Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

“Just say that we have a deal so we can wrap this up and kick things into high gear.”

“As tempting as your generous offer is, in clear conscience, I can’t accept any money directly. Ethically, it would really bother me.”

“I understand,” Taylor said. “In fact, I really admire your integrity. Not too many people on this planet would turn down a million dollars—no strings attached.”

Mason stood and extended his hand toward Taylor. “Right after I meet with Michael Adelman, I’ll make a decision.”

Taylor offered his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Ed.”

By the time Dupree arrived at the precinct, her aching temples had settled down. She found T.J. sitting at his desk, with his face buried in paperwork. Nonchalantly, she opened her desk drawer and slid the envelope inside. She intended to drop it off at the lab as soon as she spoke to T.J. about it.

“Good morning,” Dupree said.

T.J. looked up at her. “How was your latté?”

“Place was too busy. Besides, I didn’t want the lovebirds to see me.”

“See anything else interesting?”

“Only that Lentz may not be as poor as he claimed to be.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Our boy was driving a sparkling new Audi A8.”

“That car sells for over 50k,” T.J. said

“Actually,” Dupree said, “I checked the Internet and it retails for over sixty.”

“Think he stumbled upon a windfall?”

“Maybe he had a big payday. I got his license plate number so I’ll ask Brenda to run it for us.”

“If Lentz or Hansen owns the Audi, we’ll have good reason to request a subpoena to access their bank accounts,” T.J. said.

“My thought exactly.” Dupree rested her butt against T.J.’s desk. “And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to subpoena their cell phone records.”

“Do we have enough justification to get both?” T.J. asked.

“I think I can convince Judge Marshall. He’s been very cooperative in the past.”

“What’s that all about?” T.J. asked. “Got nude pictures of him and a teenage boy?”

“Let’s just say that I helped his daughter out of a very sticky situation a few years back, so he feels somewhat indebted to me. As long as I don’t abuse our relationship, or ask him to really push the legal envelope, I pretty much can rely on him to help me out.”

“Nice to have a connection on the bench.”

“It doesn’t suck.”

T.J. stood. “Ready to rough up Tesler?”

“Before we do, can we chat in private?”

“Of course.”

They entered a vacant interview room and sat opposite each other. T.J. drummed his fingers on the table. “What’s up?”

She gave him all the details of the letter she’d received.

“Cat stew?” T.J. said. “How disgusting. Have you spoken to anyone from Express Delivery?”

“I will as soon as the lab checks it out for prints or whatever else they can find.” She looked past T.J., her mind racing with so many possibilities—none of which were particularly appealing. “Any thoughts?”

“It seems more than likely that someone involved in the Crawford murder sent it to keep you off balance.” More finger drumming. “But there are other possibilities. Over the last ten years you’ve put a lot of criminals behind bars, and not all of them served long terms in prison. Maybe someone who just got out or a friend of someone still locked up wants to mess with your head.”

“I know it wouldn’t be difficult to find out my mother’s first name, but how many people other than personal friends know I have two cats?”

That seemed to stump T.J. “Hm. Never thought of that.”

“Well,” Dupree said, “at this point all we can do is speculate. Why don’t you grab Tesler while I bring the envelope to the lab and I’ll meet you back here in a few?”

Dupree was already waiting in the interview room, seated at the table, when T.J. walked in with Tesler. Dupree gave Tesler a onceover and noticed that he looked like a homeless man who hasn’t had a decent meal or shower in weeks.

Amazing what a few days in the slammer can do .

Rather forcefully, T.J. sat Tesler down opposite Dupree and took a seat beside her. Dupree made sure that the microphones were positioned properly.

“So, Mr. Tesler,” Dupree said, “how do you feel about your new accommodations? Think you’d be content in a twelve by twelve cage for the next twenty or twenty-five years, eating cafeteria food, and showering with a bunch of horny convicts?”

“I ain’t done nothing wrong, and you can’t prove shit. So either let me go, or charge me with something. I got nothing more to say to you two assholes. If you don’t let me go, I want to see a lawyer.”

Dupree was surprised that nearly three days in jail and the prospect of being charged with accessory to murder hadn’t taken the fight out of Tesler. He was tougher than she’d thought.

“Well, then, Mr. Tesler,” Dupree said, “I guess you’re free to go.”

She removed the handcuffs.

T.J. looked at Dupree as if she’d lost her mind.

Tesler stood. “How the fuck do I get home when I got no money and no car?”

“Not a problem, Mr. Tesler,” Dupree said. “There are two IRS tax fraud investigators waiting for you outside the door. I’m sure they’d be happy to give you a ride—but it might not be to your home.” She forced a laugh. “They’re not particularly fond of tax evaders.”

The color drained from Tesler’s face. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Open the door and see for yourself,” Dupree said. “But if you walk out that door, no deals, no second chances, no mercy. You’re going down.”

“So, you threw me to the dogs just because I make a few bucks selling odds and ends out of my trunk?”

“No,” Dupree said. “We threw you to the dogs because you’ve been busting our chops since the moment we met.”

Tesler stood silent for several minutes, staring past the two detectives, his hands deep in his pockets. “Can you give me some time to think?”

“Three days wasn’t enough?” T.J. asked.

“It’s different now that my nuts are in a vice.” Tesler twisted his neck from side to side. “Can you call off the dogs for a little while?”

Dupree glanced at her watch. “We’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll keep the IRS guys on ice. But remember this: when we get back, the bullshit is over. We want to know everything you know. Or else.”

After Dupree and T.J. returned Tesler to lockup, they headed for Brenda’s cubicle.

“Nice play with the IRS investigators,” T.J. said. “You had me going there for a few minutes.”

“Try to keep up, okay?”

T.J. laughed. “I guess that’s why we call you the Velvet Hammer. You walloped the shit out of Tesler before he even knew what hit him. Kudos to you.”

“Once he’s had a little more time to think,” Dupree said, “hopefully he’ll spill his guts.”

“I think he’s going to sing like a blue jay.”

Brenda’s chubby fingers were dancing on her computer keyboard when Dupree and T.J. approached. She stopped typing and swiveled her seat toward the detectives. Brenda stood just under five-foot-tall and carried an extra thirty pounds. On the corner of her desk she kept a candy bowl full of chocolate treats. In theory, they were there for her colleagues to enjoy. But Brenda, addicted to chocolate, grazed on the candy all day long.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Amaris Dupree and her worldly sidekick, Prince Charming.”

“Hey, Brenda,” Dupree said. “How goes it?”

“You know what they say about the police department. They beat the horse that works and let the lazy one sleep. I guess I’m the stupid horse that works. Barely have time to go wee-wee.”