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Glass Houses(13)

By:Jane Haddam


“All right,” Gregor said. “Is that all they told you? That you killed them? Or did they tell you other things, things about the killings. Did they tell you about the cord.”

“The tall one put his face right up into mine and said, ‘You took that cord and wrapped it around her neck and pulled and pulled until she wasn’t moving anymore.’ That’s what he said. I think you’d better talk to him about it. He should be arrested, don’t you think? He was a police officer and he was right there and he didn’t stop me doing it, so he’s the one who really killed her. That was in my philosophy book.”

“Your philosophy book?”

“In college,” Henry said. “It was a long time ago. Elizabeth and Margaret made me go to college, but I didn’t stay. I just got drunk there. Do you think I could go now? I don’t like being in buildings unless it’s really cold, and it’s not cold now. It was cold a few weeks ago. I remember. I had to go to a shelter, and then for a while I had to go back to stay with Margaret and Elizabeth. Margaret yells at me.”

Gregor looked at Russ. “Well,” he said.

“You see what I mean,” Russ said.

“Yes.” Gregor looked around. “Do you think we could leave him here for a moment or two? Do we have to call an officer? I want a word.”

“Just a minute.”

Russ left and came back moments later with a woman officer who was a little less overwrought than her male colleagues. She did not bring handcuffs, and she did not seem worried about staying in a room with Henry Tyder. That spoke volumes about the possibility that Henry was actually the Plate Glass Killer, or about this woman’s ability to handle hand-to-hand combat.

Russ thanked her for her time and stepped into the hall with Gregor following. They closed the door behind them and looked up and down the empty corridor to make sure that it was clear.

“See,” Russ said. “I mean seriously. Is this a case of false confession or what?”

“I’d say it’s ninety-nine-to-one that it’s a case of false confession,” Gregor said.

“I think John Jackman knows it, too,” Russ said. “He’s been around here all morning, sniffing. That’s because of the cardinal; he’s on the warpath. Catholic social teaching and all that. The preferential option for the poor.”

“Henry Tyder isn’t poor,” Gregor pointed out.

“He might as well be,” Russ said. “I can’t figure out what it is they think they’re doing. I was sure that as soon as they realized Henry had connections, they’d drop this crap. Because it is crap. And coincidence. They can’t possibly think he really is a serial killer. Do you?”

“No,” Gregor said. “Or at least, I doubt it. He doesn’t fit the profile that I can tell. And there’s too much—I don’t know what to call it—affect. But it’s not just that they picked him up next to the latest victim, right? There was some other connection.”

“One of the earlier victims was a woman named Conchita Estevez,” Russ said. “She lived in the house with Henry’s sisters as a live-in maid.”

“And was he found next to that body, too?”

“No,” Russ said. “He wasn’t found anywhere near it. It was in a service alley behind the house. But he’d been in the house the whole week before she died, so they picked him up.”

“And?”

“And they let him go,” Russ said. “They had to. It was obviously a Plate Glass Killing. The elements were all there. He barely knew the woman. He wasn’t living at home much and never has. So they let him go.”

“And then today he was found next to the body,” Gregor said.

“No, that’s media shortcut,” Russ said. “He was found on the street near the entry to the alleyway with blood all over him. Some woman saw him and started screaming, and then somebody called the police. I don’t doubt he was next to the body though, and that he got the blood all over him because he touched it; but I still don’t think he killed her, and I don’t think they think so either. They’re just jumping on an easy out.”

“Maybe it won’t be so easy an out,” Gregor said. “If he’s not the Plate Glass Killer, chances are there will be another Plate Glass Killing while he’s in custody. And that will take care of that.”

“But maybe not,” Russ said. “Serial killers go dormant, don’t they? Or they disappear for a while?”

“Yes, they do,” Gregor said.

“So we can’t count on that,” Russ said. “Then there’s the problem with the detectives, so that I can’t get the two of them into a room to talk to me. I see them separately, but never together; and when I ask what the hell they think they’re doing, I get a runaround. Do you know them? Marty Gayle and Cord Leehan?”