Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

“Just trying to go two for two.”

T.J. opened the door shaking his head. “Huh?”

“You’ll see.”

T.J. shrugged and entered the room. Dupree followed close behind. They found Lentz right where they’d left him, but by the look on his face, Dupree was certain he was way past the point of moderate irritation.

“Are you detectives serious or what? You make me sit here like a criminal and I haven’t done a damn thing.”

“I apologize, Mr. Lentz,” Dupree said. “Detective work is unpredictable.”

“I couldn’t give a shit less. I want a lawyer, and I want one right now !”

“Sure thing,” Dupree said. “Do you have someone in mind, or should I contact the Public Defender’s office?”

“I have my own lawyer. Just get me a telephone.”

“No problem,” Dupree said. “But can you just give me a minute to share something with you?”

Lentz looked at his watch. “You’ve got one minute.”

Dupree held up the manila envelope. “Remember when I told you that a subpoena to release your bank account information and cell phone records would be coming soon?”

Dupree saw Lentz swallow hard, but he didn’t say a word. His eyes were locked on the envelope.

“Here it is, Mr. Lentz. By noon tomorrow, we’ll have a complete summary of your banking activity and a list of every call you made and received on your cell phone.”

He licked his lips and cracked his knuckles.

“Now I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Dupree said. “You can try to bullshit us all you want. But in the end, we know that you are somehow linked to Dr. Lauren Crawford’s murder. We’re not saying that you pulled the trigger or directly harmed her. But you’re connected. If not today, maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week, you’ll be facing serious charges. Charges that will get you ten, maybe fifteen years in a twelve by twelve cage. If you come clean right now and tell us everything you know, we’ll talk to the DA and help you any way we can. But this is a one-shot deal. Take it now or roll the dice.” Dupree mocked him with an exaggerated grin. “Know what else? You’re a pretty attractive man, Mr. Lentz, and I’m sure, absolutely certain that the inmates are going to find you very appealing. Get my drift? Or do I have to explain?”

This was the moment of truth Dupree had faced with dozens of suspects. It was a game of poker. Dupree claimed to have the ace of spades. Now it was time for Lentz to fold or call her bluff.

“Can I call my lawyer now?”

His defiance stunned Dupree. She thought for sure he’d cave in. She didn’t believe so, but maybe his bank records and cell phone activities wouldn’t reveal anything incriminating.

“You’re free to go,” Dupree said. “But we’ll be talking again real soon.”

Without uttering another sound, Lentz glared at Dupree with contempt, sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, bolted for the door, and slammed it after he walked out.

Dupree looked at T.J., shaking her head. “That went well.”

“Either he’s got nothing to hide,” T.J. said, “or he’s an idiot.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Dupree glanced at her watch. “Let’s go talk to Brenda.”

On the way to speak with Brenda, neither Dupree nor T.J. said a word to each other—a rare phenomenon. Dupree guessed that the case had drained T.J as much as it had her. Since becoming a homicide detective, she’d worked on dozens of difficult cases. Some that involved multiple murders, mutilated bodies, children beaten to death, gang-related shootings, and snitches killed execution style by the mob. All of the murders disturbed her, of course, but this investigation heightened her anguish. At first, when she recognized that this case was like no other, she wasn’t quite sure what distinguished it. But now that some time had passed and she’d learned more about Dr. Crawford and her groundbreaking cancer research, Dupree realized why the case meant so much to her.

Her mother had died of breast cancer and Dr. Crawford had worked tirelessly searching for a cure, or at least a more effective treatment that would extend a patient’s life while preserving their quality of life. This was the connection. This was why Dupree would not rest until she solved the case. With Dr. Crawford gone, who would finish her work? How many more people would senselessly die from this horrible disease if no one carried on with the research?

And then there was another issue Dupree tried desperately to flush out of her mind, but like a nagging migraine, it just wouldn’t go away. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to feel envious or resentful, yet she could not lie to herself. It seemed that Dr. Crawford had enjoyed the kind of mother-daughter relationship Dupree longed for. When Mrs. Crawford spoke of her daughter, she glowed with pride. When the heartbroken woman told Dupree that her daughter called twice a day, every day, and that they had dinner together twice a week, Dupree could only feel envy. She imagined what it would be like if she and her daughter enjoyed the same intimacy. Yes, Dupree had good reason to embrace this investigation. It was more than just doing her job. Right or wrong, it was now personal.

“Earth calling Amaris,” T.J. said, startling Dupree. “Are you visiting another dimension?”

“Sorry, just lost in my thoughts.”

They found Brenda about to bite into what looked like pastrami on rye.

“I guess we’re just in time,” T.J. said.

“That looks yummy,” Dupree added. “Is that from Katz’s Deli?”

Brenda nodded. “Ain’t nothing like it on the whole damn Earth.”

“How did you get it? They’re all the way downtown,” Dupree said. “I know they deliver but not to the Bronx.”

“You should know by now I’ve got connections.” She winked. “Can’t share all my secrets with you, Sweetie.”

Brenda set down her half-eaten sandwich and wiped a napkin across her mustard-covered lips. “I know it’s not ladylike, but there’s no way to eat a sandwich like this according to the rules of etiquette.”

Dupree laughed. “Why don’t you finish your lunch and we’ll come back in a little while.”

Brenda pointed to the empty chair right next to her. “You set your cute little behind right there. My vittles can wait.”

Little behind ? Dupree sat down and T.J. stood behind her.

Brenda pointed to the Excel spreadsheet displayed on the computer screen. “I ran the name ‘Oscar’ through the database and searched all convicted felons charged with assault and battery or aggravated assault released from prison over the last ten years. I would have gone back a few more years, but that’s as far as the database goes. In New York, I found twenty-seven Oscars—didn’t think there were that many in the whole damn world. Eleven of them had Italian-sounding last names.”

Brenda clicked on page two of the spread sheet and pointed again to the computer screen. “Three of the Oscars live in New York City.”

“Are there mug shots in the database?” T.J. asked.

“I’m getting to that. Keep your pants on.”

She opened several pages, hit the right keys, and like magic, all eleven images appeared on the screen. One by one Brenda reviewed their rap sheets. She pointed to the screen. “This guy here.” Brenda zoomed in on his name. “Oscar Cassano might be of particular interest.”

Brenda zoomed in on Cassano’s rap sheet and criminal record. “He’s been a busy boy. In and out of prison for a good part of his adult life and even spent a year in a juvenile detention center when he was a teenager. Every offense involved violence. His last stint was supposed to be in Auburn State Prison. But he was terrorizing a few new inmates—beat the tar out of one of them—so they shipped him off to Attica. And I don’t think I have to tell you that that prison is a supermax facility.”