercule Poirot.”

Russ cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

“I read the newspapers,” Henry said, his eyes suddenly going drifty and opaque. “I sleep under enough of them. He’s the one who did that murder where the radio guy died. The one who shouted.”

“‘Did’it?” Russ asked.

“Solved it, then,” Henry said, snapping back to reality. It was a snap, too, Gregor noticed. He could almost hear the sound of it in the air.

Russ pulled out a chair and sat down between Henry and the door. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Gregor is going to help us with this, I hope. He’s going to help us with your case.”

“I killed her,” Henry said. “The woman in the alley. And all the other women. I put cords around their throats and killed them, and then I took glass from broken windows and cut up their faces. There was a lot of blood.”

“Do you actually remember that?” Gregor asked. “Do you remember killing all of them?”

“I don’t remember anything much,” Henry said. “Not about anything, never mind about killing. I get drunk sometimes.”

“Were you drunk yesterday when the police found you with the woman who’d been murdered?”

“I was going to call Elizabeth,” Henry said, “and have her bring me home. I always call Elizabeth and not Margaret, because Elizabeth doesn’t yell so much. I wanted a turkey sandwich. She brings me turkey sandwiches sometimes.”

“Brings them to you where?”

“To the bridge. Where I sleep mostly. She doesn’t tell Margaret. Margaret would get people to come after me and lock me up. Elizabeth brings the sandwiches and orange juice, and she doesn’t tell Margaret.”

“Let’s try to go back to yesterday,” Gregor said. “Were you drunk yesterday when the police arrested you?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said.

“He wouldn’t take a breathalyzer,” Russ said, “but even when I got here, several hours after they picked him up, he was falling over whacked. And sick.”

“I barfed on a policeman,” Henry said. “That’s why I’m in jail. I barfed all over his uniform, so they locked me up.”

Across the table, Gregor saw Russ shake his head. He was inclined to agree with him. Henry Tyder was sitting at his place with his hands folded on the table, a blissful and open look on his face. Aside from the shaking, there was nothing about him that seemed mobile, never mind violent.

“I barfed all over Margaret once,” Henry said. “That was on the way to rehab. We were all sitting in the back of the car. I knew I was going to throw up, so I turned right around and threw up on her. People should throw up on Margaret. It’s good for her.”

“Last night,” Gregor said, “and today, just a couple of minutes ago, you said that the reason they locked you up was because you killed all those women. Strangled them with a cord.”

“I did,” Henry said. “I know I did. But that’s not why they locked me up. They locked me up because I barfed on a policeman. Or maybe because I killed the rabbit. In the park. I killed the rabbit to eat it, because I don’t like searching around in garbage cans. The food is spoiled. And people have had their mouths on it.”

“You caught a rabbit and killed it?”

“It was in a store. In a pet store. I broke the window. That’s why they put me in jail. I shouldn’t have broken the window.”

“He’s said this before,” Russ said. “I checked it out. If it was anytime recently, the store owner didn’t report it. My guess is that it wasn’t anytime recently, but Henry isn’t too sure of dates and times.”

“It was supposed to be a pet,” Henry said. “That made it just like a person. I killed a person and ate it. The rabbit.”

Russ sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Henry,” Gregor said, “how do you know you killed all those women with a cord?”

“They told me so,” Henry said happily. “They saw it.”

“They saw you kill them?”

“That’s right,” Henry said. “They were right there. They saw it. They told me all about it. I like it when people are there to see, don’t you? Then you don’t have to try to remember. I can’t remember anything anymore. I think I’m getting old.”