"Who do YOU think did this?"

So I'm looking at the two detectives who had spent the last two months believing that I was a crazed butcher, and a multiple personality schizophrenic..smiling at me..acting like they had always been my friends, and telling me that I was no longer a suspect in my Mom's murder. I guess I didn't really believe it yet. And then they asked me something they had never asked me...not once...in the entire two months they had questioned me...unless it was to try to get me to implicate someone else who could connect me to the crime. Even though they had made me wonder about my sanity so profoundly that I actually wondered whether it was safe for me to actually go to sleep at night...now, they wanted my opinion on who I thought might have done it. One of the detectives, who was better at pretending he was my friend than the other, and had actually dated my sister a couple of times while I was being interrogated, no doubt to try to pump her for anything she might say that might help them to "prove" their theory about me...he walked up to me and asked me..."so, who do you think did this thing, Michael?" I was still numb, but I realized that for the past two months, I had never asked myself that question. But I was being asked now...so I thought about it. I thought about everything I could think of or remember about that day. And then I remembered something I had thought was strange. The morning I woke up at the club, before I went to my Mom's and found her, I asked the guy who had spent the night at the club partying with me if he wanted to come with me to me Mom's house for a free breakfast...and he had declined. That wasn't the response I had expected from him, but I didn't think much about it until about an hour after I had found the body, and I was disgusted with the actions of the police at the house...as they drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in the same room that my Mom's body was in...and argued with the State Police and the FBI as to who had jurisdiction on the case...tainting the crime scene and any physical evidence that might have existed there, with their petty bullshit...so I walked up the street to clear my head, and there was the guy, hanging out up the street, watching. He asked me "What's going on Mike?"...and I answered..."my Mom's dead". That was all I said. The next words out of his mouth were..."they'll never catch that guy, it was a professional hit". That didn't sit well with me at all. At the time, I remember a "red flag" going up in my mind. The word murder had never even been mentioned. But I was so overwhelmed with everything that was happening, I just forgot about it....until that detective asked that question. I told him the story...never realizing that by doing that...it would come back to haunt me...later on.