Confessions of a Murder Suspect by James Patterson Read Free Book Online Page A

repeatedly told me that I had a “phlegmatic” conscience—which basically means it doesn’t work overtime—and that that was a good thing. Was either part of that true? I had no idea.
    I fake-smiled and said, “Are you pretending you don’tknow my name, Sergeant Caputo? Or is jabbing a suspect an interview technique of yours? I really want to know. I’m learning your craft, and I’m a fast learner.”
    “You cost us valuable time, Candy. If we had known, we would have interviewed Ambassador Panyor last night.”
    “I’m not supposed to speak to you without my attorney, but I’ll give you this for free,” I said. “The ambassador didn’t kill my parents. My father prepared all of the food, and I helped him. The meal was served in big bowls, family-style. My brother Harry and I ate everything my parents ate, drank everything they drank. We’re both perfectly fine, and apparently so is the ambassador. You can’t arrest him, anyway. He has immunity.”
    “You should have told me, Tidbit. I’m moving you to the top of my list,” Caputo said.
    He answered his phone, then opened our front door for a couple of CSIs. The three of them went upstairs to what I still thought of as my parents’ room.
    We had truly been invaded by aliens. Rude and very nasty ones. And there was nothing we could do to stop them from infesting our home planet.

17
    Funny moment in the middle of a tragedy
.
    Detective Ryan Hayes sat down on the Pork Chair and it let out a snuffle, a snort, and a ringing squeal.
    He jumped up. “What the…?”
    “Art,” I told him with a smile. A real smile, this time.
    “Does the sofa bark or anything? Let me know now.”
    “The sofa is mute,” I said.
    “Fine,” Hayes said, but he eased himself down gingerly anyway. “Sit down,” he told me. “Please.” He looked through the Plexiglas top of the shark tank that served as a coffee table.
    “These are real sharks?”
    “Pygmy sharks. Hugo won them.”
    “He won them? Like, at a carnival?”
    I paused and decided it would be too hard to explain “Grande Gongos” just then. So I said, “These are real pygmy sharks. At an average of nine inches long, they are the second-smallest sharks in the world. Their stomachs glow green because they’re bioluminescent—they have special phosphorescent cells in their skin. It’s possible that the green light attracts prey to them. The sharks can’t see you because the tank is specially designed to block light—”
    Hayes interrupted my monologue. “Your mother was a bit like a shark, wasn’t she, Tandy? No disrespect, but that’s what I’ve heard. She worked all the time, but still, she had some pretty unhappy customers lately. Very unsatisfied customers.”
    “She wasn’t exactly Bernie Madoff. My mother was honest. Honest people can have enemies. My mother said whatever she believed to be the truth.”
    “There was a massive lawsuit pending against her for manipulating investor returns. A man named Royal Rampling is at the helm of it. Ever heard that name before?”
    My stomach lurched, but I ignored it. “ ‘In volatile times, not every client is a satisfied client,’ ” I said, quoting my dead mother. “Still. Let’s say she had a particularly disgruntled client who happened to be a homicidal maniacas well. How could this… Royal Rampling”—I forced the name out with some difficulty—“have gotten in, killed her and my father—”
    “We’re looking at every possibility,” said Hayes, again cutting me off. “Let’s talk about something else. I wanted to apologize for my partner, Tandy. Caputo is a hound. Did you know that hare hounds can pick up the scent of a rabbit on concrete?”
    “I did, actually,” I said truthfully.
    “Then you know that if a rabbit runs across the road, an hour later a hare hound can still smell that the hare has been there. Cap Caputo’s like that. If there’s a trail, he’ll find it.”
    “Thanks for sharing. When will we get the