Confessions of a Murder Suspect Read Online Free PDF Page A

curling out of his nose, too.
    “Tessie, I think you know a lot more about what happened to your parents than you want to say. Help us understand what happened here. Take a deep breath and tell us what you know. The truth feels really good when you just let it go.”
    I pulled back and said, “I
told
you the truth. I was sleeping. Like a stump. And I didn’t wake up until I heard sirens. After that, you were pounding on the door.”
    I flashed what Harry calls my Anne Hathaway smile at the cops and said, “Thank you for your help in our time of need.”
    “Are we being dismissed?” asked Detective Hayes.
    “Ah, finally, the right question,” I replied.
    “And the answer to that question is no,” Caputo said.“We’ll go when we’re done, and for your information, Child Protective Services is on the way.”
    Samantha jumped up then. “Mr. and Mrs. Angel elected Peter Angel to be the children’s guardian in case of an emergency. Peter just texted me to say that he’ll be here shortly.”
    Uncle Peter? Despite the fact that he was now our closest living relative, he was the last person I wanted to see—a busybody who had once proved to me he was not to be trusted. But that’s a story for another time.

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