The Private School Murders

by James Patterson

  “So you think she was too depressed to study?” I asked, intrigued.

  “And considering that Adele was depressed because her brother had bailed on her for school—”

  “We have a connection,” I said, breathless. Finally.

  C.P. grinned. “I love it when we complete each other’s sentences.”

  I tried to smile back but found I couldn’t. A cold wind blasted my hair off my face and I huddled deeper into my denim-and-wool jacket. A few of the kids in line were starting to give us the once-over. At a school so small that everyone probably knew everyone else’s middle name, we were decidedly out of place.

  “What? You think there’s a serial killer out there hunting rich girls with weird families?” C.P. started to joke, cutting herself short of laughing when she saw my stony face. “What’s the matter?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Nothing, I just—” I turned my back to one particularly intent lurker and lowered my voice. “If that’s what this guy is doing, I’m surprised he didn’t start with me.”

  “God, Tandy, morbid much?” C.P. asked, giving me a little shove. “Don’t even say that.”

  She shuddered in her designer boots just as a gray sedan pulled up right in front of us, its brakes squealing two inches from the curb. Sergeant Capricorn Caputo unfolded his skeletal frame from the passenger seat as his partner, Detective Ryan Hayes, hoisted his pudgy self out from behind the wheel. Caputo’s gaze was sharp and vaguely threatening. Like always.

  “Hey there,” I said casually.

  “You thinking of transferring to Brilling, Pansy?” Caputo asked.

  “I refuse to answer that on the grounds that you know full well I’m not transferring here.”

  “Who’s your friend?” he asked, keeping his eyes on me but jerking his chin in C.P.’s direction.

  “Claudia Portman,” she replied, slapping her heels together army-style. “Sidekick to PI Tandoori Angel. And you are?”

  “C.P., meet Capricorn Caputo, one of New York’s Semi-Finest,” I said.

  C.P. laughed, and Caputo actually reddened around his collar.

  Detective Hayes arrived at Caputo’s side. “What’s up?” he asked, hiking up his pants.

  “What’s up is now we’ve gotta deal with two of ’em,” Caputo replied flatly.

  “Wow. You didn’t lie about this one,” C.P. said, widening her eyes at me. Caputo ignored her.

  “I’m going to take a wild guess that you two are here to ‘investigate’ Marla Henderson’s murder,” Caputo said, looking awkward as he tried to perform passable air quotes.

  I smiled brightly. “That’s why they call you Detective.”

  Caputo sniffed. “Both of you, buzz off. That’s an order,” he snarled. “Or I’ll bring you into the station and we can talk about this in an official capacity, cop to nosy girls.”

  “You can’t bring us in for standing on the sidewalk, Caputo,” C.P. said, rising up on her toes and lifting her chin, like she was all badass. Unfortunately, she looked more like a ballerina trying to go en pointe. But I appreciated the effort.

  “Yeah, and do you even have any suspects? Or do you just not want to solve this one?” I asked with a pointed look. “Do you not like teenage girls? Don’t care if a half dozen more of us bite it?”

  Caputo glowered. “Where do you get off—”

  Hayes laid a warning hand on Caputo’s chest. “Take it easy, Cappy.”

  “No. No. Not this time,” Caputo said. “You know how many shootings we have on a given day in the Big Apple? So far any coincidence between these dead girls is looking like just that—coincidence. But speaking of murder, how’s your big brother’s case coming along?”

  He might as well have punched me in the gut.

  “Low blow, dude,” C.P. said.

  His eyes flicked over her, and for a split second he at least had the decency to look ashamed. I had thought Caputo liked me, but I’d clearly deluded myself. Or maybe I’d used up all my goodwill with him when Jacob had called the police to search for us. I guess that apology note hadn’t worked.

  I cleared my throat. “Good-bye and good luck, Sergeant. You know how to reach me when you need me.”

  I threaded my arm through C.P.’s, and we strolled up the avenue while Capricorn Caputo laughed derisively behind us. Humiliation—another new emotion I wasn’t loving—burned under my skin.

  “Don’t let him get to you, Tandy,” C.P. said. “He’s clearly an ass. And not even a hot one.”

  I snorted a laugh and held C.P. a little tighter to my side, making myself a silent promise: The next time I saw Caputo, I’d be the one laughing.

  46

  I was still burning from my encounter with Capricorn Caputo when my eyes flashed open the next morning.

  I blinked in the shadowy morning light and took inventory of my caseload, quickly concluding that I was striking out on all fronts: the murdered private school girls, the poisonous critters, the identification of Tamara Gee’s real killer, and—I checked before I wrote this, my friend—I had zero responses to my hundred e-mails seeking James Rampling.

  But as much as I wanted to throw myself a first-class pity party, there was no time. We were going to court today, and it was the biggest day yet.

  Of course, if I’d known what we were in for, I probably would have stayed in bed.

  By the time the Angel contingent had emerged from the cab on Baxter Street, the press was waiting for us. Jacob took the lead. Harry and I held Hugo’s hands, keeping him between us.

  Hordes of so-called journalists shoved microphones and cameras into our faces, our names were shouted, and rude questions were fired at us from all sides.

  “How does it feel to have a murderer for a brother, Tandy?”

  I was torn between yelling “Go to hell!” and lowering my eyes. I chose the latter. For sure, anything I said or did would be shown on the six o’ clock news, and it wouldn’t help Matthew for another Angel to look like a lunatic. So the old Tandy won out this time: Show no emotion. Show no weakness.

  The new Tandy wanted to rip the parasites to shreds, though.

  Jacob was in a cold mood. He was on the job as our bodyguard, and totally on edge. I was relieved when we reached the courthouse, and he left his weapon with security.

  I took a seat behind Matthew while Jacob sat on a bench outside in the hallway with Harry and Hugo, per Phil’s instructions.

  Court convened, and not long after that, Nadine Raphael was continuing to build her case against our brother.

  Her first witness of the day was Samantha Peck, a woman who had once felt like part of the family. She had been Maud’s personal assistant and lived with us for several years. After we lost Katherine, Samantha tried to fill the role of an older sister for me. I loved her for it, but I’d always known she was loyal to my mother first.

  When Maud died, Samantha left us and got another job. She and I had exchanged texts and e-mails, but I hadn’t seen her until now. I twisted in my seat so that I could watch her come up the aisle.

  Picture a thirty-year-old woman with creamy Scandinavian skin and blond hair. That would be Samantha. She glanced at Matthew and gave him an encouraging smile. Then she was sworn in and her attention was captured by the prosecutor.

  Nadine Raphael led Samantha through her history with the Angel family and asked her if she had witnessed a fight between Matthew and Malcolm shortly before Malcolm’s death.

  “Yes, I did,” Samantha said. She gripped a heart-shaped locket, tugging it back and forth along a chain necklace. “I was working in the office next to the master suite. Malcolm was in the bedroom with Matthew, and Matthew was shouting. I couldn’t avoid hearing them.”

  “What was this fight about, Ms. Peck?”

  “Oh, Lord. Well, Matthew must have suspected that Malcolm was having an affair with Tamara Gee. This was before her public statement, mind you. I heard Malcolm say that he would stop seeing Tamara immediately.”

  Ms. Raphael asked, “What did
the defendant say to that?”

  “He said something like ‘You have no idea how much I hate you, Dad. This is just the last blow. I’m going to’… uh…”

  Samantha paused and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  After a few seconds, the prosecutor asked without a trace of compassion, “Can you continue, Ms. Peck?”

  Samantha nodded. “Matthew shouted, ‘You need to die, Dad. You and Tamara both. And I’m the man for the job.’ ”

  I couldn’t help it. I gasped, and I saw Matthew’s shoulders hunch at the sound.

  “I see. And then what happened?” Nadine asked.

  “Harry had been coming up the stairs when the shouting broke out. He burst into the room and got between his father and brother. He stopped an encounter that could have become very violent. Matthew left right after that.”

  My hands were shaking as Phil cross-examined Samantha. She loved us, but she had to report what she had overheard, and Phil couldn’t budge the testimony of our old friend.

  There was no question: Matthew had not killed Malcolm. But had he carried out his threat to kill Tamara? If I didn’t know for sure, what would the jury think?

  47

  Samantha’s testimony had hurt Matthew, but I was far more worried about what was coming next.

  Samantha stepped down and walked quickly out of the courtroom without meeting my eyes. Once the doors at the back of the room had swung closed, Ms. Raphael said, “Will Harrison Angel please take the stand?”

  The bailiff opened the front doors and said Harry’s name, and my twin slouched into the courtroom. His hair was disheveled and his jaw set. He looked angry.

  Harry didn’t want to testify against Matthew, but there was nothing any of us could do about it. Even if we’d still had all the money in the world, there was no hiding from the justice system.

  The bailiff asked Harry if he swore to tell the truth, and Harry said he did.

  “Please state your name.”

  “Harrison Angel.”

  As Harry sat on the witness stand, Ms. Raphael asked, “Do you mind if I call you Harry?”

  “Everyone else does.”

  Ms. Raphael sniffed a little at the slight, but she kept going.

  “Harry, do you remember an incident in October when your father and your brother Matthew had an altercation in your parents’ bedroom?”

  “I can’t say,” Harry replied, glancing over at me. “I mean, Matty and Dad fought all the time.”

  “But do you remember a specific fight?” Ms. Raphael asked pointedly. “I must remind you, Harry, you’re under oath.”

  Harry lifted his chin. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Only that you’re talking down to me.”

  Ms. Raphael’s big brown eyes narrowed. “Your Honor, please caution the witness,” she said to the judge.

  The judge spun in his chair and said nicely to Harry, “Young man, this is a murder trial. You are required to answer the prosecutor’s questions. It’s a law, and if you break it, there are penalties. Do you understand?”

  Harry said, “Yes, sir. But what if I really don’t remember?”

  “Try harder,” said the judge.

  Ms. Raphael took a short walk back to her table, sipped from her water glass, then returned to Harry. I know that my brother can be passive. Sometimes he even seems weak. But when Harry digs in, he doesn’t budge. Not for any reason.

  “Harry. To repeat my question. Do you remember breaking up a fight between your father and Matthew in October of this past year?”

  “No.”

  “Your Honor,” said Ms. Raphael, exasperated. “Permission to treat the witness as hostile?”

  The judge gave a curt nod. “Go ahead, Counselor.”

  Phil shot to his feet.

  “I object, Your Honor. The prosecutor is badgering a young man who has clearly stated that he doesn’t remember the alleged incident.”

  Ms. Raphael said, “I’d be happy to read from the transcript of his deposition.”

  “Go ahead, Ms. Raphael,” the judge ordered.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Philippe sat down again, hard. Ms. Raphael picked up a sheaf of papers and began to read.

  “You said this for the record, Harry. ‘My brother was in a mad rage, and he threatened to kill my father and Tamara. He was taking drugs at the time, so I don’t think he was in his right mind.’ Do you remember saying that, Harry?”

  “No,” Harry said. “I’m drawing an absolute blank. But then, I was taking drugs as well.”

  Ms. Raphael threw up her hands.

  “I have no further questions for this witness,” she said.

  After checking with Phil to see if he had any questions for Harry, the judge told Harry to step down.

  Harry scrambled off the witness stand and shot me a triumphant look as he passed my seat on his way down the aisle. I gave him an affirmative nod, but my stomach was still twisted in knots.

  Hugo was Ms. Raphael’s next witness.

  48

  Hugo looked self-assured and collected in his dress pants, white shirt, and yellow tie, which he flapped a couple of times on his way to the witness stand. He put his hand on the Bible as the burly bailiff asked him if he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

  Hugo said, “I do,” and climbed up to the seat in the witness box. He squirmed a little to get comfortable, then slid forward so that he could lean on the edge in front of him.

  The prosecutor came toward him, and Hugo fixed her with a steady, cheeky eye. He appeared completely confident, but it was all an act. A convincing one but an act. I twisted my hands in my lap because I knew the truth: My little brother was scared out of his mind.

  Last night, Hugo had crawled into bed with me, crying. He was terrified of betraying Matthew and rambled on about running off to Brazil so he could hide in the jungle until Nadine Raphael forgot he ever existed. I’d calmed him down and told him he just had to tell the truth. That was the law. If he told the truth, everything would be fine.

  I just hoped I was right.

  I drew in deep, measured breaths as Ms. Raphael took Hugo through preliminary questions to establish his relationships and his whereabouts on the night in question. Then she was into the meat of her interrogation. Her demeanor was stiff, probably because after Harry’s performance, she wasn’t about to take any crap from Hugo. Good luck.

  “Did Matthew ever show you a knife he owns?” Ms. Raphael asked, cocking her head in a quizzical way.

  Hugo kicked at the half wall in front of the chair. “Uh-huh.”

  “You must answer either yes or no.”

  Hugo sniffed. “Okay. Yes.”

  Ms. Raphael walked a few paces away, then turned. “Could you describe the knife for the jury?”

  “It’s this big,” Hugo said, holding his fingers six inches apart. “It’s a switchblade.”

  “And what did Matthew tell you about this switchblade?”

  Hugo’s eyes flicked to Matthew, who was watching our little brother unflinchingly. “He said he didn’t want to carry a gun, but he needed something to fight with.”

  “Anything else, Hugo?” Ms. Raphael asked.

  I hoped he wouldn’t give her whatever it was she was looking for. In fact, I willed him to stop talking. But Hugo and I weren’t exactly psychic, and he didn’t get the message.

  “He said, ‘People shouldn’t screw with me,’ ” Hugo said, sitting up straight and proud. “And he said he wasn’t taking shit from anyone.”

  Nervous laughter lapped the courtroom. Ms. Raphael didn’t smile, but I could see in her eyes that she was pleased.

  “Did he refer to anyone when he was telling you this?” she asked.

  Hugo shrugged. “No.”

  Ms. Raphael’s perfect eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure about that, Hugo? You’ve sworn to tell the truth.”

  “I’m sure.” Hugo cleared his throat. “That’s a pretty big stain on your
blouse, Ms. Raphael. You should put something on that before it’s too late.”

  “Thank you,” said the prosecutor. She looked down at her blouse, then hooked her hair behind her ears and said to Hugo, “Do you remember my question?”

  “Who was he talking about when he said he didn’t take shit from anyone?” Hugo repeated.

  “That’s right, Hugo. Do you remember when you had this conversation about the knife with Matthew? Was it after you saw an interview show on television?”

  Hugo trained pleading eyes on me. My heart felt heavy, but there was nothing I could do. I nodded, hoping he’d get my message.

  “Objection! Leading the witness,” Phil called out.

  The judge hesitated a beat. “Overruled.”

  Hugo tore his gaze from me and focused on Ms. Raphael. “Okay, yeah. Now I remember,” he said. “Matthew showed me his knife right after Tamara told that TV lady she was having a baby with Dad.”

  “I see. And when Matthew said he wasn’t taking any ‘shit’ from anyone, did you get the feeling he was referring to someone in particular?”

  “Uh-huh. I mean, yes.” Hugo averted his eyes from me, from Matthew, from the prosecutor. “He was mad at Tamara.”

  “Thank you, Hugo. Your witness,” Ms. Raphael said to Philippe.

  49

  “Hugo, how are you doing?” Phil asked my little brother.

  Hugo stared at a random spot on the floor. “I’ve been better.”

  “I think everyone here understands that,” Phil said. “You love Matthew very much, don’t you?”

  “Like, more than anyone,” Hugo said. “Sorry, Tandy.”

  More laughter, some of it sympathetic this time. I couldn’t help smiling. The courtroom liked Hugo.

  “I have only a few questions for you, young man,” Phil said. “Did Matthew ever tell you he killed Tamara?”

  I held my breath, suddenly realizing I had no idea what Hugo might say.

  “Nope,” Hugo said. “I mean, no,” he added, pointedly staring at Ms. Raphael. “He never told me he killed Tamara.”