Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

Dupree laughed. “Well, at least you’re still sleeping in the same bed.”

“Whoop-de-do,” Butler said. He picked up a plastic bag with the envelope inside. “I wish I had some good news for you, but there’s really not much to go on. The note itself is clean. Whoever wrote it and stuffed it in the envelope knew what they were doing. The large envelope has lots of prints on it, including yours, which shouldn’t surprise you. We ran the prints through the data base and the only two matches we found were for a Nate Winston and Juan Vargas. Neither has a criminal record. The only reason they’re in the system is because both have pistol permits. Do you happen to know either of them?”

“Nate works at the front desk of my apartment building.” She thought for a moment, remembering her conversation with Charlie, the overnight security guard. “Oh yeah, Vargas works for Express Delivery. He delivered the envelope.”

“Sorry I don’t have more for you,” Butler said. He squeezed Dupree’s shoulder in a comforting way. “Be careful out there, Amaris.”

Dupree half-jogged to the break room, poured herself a cup of coffee, and joined T.J and Lentz in the interview room. She glanced at T.J., her lips tight, cheeks flushed. She could tell by his reaction that he understood the lab struck out with the envelope.

“How long are you going to hold me here?” Lentz asked. “You have no evidence to charge me with anything .”

“Not yet,” T.J. answered. “Of course, that could change in a heartbeat once my partner and I finish our little chat with Maggie Hansen. Did I mention that she’s in the other interview room?”

Lentz’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t react. Dupree recognized that Lentz was trying hard to conceal his concern and was doing a pretty good job. But when he started nervously fidgeting, she knew that T.J. had struck a raw nerve.

“Can I get you some water, coffee, a stale donut?” T.J. offered. “Or maybe you’d like to call an attorney.”

“You’re a real friggin’ comedian, Detective. I know my rights.”

“Do you really?” T.J. said. “If you think I’m violating those rights, you can file a grievance.”

“Sit tight, Mr. Lentz,” Dupree said. “My partner and I have to go powder our noses. If you have to take a whiz, just knock on the door and someone will escort you to the little boy’s room.”

“Gee, thanks. How long before you come back?”

“Don’t know,” Dupree answered.

Dupree and T.J. headed for lockup. “Did you make any progress with Tesler?” Dupree asked.

“He still needs some time to think about his dubious future.”

“He may not have a future.”

T.J. touched her arm. “Sorry about the envelope.”

“Me too.”

They led Ivan Tesler to an empty interview room. T.J. sat but Dupree remained standing. She kept her eyes locked on Tesler’s. She saw fear in his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Tesler, you’ve had plenty of time to think. What’ll it be? Want to talk to us or would you prefer the IRS?”

“If I tell you what I know, what’s in it for me?”

“As long as you haven’t committed a felony, we can make a deal with the IRS not to press charges for tax evasion and convince the district attorney not to charge you as an accessory to murder.”

Tesler thought about that for a minute. “So if I admit that somebody paid me to tail her, is that a felony?”

“If your only part in this was watching her,” T.J. said, “no, it’s not a felony.”

Tesler combed his fingers through his greasy hair and licked his lips. “If he hears I ratted him out, he’ll slit my fucking throat.” Tesler covered his face with both hands and cleared his throat several times. “His name is Oscar. Never got his last name, but he’s definitely Italian. A real scary type. Strange thing is, he’s got a twisted sense of humor. I mean this guy could crack jokes at a funeral. He used to be a regular at the Night Owl on Walnut Street in Yonkers, a few blocks away from my place. But I haven’t run into him in a while. I heard that he had a run in with the owner and it almost came to blows. Anyway, I’m a pretty fair pool player, but the first time I met Oscar, he mopped up the floor with me. Guy’s the best pool shark I’ve ever seen. Took my rent money and laughed all the way to the bank.

“He’s not the sociable type, mostly keeps to himself. But we kinda hit it off and got to know each other. Whenever I’d run into him, he’d kick my ass at pool, and then we’d share a few beers and shots of Jack. His treat. Booze always loosens up the tongue.” Tesler took a gulp of water. “He told me stories about his prison time, about the number of skulls he cracked open. I think he even scared the shit out of the guards. As it worked out, he ended up in a cage cuz his full-time job was breaking kneecaps for some loan shark and the cops finally nailed him. Been out of jail for a while.”

“Do you have any idea what prison he was in?” T.J. asked.

“Some joint in New York. Don’t know the name.” Tesler paused for a minute as if he’d lost track of where he left off in his story. “Anyway, one day he asks me if I’d like to make a quick buck—said it was the easiest job in the world. Being the kind of guy who doesn’t usually have two nickels to rub together, I was interested. He tells me about some lady he wants me to keep an eye on. I figured it was an old girlfriend and he wanted to find out who her new boyfriend was so he could cut his balls off. I didn’t ask no questions, and he didn’t tell me much about her.”

“What exactly did he want you to do?” Dupree asked.

“Wanted me to watch her every move. Follow her from morning to night and report back to him.”

“Did you have any idea who you were watching?”

“Not until she was killed and I saw her picture on TV.” He paused and shook his head. “Terrible thing. I puked for two days just thinking about it.”

“How did you communicate with Oscar?” T.J. asked.

“Mostly by telephone. One of those prepaid throwaways you buy at Walmart.”

“Do you remember what number you called?” Dupree asked.

“Only the area code: 914.”

“Tell us about the last time you spoke to him,” Dupree said.

“The night before she was killed, Oscar called and asked me to meet him at the Night Owl. By the time I got there, he was pretty shit-faced. He said something major was going down real soon. Said that he hit the big time, that he could afford to rent a nice place in Manhattan. It didn’t mean shit to me. I had no idea what he was talking about. He told me to wait until tomorrow night, park across the street from where she worked, and to call him the minute she left work. When I called him, he said that my work was complete and told me to get rid of the cell as soon as our conversation ended. He also warned me that if for some reason I didn’t dump the phone, or if I told anyone about our little deal, he’d come looking for me with a meat clever.”

“And all this time,” Dupree said, “you had no idea he was up to no good?”

“I knew that whatever he was doing wasn’t on the up and up and guessed somebody was getting their ass kicked, but it never dawned on me that Oscar would…”

“Can you give us a description of him?” Dupree asked.

“He shaves his head and usually wears a baseball cap. He has a ratty goatee and doesn’t trim it very often.” Tesler cracked his knuckles. Beads of perspiration sprouted on his forehead. “He’s a big bastard. Got a body like a professional wrestler. Real hulky.”

Tesler’s description peaked Dupree’s interest. Except for the goatee, which he could have shaved off just before murdering Dr. Crawford, Oscar could very well be the guy in the surveillance tapes.