Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

“Good afternoon, detectives.” His voice sounded cheery. “I hope you’re staying cool on this muggy day.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I would suspect that you’re here because you have the warrant for entry into Dr. Crawford’s apartment?”

T.J. handed Cardone the warrant. Cardone unfolded it and carefully studied it. “I’m not going to waste your time reading all the fine print. I’ve seen what I need to see. Follow me, please.” T.J. and Dupree stepped into the elevator with Cardone. The superintendent pushed the button for the twenty-second floor.

“Have you made any headway on the murder investigation?” Cardone asked. “Any suspects?”

“Sorry,” Dupree said, “but we really can’t discuss the investigation.”

“I understand.”

Along the way to Dr. Crawford’s floor, the elevator stopped several times and passengers got on and off. Cardone knew each and every one of them, and addressed the passengers by name. After what felt like a ride to the top of the Empire State Building, they finally reached their destination. Cardone led them down a long corridor until they reached 22C.

Cardone unlocked the door. “I don’t think you detectives need my assistance. Take as long as you like, but please turn the deadbolt clockwise when you leave to be sure the door locks. Good luck.”

The detectives slipped on latex gloves.

Dupree turned the doorknob and pushed open the steel door. T.J. and she stopped cold before stepping over the threshold.

“Looks like someone beat us to the punch,” Dupree said. “This place looks like a tornado blew through it.”

Dupree speed-dialed Butler’s phone number. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, John. It’s Amaris.”

“What’s up?”

“I need a CSI team dispatched to 1550 Plaza Street West ASAP. It’s in the Park Slope area. T.J. and I just gained entry to Dr. Crawford’s apartment and somebody turned the place upside down. Call me when you get here and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can. I know I don’t have to remind you, but please don’t touch—”

“Save your speech for the rookies.”

When Dupree hung up and turned around, T.J. was still standing in the doorway perusing the main living area.

“Well, it seems that whoever murdered Dr. Crawford,” Dupree said, “wasn’t satisfied with her computer and external drive. Or they didn’t find what they were looking for.”

“Should we go in and poke around before the crew gets here?” T.J. asked.

“Of course.”

Dupree and T.J. gingerly navigated their way into the apartment, finding it difficult to weave through the rubble without disturbing anything. The sofa was turned upside down and the fabric on the underside of the sofa was torn open. Like fallen soldiers, several lamps lay on the floor. A desk was turned on its side, the drawers pulled out, lying on the floor with the contents scattered about. A flat screen TV lay on the floor, its screen shattered. They wandered into bedrooms, bathrooms and looked in closets. But nothing struck either of them.

“Wow,” Dupree said. “It almost looks like whoever did this was more than looking for something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think that a thief would take her jewelry? There’s a pile of it lying on the bedroom floor and a few pieces look expensive.” Dupree, moving towards the kitchen, pointed. “Look at that Nikon camera sitting on the kitchen table. Why would a thief leave that behind?”

Dupree walked over to the refrigerator and studied the front of the door. It was covered with everything from photos, to little pieces of paper with phone numbers, to magnets from the local pizza joint, insurance agent, and a real estate broker. There was also an assortment of sticky notes attached to the side of the refrigerator. Dupree studied each and every one of them. About to walk away, a light blue sticky note caught her eye.

“Check this out.”

T.J. made his way to the kitchen.

“Remember what Lentz told us about Dr. Crawford believing that someone in a white Ford was following her?”

“What about it?”

Dupree pointed to the blue sticky note “White Ford Fusion. JAF-9401.”

Dupree was amazed that she could get a cell phone signal while T.J. and she rode the elevator down to the lobby of Dr. Crawford’s building. She called Brenda—her go-to-gal—and asked her to run the plate number for the Ford Fusion. When the elevator doors opened, David Cardone, the superintendent, was standing near the entrance speaking to the doorman. As soon as Cardone noticed the detectives, he abruptly ended his conversation and walked over to them.

“Well, detectives, did you find anything unusual in Dr. Crawford’s residence?”

“Other than the fact that it looks like Godzilla and King Kong had a little party up there,” T.J. said, “everything looks fine.”

T.J. explained to Cardone what they’d found.

“I don’t understand,” Cardone said. “No one has been in there since Dr. Crawford’s murder.”

“I’m going to disagree with you on that one,” Dupree said. “The place is completely trashed.”

“I don’t know how this happened,” Cardone said. “If it’s as bad as you say, whoever broke in must have made a racket.”

“Based on the condition of the place,” Dupree said, “I’d say that your assumption is correct.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Cardone said. “First of all, nobody gets into any residence without a key. Our deadbolts are nearly impossible to jimmy. And second, Dr. Crawford’s neighbors, two senior citizens who have zero tolerance for noise, complain about everything . I don’t know how Dr. Crawford’s apartment could have been ransacked without her neighbors hearing anything.”

“I guess we’ll have to speak to the neighbors and see what they have to say.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Detective Dupree. You see, the Johnsons left early this morning for a European vacation and won’t return for five weeks.”

“Terrific,” Dupree said.

Just then, the doorman opened the front door for John Butler and two other CSI agents.

“Nice to see you could make it,” Dupree said. She turned toward Cardone. “This is John Butler, one of our forensic experts. He and his team are going to need access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment so they can dust for fingerprints and search for anything unusual.”

“You can take it from here, John,” Dupree said. “T.J. and I have bigger fish to fry.”

“Must be time for your midday snack,” Butler said. “You two have the good life.”

“That we do,” T.J. said. He turned towards Dupree. “What’s your pleasure, partner? Sushi? Italian? Thai?”

“Let’s try that new seafood restaurant in the Village.”

“Perfect!”

Just as Dupree and T.J. were about to leave, Dupree remembered something. “Mr. Cardone, I noticed surveillance cameras in the hallway not far from Dr. Crawford’s residence. Can we get a copy of the videotapes for the last forty-eight hours?”

“That’ll take a little maneuvering, but sure. I’ll get them ASAP.”

“If John Butler’s still here,” Dupree said, “just give them to him. If he’s not, you still have my phone number, correct?”

“Sure do, Detective. As soon as I give your colleagues access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment, I’ll contact the security company and see how quickly I can get you the videotapes.”

“Tell them it’s a police matter and it’s urgent,” T.J. said.

Dupree and T.J. headed for the front entrance and the doorman promptly opened the door. Dupree looked at Butler. “Call me if you stumble on anything worthwhile, John.”