James Patterson - Confessions of a Murder Suspect

My twin came through the door and I handed him the disc. He switched on the TV’s DVD player and pushed the disk into the tray. The video started playing.

This couldn’t be true—but it was.

We were looking at Malcolm and Maud in their bedroom on the last night of their lives. My mouth went dry, my scalp tightened, and my hands started to shake.

Oh my God, oh my God.

“Turn it off . Harry, turn it off .”

He did and we stood there, blinking at each other, shocked to the core. I tried to quiet my panicked mind, but it was flailing like an animal caught in a trap.

Harry was wheezing. He said, “We have to see it through.”

I nodded, and Harry pushed play again.

We watched the video to the end, and during those ten minutes of hell , we witnessed things we shouldn’t have seen and would never forget.

All sensation left my body.

When the video ended, I reached for Crosby’s phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Sergeant Caputo, this is Tandy Angel. You have to come to unit sixty-four in the Dakota right now. The mystery has been solved.”

82

“So you broke into Crosby’s apartment,” Caputo said. “And you want us to what? Watch a movie?”

Caputo’s expression was sour, but I didn’t care. My insides were liquid. I could barely stand or order my thoughts.

I had just watched my parents die .

I picked up the three-hole-punched sheaf of paper with the cover sheet that read “Filthy Rich” and shoved it at Caputo.

“Crosby outlined all the scenes,” I said.

My voice broke. I swallowed hard, then pushed on.

“These DVDs are copies of illegal wireless transmissions from our apartment to this apartment. Sergeant, Nate Crosby knew the whole story. He knew what happened to my parents because he filmed it.”

“So you say,” said Caputo.

Harry took a puff from his inhaler. Then he cued up the DVD. I didn’t think I could bear to see it again, but I had no choice.

Harry pushed play, and the video began to roll.

The camera had been mounted above the fireplace, looking toward the bed. My mother was wearing ice-blue satin pajamas. My father wore his favorite striped cotton pj’s, with the Angel Pharma logo over the breast pocket.

My mother coughed into a tissue, then dropped it into a trash can beside the bed. Her voice sounded strained when she turned to my father and said, “I’m sorry, Malcolm. I don’t think I can put it off any longer.”

“Maud. What are you saying?”

He put his book down, then took off his reading glasses and placed them on the night table along with the book. He looked into my mother’s eyes. “We haven’t even decided to go through with it. Do you really think you’re ready? Something could change.”

Maud said, “I wish.… But there’s no getting around it, Malcolm. The pain has become unbearable. I could hardly get through dinner tonight. Everything is coming down. And I won’t survive it. You know that. This is the right time.” There were tears on her cheeks, and in her voice, too.

With the exception of my one fractured memory of hearing my mother’s voice breaking in her study, I’d never known her to cry, and I’d certainly never witnessed it. I’d thought she was invincible. I wiped away my own tears with the back of my hand. More tears immediately replaced them.

My father said, “I’m not sure. I should feel sure. I must feel sure.”

“You’re an optimist, Mal, and I love you for that, but it’s my decision. Please. Forgive me. For everything. Don’t fight me on this.”

My father touched my mother’s cheek and said, “There’s nothing to forgive, darling. Okay.”

Then he opened the drawer of his night table and withdrew a small amber bottle.

Crosby had used his editing program to move closer for this shot. He focused on my mother as she gripped a water glass with both hands. Then he pulled back again so that the camera could capture my father pouring liquid from the bottle into the glass.

I wanted to scream, Stop. Stop. Stop.

But the story was unstoppable.

My mother said, “Thank you, Malcolm. I love you. I’ve never loved you more.”

He replied, “I’m sorry for anything I’ve done to hurt you, Maudie. I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

My father moaned as my mother drank down the contents of her water glass. Then, as I looked at his face, I saw tears fall from his eyes. And I saw him accept the decision.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and quickly drank the rest of the poison down. The empty bottle rolled out of his hand and across the silk bedding. Then it fell to the floor.

My mother grabbed my father’s arm and cried out, “No! No , Malcolm. What have you done? ”

What had they done?

What had they done ?

83

The scene in my parents’ bedroom wasn’t over. Nate Crosby’s video rolled on.

On-screen, my mother turned in response to a knock at the door. From her expression, I thought that she might have been expecting the visitor. “Come in, please,” she called out.

I watched as Samantha entered my parents’ bedroom. She was wearing slacks, a white eyelet blouse, a dark blue jacket that my mother had given her, and flat pink shoes.

“Am I disturbing you?” Samantha asked. “Is it too late?”

“No, we’re still awake,” said Maud.

“I wanted to tell you that I double-checked all the documents to make sure that your signatures and the notary stamps were all in the right places,” she said, moving toward the bed. “I dropped the papers off at Philippe’s office before I went out to dinner.”

She paused, seeming to notice something in the looks on their faces.

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” said Maud. Her smile was crooked, forced. “What did you have for dinner?”

Samantha smiled. “Pasta pomodoro ,” she said. “And a little red vino .”

Maud reached out to Samantha, drew her in for a hug, and kissed her cheek. Samantha kissed Maud’s cheek, too. As Samantha pulled back, I saw a glint of gold at her throat—the locket.

Samantha had been wearing Maud’s keepsake that night.

On the TV, Samantha said, “Maud, do you need anything before I go to bed?”

Beside me, Harry cried out, “Please, Samantha. Do something .”

If only we could go into that scene and tell Samantha what they had done. Maybe there would have been time to save them.

Maud said, “Will you put the trash down the chute, Sammy?”

“Of course,” Samantha said. She picked the bottle up off the floor, put it in the trash basket, and went to the doorway. She turned before she left, waggled her fingers, and said, “Sweet dreams.”

“And you as well, dear. We’re fine. Perfectly fine,” said Maud. She blew Samantha a kiss, and once the door was closed, put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

My father took her in his arms and held her tightly. “It’s okay, darling. It’s all okay now. We’re sparing them the worst.”

Maud nodded. “I wouldn’t have changed a day,” she said at last. Her voice sounded tired. “Well, I wouldn’t have awarded Katherine… the Grande Gongo… with an Asterisk.”

“No, of course not. Please don’t think about that, darling. The other kids… they’re strong. They’ve risen to every challenge we’ve given them. They’ll be fine. And they’ll understand why it had to be this way when they read the papers,” my father said.