Confessions of a Murder Suspect

10

Have you noticed that time seems to slow down unbelievably during any emergency situation? Maybe not. I’m sorry to say this isn’t the first emergency situation I’ve ever been in. So I knew this feeling of eternity all too well.

Though it felt like an hour, only about ten minutes passed before I found myself opening the front door to Uncle Peter, who stalked in like he owned the place. He was wearing a rumpled plaid suit, and his wispy hair had been finger-combed and wouldn’t lie down. It looked to me like he’d been drinking.

He didn’t quite meet my eyes when he said, “This is sad, Tandy. I’m sorry to hear the news.”

I thought I could get more sympathy from a stranger on the street, but never mind. Peter was an Angel, after all.

“It’s sad, all right,” I said to my uncle, successfully quelling the wave of grief that surged up from my heart.

Directly behind him stood Philippe Montaigne, our family’s attorney. We’d known Phil since we were young; he was actually Hugo’s godfather.

He looked handsome and impeccable, even at three in the morning. His hair was shaved close to his scalp, and he smelled of Vetiver. His jacket was Armani, and he wore a white shirt that was open at the neck and hanging out over his dark trousers.

He held out his arms to me and I went to him for a hug. He said, “I’m sorry, Tandy. So very sorry. Are you all right? Do you know what happened?”

I whispered against his cheek, “No. And the police are clueless, Phil.”

Uncle Peter conferred with Hayes and Caputo, and I heard him say that he had hosted a dinner party at his apartment from eight PM until only moments ago, and that he had eighteen guests who could vouch for his whereabouts.

As Hayes took down names and phone numbers, I brought Philippe up to the minute on everything I knew.

“All right. Now, don’t talk to the police again unless I’m with you, Tandy.”

“We only said that we were sleeping when it happened.”

“That’s fine,” said Philippe. “Keep in mind that the police are allowed to lie. They can say anything to you. Set any kind of trap.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

“Good. And don’t worry.”

But it looked as if our fifteen-hundred-dollars-an-hour attorney was worried himself. I could tell he was wondering what would happen to us, the superfreak Angel kids, without the protection of our gargoyle parents.

Philippe approached the cops and I followed right behind him. “Is anyone here under arrest?” he asked.

“Not yet,” said Caputo. “But we haven’t excluded anyone as a suspect, either.”

“Tandoori, Harrison, and Hugo are all minors. You had no right to interrogate them without a parent or guardian ad litem present.”

“Their parents had checked out, for Christ’s sake,” Caputo said. “They could be witnesses to a double homicide. You think I should have made them hot chocolate and told them to watch cartoons? We had dead people here.”

Phil ignored him and kept going.

“I’m going to file a complaint with the chief of Ds in the morning. Right now, I’m advising my clients not to speak with you unless you charge them, and even then only if I’m present. I’m also advising them all to go to bed. That includes Matthew, if he wants to stay, and Samantha Peck, too.”

Caputo said, “The Angels’ bedroom is a crime scene. We’re leaving uniformed officers at the top of the stairs. I wouldn’t mess with us if I were you, counselor. Be advised of that.”

And with that, Caputo and Hayes finally left our apartment.

Uncle Peter stood in the center of the room, watching and saying nothing. He hadn’t hugged me, or asked where my three brothers were so he could go to see them. He’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t like children.

He especially doesn’t like us.

Why, you might ask?

Because, he has said, I know you.

He looked around the apartment as if he were sizing it up for sale. I knew for a fact that the apartment could fetch twenty million, and that was without the art and the furnishings. Uncle Peter would probably get my father’s half of Angel Pharma, but would he inherit our apartment as well?

Uncle Peter said to me, “I’m moving into the guest room for now. After the reading of the will, we’ll see what the future will bring to the Angel family.”

My jaw dropped. We didn’t have a “guest room.” And that could only mean one thing.

I watched as Uncle Peter went into the bedroom right next to mine. Oh, man, I could not believe it. If my parents had been alive, they might have killed Peter for using Katherine’s room.

And I’m not exactly using kill as a figure of speech here.