James Patterson - Confessions of a Murder Suspect

“We like the direction the case is going. Based on my conversations with your uncle, I think your parents might have had an inkling about which of you was out to get them,” said Caputo. “Not to mention that I hear from multiple sources that you’re the smartest kid in the family. I think that you thought you could get away with it. Why? Did you want their money?”

If I were a different person, I would have pointed out how absurd that last part was. What did I need money for? I was practically born in a bank vault. From day one, I had access to as much money as I could ever want.

Just not as much access to light, air, and freedom.

I ignored the impulse to berate him, because more than anything, I wanted to hear what Caputo knew. As Harry had pointed out, I didn’t have a crime lab at my disposal. Right now, Caputo was my best source of information. I would have to draw him out. This was my Q&A, not his.

I said, “Sergeant, what prompted this new search? You’ve already torn the penthouse apart.”

“We found a bottle in the trash room, Sassy. Inside that bottle was a trace of poison that matches the poison we found in a water glass we took from your parents’ bedroom.”

The cops had forensic evidence; that was news. I knew the glasses he was referring to—the handblown Venetian-glass tumblers Malcolm and Maud had kept beside their bed.

“So are you saying that someone made them drink the poison, then threw the bottle in the trash? That’s absurd.”

“Absurd? I call it stupid , but you’ve got a better education than I do.”

“You know what I mean,” I said. “Why would someone leave a bottle with poison in it where the police could find it?”

“Criminals make mistakes all the time,” Caputo said.

Samantha interrupted us. “Come on, Tandy.” She took my arm and led me to a chair. Then she said to the sergeant, “If you’re not arresting anyone, we’d like you to leave.”

“Yeah,” said Hugo. “ ‘We’re done here.’ Isn’t that what they say on all the police shows?”

“We’re done for now. But I’m telling you again,” Caputo warned, “don’t go anywhere.”

“If that’s what we’re being ordered to do, then I guess you’ll be giving us a note excusing us from school.”

“The noose is tightening,” Caputo said. “You feel a little short of air, Snazzy?”

The funny thing was, I still did.

26

Okay, so how am I doing so far? I’m trying so hard to tell the story as objectively as I can, but it’s not easy. I know I keep getting a little bit off track and letting my emotions about this—about them —get in the way, but I’ll try to stick to the facts. That’s what Malcolm and Maud would want me to do.

I got up early the next morning, ready to begin my own investigation in earnest. I was going to beat Caputo at this. He was barking up the wrong tree—no Angel kid would try to kill Malcolm and Maud. No way.

I stopped in the living room and fed canned clams to Hugo’s sharks, then had a breakfast of cold leftover spaghetti and root beer. After I ate, I took the back stairs down one flight to Mrs. Hauser’s apartment, which is right under ours.

Dakota residents are a very private clan. We don’t want anyone to know our business, and if you don’t believe me, google the Dakota and read about us for yourself. We don’t talk to strangers, and we’re certainly not keen on talking to the police. But as a resident, I have special access to my neighbors.

I’m also capable of behaving sweetly when I need to.

Mrs. Hauser’s doorbell was made from a gold Sovereign dating back to the reign of King Edward IV. I pressed it. Chimes rang, and then I heard faint and irregular footsteps tapping on a parquet floor, coming toward the door.

When the door opened, our little bent-over downstairs neighbor, Sigrid Hauser, was standing there in a gauzy lavender-hued peignoir.

Her face crumpled when she saw me.

“Tandy, dear Tandy. Come in, come in.”

Even though I really don’t like to be touched, I let Mrs. Hauser hug me. It was surprisingly calming. Then I followed behind her at a very creaky pace until we were in her parlor, the décor of which was even older and mustier than she was.

“Mrs. Hauser, if you don’t mind,” I said, sinking into the ancient brown-velvet sofa. A stuffed springbok with horns and glassy amber eyes stared at me from over the fireplace, and for a moment I forgot what I was going to say.

“Anything you need, Tandy, just ask. Do you have enough money to get by?”

“That’s all taken care of, Mrs. Hauser. Thank you. I just wanted to ask you if you know why or how someone could have gotten into our apartment? The doors were all locked that night.”

Mrs. Hauser is a widow, and although she seems to be a frail old lady, I know she’s shrewd; she’s a very smart—though old and crumbly—cookie.

“Those policemen asked me the same thing, Tandy, and I cannot imagine how anyone could have entered your apartment without a key. I’m stumped on that one.”

I nodded. “So am I, Mrs. Hauser.”

“But there was something that I didn’t tell the police, because it is none of their business,” Mrs. Hauser said. She paused, slightly uncomfortable. “Can I get you anything? Would you like some herbal tea?”

“What didn’t you tell the police?” I pressed, even though I completely understood why she wouldn’t want to tell them something. I thought of my occasional impulse to leave out facts, like the ambassador’s visit.

“Your momma and poppa were having an argument,” Mrs. Hauser told me. “I was in the elevator with them, and they were very tight-lipped because I was there. But when I got out on this floor, they started shouting, and I could hear them right through the doors.”

This was interesting. “What was the fight about?”

“Your father was saying that he was rearranging the finances and that was that. Your mother called him a name.”

“Is that a quote, Mrs. Hauser? Exactly what he said?”

“Precisely.”

“And Maud called him a name?”

“I’m afraid she did.”

“What was the name she called him?”

“Oh, Tandy. I don’t want you to think ill of your parents. I probably should have kept my foolish mouth shut.”

“I’ve never thought of you as foolish,” I said. “You’re one of the wisest people I know.”

Mrs. Hauser is neither the smartest nor the most foolish person I know, but I would have told her she was smarter than Marie Curie if it meant she would tell me what my mother had said.

“I’m sure they apologized to each other before they died. They must have.”

“I’m sure they did, Mrs. Hauser,” I said. “They were very forgiving. Please just tell me what my mother said.”

“Maud called Malcolm a boob , Tandy. That’s exactly what she said.”

27

“ No, please, Mrs. Hauser. I can find my way out. This has been really helpful. Thank you.”

I left Mrs. Hauser sitting in her silky purple cloud under the springbok so that she didn’t have to battle her arthritis just to walk me to the door.

But her words accompanied me, and although I didn’t doubt her, it was hard to picture my parents fighting in public. And even harder to imagine my mother calling Malcolm a boob .