Confessions of a Murder Suspect (27 page)

“We have evidence that you and Malcolm used us as lab animals, that you pumped us full of performance-enhancing drugs.”

There was a long silence as Uncle Peter took that in. Then he said, “You’re not joking, are you? That’s seriously what you think?”

“And then, so that you could own the patents on these drugs and, of course, take over the whole company, you killed our parents.”

Uncle Peter cringed. It was just a quick flicker across his features, like a flash of heat lightning. Then his face closed like a fist. He shot up from his chair and slammed his hands down on the table.

“
I
killed Malcolm? You’re accusing me of killing my own
brother
?”

“We have pictures of the factory,” I said, standing my ground. “We still have pills squirreled away in our
apartment for comparison. Our parents’ deaths will make you close to a billionaire, Uncle Peter. That means you’re the only person with both access to our parents
and
the motive to kill them,” I went on, feeling the whole blazing truth setting me free. “If you admit your role in this scheme, if you confess to the killings, we’ll give you a chance to go to the police on your own. I think Philippe will be able to cut you a deal. Just
confess
.”

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Peter rolled up his shirtsleeves
and sat down again in his oversized chair. He wheeled it forward and clasped his hands on the table in front of him. He’d gathered himself during my speech, and his smirk was back, as if it had been riveted to his face.

“This ugly speech you’ve just given, Tandoori, is entirely speculation, and based on circumstantial evidence at best.” There was an angry thrum in his voice, like the lethal sound of a downed power line. The man was scary. “You have a theory based on a hypothesis. No witnesses. No physical evidence. And you expect anyone to believe this utterly libelous fabrication?”

“So you’re not denying it?” Matthew asked, clenching his fists.

“I could go into more detail about the memorandums between you and my father,” I said, “but we asked our driver to wait. Our next stop, Uncle Peter, is the Twentieth Precinct.”

“First of all, you little termites,” Peter said, staring at each of us in turn, “the pills aren’t drugs. They’re natural ingredients, supplements that are manufactured for export and sale outside of the USA. They don’t even have to be FDA approved. There’s nothing illegal about them, do you understand?”

“You expect us to believe that those pills we took our entire lives are made of rainbow dust and flower petals? Really?” Harry asked. I was proud of him for joining in the fight.

“I’m speaking, Harrison. My turn. Second, your father loved you. I don’t know why; it makes no sense to me at all. You’re all snots. But then, snottiness runs on your mother’s side of the family. The bottom line is that your father would never hurt any of you. You all did very well on rainbow dust and flower petals. I’d say that you excelled, in fact. You’re
welcome
, Tandoori. Children.”

He nodded at us, still sneering.

“Third, here are the facts.
I
founded Angel Pharmaceuticals. Me.
I
brought your father in as a consulting partner. He owned twenty percent of the firm when he died. That’s twenty percent of the debts, too, and right now, we’re underwater. So I would have been happy for Malcolm to have bought me out, understand? His death only adds to my problems.

“And last, Tandy, you self-important twerp, eighteen people were having dinner with me when your parents were killed. In my apartment. All eighteen of them swore to the police that I was with them until you called me that night.”

“You could have used some kind of time-release formula,” I said. “You encapsulated a poison and put it into a bottle of something, and my parents innocently—”

“Get out of here,” our uncle said. “All of you.”

He looked as if I’d struck him across the face with a whip. And I saw something else, too. There were tears in his eyes. Uncle Peter was actually crying.

“Did you hear what I said?” His voice was shaking.

My brothers stared mutely, but then Hugo, who had been sitting beside me, got up and walked over to Uncle Peter—and tipped his chair back. The wheels shot out from under the chair and Peter went down with a satisfying crash.

“I hate you for turning us into freaks,” Hugo said, standing over our uncle. “I hate you with all my heart. Just like I hated them.”

Uncle Peter scrambled to his feet and lunged at Hugo, but Matthew swiftly intervened and shoved Peter against the wall and held him there, about a foot off the ground.

“
I’m your guardian!
” our uncle shouted. “I can turn some of you over to the state, understand me? Without me, you three underage ingrates are wards of the state.” Uncle Peter had turned bright red, and it occurred to me that he might have a heart attack right there in front of us.

I said, “Matty, let him go. Let him
go
! He didn’t kill Malcolm and Maud.”

62

How did I know that?
To be honest, I didn’t. But he was right. He could turn us over to the state, and despite his obvious hatred for us, the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t have been at our apartment when Malcolm and Maud were killed.

“Nice going, Tandy,” said Matthew. “You really bit off more than you could chew there.”

“You’re going to blame me for this?” I fixed him with a steely glare. “You were backing me up the whole time, until he brought out the part about witnesses.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry. “We all heard how Uncle Peter talked about his brother. He loved Malcolm.
He couldn’t have killed him any more than we could kill one another. Right?”

“Whatever,” Hugo said, punching the air. “Tipping him over was the best part.”

As we left Hell’s Kitchen in the town car, Virgil looked at us anxiously through the rearview mirror.

“Are you kids okay? We’re going to the police station on Eighty-second Street, right?”

“There’s been a change of plans, Virgil,” I said in a small, raspy voice. “Please take us home.”

Since discovering that Uncle Peter and our father had used us as guinea pigs, I had been feeling enough fury to ignite the family business and burn the building down. I leaned back against the dark leather seat as my three brothers talked about what they wanted to do to Uncle Pig.

Matthew was saying, “I can’t believe what we just did in there. I think Uncle Pig could get me on assault. Tandy, you could get charged with libel or something like that. And, Hugo. What happened to you, little man?”

“I had to stick up for us. I felt… angry. Violent.”

“I’ve been there,” said Matty. “Like, every day of my life.”

I was feeling an ache that I didn’t recognize. It was as if
there were a radioactive seed inside my chest, growing hotter and more toxic by the minute.

Was I suffering from a guilty conscience? Had the pill called Num protected me from this feeling until now? And what did I feel so guilty about? Uncle Peter had been instrumental in drugging his own family. That was heinous. That was criminal.

But had he committed murder?

I really wasn’t so sure. I kept thinking about how he’d flinched when I’d accused him. And I had seen him cry.

Still, I’d accused him publicly. Everyone in his entire office probably heard what I’d said. And if he didn’t kill Maud and Malcolm, I’d done him wrong.

I said to my brothers, “Uncle Peter might be Dr. Frankenstein. He might even be a murderer. But I have to account for what I did to him. I have to apologize for that.”

“Are you kidding?” Matthew said.

I shook my head. “I have to take back what I said.”

Hugo said, “Are you really sorry? Or are you just saying you’re sorry because you feel you have to say it? You’re supposed to apologize with a true heart. Samantha told me that.”

“What do you mean, ‘true heart’?” I asked.

Hugo shrugged. Harry laughed. Matthew snorted.

I glared at my brothers. “What?”

“If you have to ask, it kind of defeats the purpose,” said Matthew.

“Aw, Tandy, I feel sorry for you.” Harry smiled wistfully. “I think getting off the drugs is gonna be great for you.”

I sniffed, feeling patronized. But… it was true. In some ways, I was like a child.

And that was going to change, really soon.

I pulled out my phone and googled
apology
and found that a true apology has three components.

One:
I’m sorry.

Two:
I promise never to do it again.

Three:
What can I do to make it up to you?

And four, according to Hugo by way of Samantha, an apology has to be made with a true heart. I guessed that meant I’d need to be sincere.

I didn’t really know how to do that. I still hated Uncle Peter for his role in all of this. He’d stepped into our personal business many more times than you even know about.

But I would have to try, because I had been wrong.

And even though my parents were gone, I still felt horrified by the thought that they would be ashamed of me.

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