Could you, dear reader imagine the words आप would use, to tell your family that your parents were dead, murdered? I hope आप can, because I'm not able to share those wretched words with आप right now. Can आप be patient with me? I'll promise it'll be worth the wait. 
      After I had accomplished that horrible task -perhaps the worst task of my whole life- I tried to focus my fractured attention back to Sergeant Caputo. He was a rough looking man, like a bad cop in film from the forties. Caputo looked about to be around thirty years old. He had one continuing eyebrow, a furry ledge of his cold dark eyes. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shiny blue jacket. 
    He looked exactly like the kind of detective I wanted to have working on the murder case of my parents
    Gnarly and Mean. 
    Detective Hayes was entirely different. He had a pleasant face and wore a wedding ring, and GCPD Windbreaker, and steel-tipped boots. He looked sympathetic to us kids. But he wasn't in charge, या doing the talking. 
   Caputo stood infront of our massive fireplace with his hands behind his back. He couldn't believe how we lived. I can't say I blame him. 
  Robert is a remarkable creature. He really is. It's nearly impossible to tell that he, his La-Z-Boy, and his very own TV are all part of an incredibly lifelike, technologically advanced sculpture. 
   When Detective Caputo was through with taking in the décor, he fixed his eyes on each of us in turn. We just blinked at him. There was no hysterics. In fact, there was no apparent emotion at all. 
"Your parents were murdered, do आप get that? What's the matter? No one here loved them?!" He stared us down. We did प्यार them, but it wasn't simple love. Of course, I knew what all of us was feeling-an internal tsunami of horror and loss and confusion. But we couldn't दिखाना it, not even to save our lives. Sergeant Caputo saw us as suspects, every one of us a "person of interest" in a locked-door double homicide. He didn't try to hide his judgement, and I didn't deny his reasoning.
I thought he was right. 
My parents' killer was in that room. 

My gaze turned to an angry-face of a ten साल old "little" brother, Hugo. I could द्वारा the way he was looking at Sergeant Caputo, that the police were villains and he was going to take them apart like a rotisserie, रोटिसेंरी chicken. Hugo has the strength of a normal size man, I thought he could do it. 
    What else could Hugo do? 
    He sat in white leathered arm chair, he looked adorable, as he almost always did. He was wearing enormous Giants स्वेट-शर्ट, स्वेटरशर्ट, sweatshirt over his pajamas. Because Goliath was his Biblical hero, he allowed a haircut only once a year, so it had been eleven months since Hugo's last trim and his his brown hair eddied down his back like a mountain stream. My twin brother Shyra, sat on the red leather sofa across from Hugo. आप would like Shyra; everyone does. We're fraternal twins,we both have dark hair and dark eyes, just like our mother. But, due to experiments, my hair had changed to blonde and my eyes were a deep blue. Shyra has a great smile. I guess I do, too, but I almost never use it. Shyra uses his a lot. Maybe he's the only Parker who does. 
  That night, Shyra wore painter's pants and a स्वेट-शर्ट, स्वेटरशर्ट, sweatshirt with the हुड, डाकू pulled half over his face, which told he wanted to disappear. His breathing sounded wheezy, like he had a harmonica stuck in his his throat, which meant an asthma was coming on.