The Bespectacled Killer

“It was the one with the glasses.” Henry pointed an accusing finger at the television screen, leaning forward on the couch as Detective Morton, the fictional lead character in the movie, Maple Town Manor, could hear him. But of course, Detective Morton could not hear him because Detective Morton was a character on TV. And Henry? Henry was a man in his mid 40’s  who had spent the majority of two hours yelling at the TV screen like it was a two-way radio. 

“Oh come on Morton,” Henry groaned as the TV detective paced the big living room where all the suspects were gathered. “It’s so obvious. The butler’s too convenient. You should know he didn’t do it. The widow is too dramatic. She didn’t really have anything to gain from killing her husband. There was no insurance policy she could cash in on.  The nephew on the other hand is greedy but he is not the killer either and he is not that bright. He couldn’t spell cat if you gave him the “c” and the “t”. It’s the one with the glasses. Can’t you see that he keeps adjusting his glasses. He’s guilty. I know he’s the one.” 

Morton, oblivious to Henry’s wisdom, because after all, he can’t hear him through the TV screen, turned to the window. 

“Oh you idiot.” Henry screamed, throwing half a handful of popcorn  at the screen. “It’s not the widow. She talks too much and if she did it she would have told her best friend, Betsy. She has a big mouth that can’t hold water. The killer usually stays quiet like a church mouse. They linger in the background, adjusting their glasses every ten seconds. He has something to hide.” 

On the screen the nephew protested his innocence. The butler looked vaguely guilty. The widow started crying and blotting her eyes with a tissue. And the man with the glasses? He calmly wiped his sweaty hands on his perfectly tailored slacks. 

“There! There!.” Henry almost knocked over his can of soda sitting on the coffee table beside him. “Why would he be sweating, huh? The guy is an accountant. He spends his days looking at numbers.” 

Morton narrowed his eyes at the butler. “You have access to the knives in the house.” 

“Come on!” Henry waved his hands at the TV. “The kitchen is open to everyone in the whole house. What next? Are you going to accuse the chef because he cut up the tomatoes for the salad last night? Maybe blame the dog because she was sleeping in the kitchen across from the knives.” 

His cat, Mr. Pickles startled him as he jumped onto the arm of the couch Henry was sitting on. Henry sighed and patted Mr. Pickles on the head.

“Buddy, you scared me.” Henry laughed.

Morton was now interrogating the butler about his whereabouts the night of the murder. The butler had a solid alibi, which Henry could have told him five scenes ago. But, not the detective had to figure things out the hard way. 

“Oh I can’t even….” Henry mumbled and then he immediately leaned forward and continued watching. The widow cried dramatically again, wiping away her tears with her tissue. The nephews demanded justice. The butler watched them all and rolled his eyes. And the man with the glasses? He was standing in the background, his hand gripping the cuff of his shirt. Henry slapped his knee.

“That’s it! Morton looked at his sleeve. He is hiding something. Maybe it’s a blood stain, ink stain from the note? I don’t know what it is but he’s hiding something. He’s the one.” 

But Morton did he listen? No, of course not. What did he do instead? He called in an expert to analyze the handwriting on the note that was left on the floor beside the body. 

Henry sighed. “Here we go. Another ten minutes wasted when I already told you who did it. But, sure, let's waste time analyzing some dumb handwriting instead of looking at the accountant who is standing there nervously fiddling with his clothes. Good job.” 

Henry threw a few pieces of popcorn in his mouth and slowly chewed Mr. Pickles now was sitting on Henry’s lap unimpressed with Henry's antics. 

Finally Morton turned to the man in the glasses. Henry sat up straight. “Oh are we finally getting somewhere?” The detective crossed his arms. “Mr. Kensington, you are awfully quiet.”

Henry shouted, “Yes, yes of course he is. That’s the whole point. He is not going to confess yet.” 

Kensington, the bespectacled suspect, adjusted his glasses. “I’m just in shock, Detective.” 

Henry pointed to the screen. “Liar!” 

Morton nodded. “And yet you were the last person to see Mr. Thronwell alive. Weren’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Henry mumbled. “And he also found the body. Duh? He knows what happened And he happens to be in charge of the finances for the company. What a coincidence!” 

Kensington stammered, “Well, well, yes but I only went to check on him because I heard a noise.” 

Morton narrowed his eyes. “Funny because the housekeeper who was in the bedroom next door said she didn’t hear a thing until you came running in telling her to call an ambulance.” 

Henry smiled. “Oh Morton you beautiful slow murder solving detective. You are a genius. You finally got there.” 

Kensington swallowed hard. 

Henry held his breath. “Ah-ah he called it.” Henry cheered.

Mr. Pickles jumped from the couch as Henry pumped both fists in the air. “And that gentleman is how to solve a murder.” 

Morton stood up. “It’s over. Might as well confess.” 

Kensington signed. “Fine I did it. I did it because my so-called boss was a jerk. He belittled me every time he saw me. He told me I was incompetent and only got the job because of his wife whom I was having an affair with. I was stealing money so that I could leave the country and never look back. I hated him. I told him that if he didn’t pay me off I would tell the press that he was stealing from the company. He laughed at me. He laughed in my face. So, I snapped. I killed him.” 

Henry leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smile. “See Morton you got there eventually. Next time you should listen to me.” 

Henry turned off the TV and stretched and yawned. Than he looked at Mr. Pickles. “You know buddy, I totally could have been a cop.” 

Mr. Pickles flicked his ear slightly, giving him something to validate his statement. 

Henry ginned. “Think about it. I already knew who the killer was before Morton. I think I missed my calling.” Henry laughed. 

Henry struck a dramatic cop pose, putting his hands on his hips and smiling at his imaginary suspect.

“It’s the one with the glasses.” Henry sighed. “Yeah I think I will stick to solving cases from the couch. He turned off the lights. At the end of the day he had been right. It was the one with the glasses.