Free Confessions of a Murder Suspect by James Patterson Page A

in the trash? That’s absurd.”
    “Absurd? I call it
stupid
, but you’ve got a better education than I do.”
    “You know what I mean,” I said. “Why would someone leave a bottle with poison in it where the police could find it?”
    “Criminals make mistakes all the time,” Caputo said.
    Samantha interrupted us. “Come on, Tandy.” She took my arm and led me to a chair. Then she said to the sergeant, “If you’re not arresting anyone, we’d like you to leave.”
    “Yeah,” said Hugo. “ ‘We’re done here.’ Isn’t that what they say on all the police shows?”
    “We’re done for now. But I’m telling you again,” Caputo warned, “don’t go anywhere.”
    “If that’s what we’re being ordered to do, then I guess you’ll be giving us a note excusing us from school.”
    “The noose is tightening,” Caputo said. “You feel a little short of air, Snazzy?”
    The funny thing was, I still did.

26
    Okay, so how am I doing so far?
I’m trying so hard to tell the story as objectively as I can, but it’s not easy. I know I keep getting a little bit off track and letting my emotions about this—about
them
—get in the way, but I’ll try to stick to the facts. That’s what Malcolm and Maud would want me to do.
    I got up early the next morning, ready to begin my own investigation in earnest. I was going to beat Caputo at this. He was barking up the wrong tree—no Angel kid would try to kill Malcolm and Maud. No way.
    I stopped in the living room and fed canned clams to Hugo’s sharks, then had a breakfast of cold leftover spaghetti and root beer. After I ate, I took the back stairsdown one flight to Mrs. Hauser’s apartment, which is right under ours.
    Dakota residents are a very private clan. We don’t want anyone to know our business, and if you don’t believe me, google
the Dakota
and read about us for yourself. We don’t talk to strangers, and we’re certainly not keen on talking to the police. But as a resident, I have special access to my neighbors.
    I’m also capable of behaving sweetly when I need to.
    Mrs. Hauser’s doorbell was made from a gold Sovereign dating back to the reign of King Edward IV. I pressed it. Chimes rang, and then I heard faint and irregular footsteps tapping on a parquet floor, coming toward the door.
    When the door opened, our little bent-over downstairs neighbor, Sigrid Hauser, was standing there in a gauzy lavender-hued peignoir.
    Her face crumpled when she saw me.
    “Tandy, dear Tandy. Come in, come in.”
    Even though I really don’t like to be touched, I let Mrs. Hauser hug me. It was surprisingly calming. Then I followed behind her at a very creaky pace until we were in her parlor, the décor of which was even older and mustier than she was.
    “Mrs. Hauser, if you don’t mind,” I said, sinking into the ancient brown-velvet sofa. A stuffed springbok with horns and glassy amber eyes stared at me from over the fireplace, and for a moment I forgot what I was going to say.
    “Anything you need, Tandy, just ask. Do you have enough money to get by?”
    “That’s all taken care of, Mrs. Hauser. Thank you. I just wanted to ask you if you know why or how someone could have gotten into our apartment? The doors were all locked that night.”
    Mrs. Hauser is a widow, and although she seems to be a frail old lady, I know she’s shrewd; she’s a very smart—though old and crumbly—cookie.
    “Those policemen asked me the same thing, Tandy, and I cannot imagine how anyone could have entered your apartment without a key. I’m stumped on that one.”
    I nodded. “So am I, Mrs. Hauser.”
    “But there was something that I didn’t tell the police, because it is none of their business,” Mrs. Hauser said. She paused, slightly uncomfortable. “Can I get you anything? Would you like some herbal tea?”
    “What didn’t you tell the police?” I pressed, even though I completely understood why she wouldn’t want totell them something. I thought of my