Confessions of a Murder Suspect

53

Hugo wasn’t the only one who was hungry, so we went to Shun Lee West, our favorite restaurant in the neighborhood. Once there, we sprawled in the black leather embrace of our usual booth. We’d even invited Samantha, and honestly, I did care about her feelings.

Matthew met us there, and I was stunned to see my handsome brother’s face so tired, his eyes so dull. The news about Tamara had clearly shocked him, and it seemed that the media glare was getting to him. Harry and I hugged him even harder than we had after our parents died.

Twenty minutes later, Hugo was cramming spicy Sichuan alligator into his mouth. He was very happy now. He was the only one who was.

The familiar place, the routine, and the comfort food were just a cover for our seething anxiety. We were all out of jail, but we were not free by any means. As Philippe had told me, Sergeant Caputo was taking this case personally, for some reason I couldn’t understand. He wasn’t going to give up.

I wasn’t giving up, either.

In fact, I had a new agenda.

Having dinner with my siblings and Samantha gave me the opportunity to question everyone at once. Maybe I could persuade or trap someone into making a confession.

Matthew sucked down his third glass of Tsingtao beer, then said, “I overheard a couple of cops saying they think we did it together, that the murders were a conspiracy.”

“Some people think you did it,” said Hugo. “I know how people get pregnant—duh—and if Malcolm did that to your girlfriend, that must have made you really, really mad.”

Matty smiled wanly at Hugo, and tousled his hair, but remained silent.

I waited as the server refilled our water glasses, then said, “At this point, family secrets could take all of us down. Matty, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I think it’s fair to ask you to clear up this story. Is Tamara pregnant? By”—I gulped—“Malcolm?”

Hugo and Harry gagged a little. I didn’t blame them. Samantha pressed her lips together in a pained expression of distaste.

My brother fixed me with his bug-eyed stare. “How am I supposed to know? I haven’t seen any DNA test. I didn’t know she was pregnant until I saw her on the news. Can you believe that? I still don’t know anything. She’s not at the apartment. She won’t answer her phone.”

I knew this hurt Matty, but my weakly developed conscience allowed me to press on with the questioning. I practiced stating the horrible facts without any emotion whatsoever.

“Matty, please answer the question. Was Tamara sleeping with Malcolm?” Gags rippled around the table again. “There’s no way Tamara told the channel six news and didn’t tell you.”

“Really? And how well do you know Tamara?” Matthew shouted at me. “How do you know what psycho ideas she gets? And here’s another question, Tan-doori: Who appointed you Lord High Executioner?”

Samantha put her hands to her face. “Calm down, everyone. Calm down.” Her voice wobbled.

And then she fell apart.

“I miss Maud so much,” she cried.

We all looked at Samantha, who was now bawling noisily. Oh, geez. It was bad. All of it, all the time.

“Hey, hey,” I said. “Please don’t cry.”

Samantha only cried harder.

Just then, a hush sucked the ambient sound right out of the restaurant. I looked up and saw that nearly all the other diners were staring at us.

Hugo dropped his fork, flicked his eyes back and forth, and then said in a really loud voice, “Haven’t you people ever seen someone cry before?”

The stares continued for a moment, until a bald guy in a plaid jacket started to laugh. A few more people joined in; apparently they found this scene hilarious. I didn’t see anything funny about it, though, and Hugo must’ve felt the same way, because he stuck his pinkie fingers in his mouth and whistled for attention.

When he got it, he flipped the bird at the bald guy.

Harry grinned.

Then Harry gave everyone in the restaurant the finger, and then so did Matthew. I couldn’t be left out of this, so my middle finger went up, too. Samantha dabbed at her eyes, then joined us in flipping off the diners at Shun Lee.

Five middle fingers.

We all laughed hysterically, out of control. The server rushed over to Matthew, brandishing the check, basically begging us to leave, and we were all overcome by another bout of uncontrollable laughter.

You have to take your yuks where you can find them, right? Especially if the justice system wants to hang you and your sibs for murder.