Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

T.J. seemed to be lost in his thoughts and Dupree couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told her. About to ask T.J. a question, Dupree’s cell rang. It rang three times before she found it hiding in the bottom of her handbag.

“Detective Dupree.”

“I hear you’re burning the midnight oil. It’s not going to get you a raise you know.”

Dupree immediately recognized John Butler’s voice. “Shouldn’t you be home with your wife and kids watching a Disney movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn?”

“Not when there’s a dead body that needs some CSI expertise.”

“Well, you’re the right guy for the job,” Dupree said.

“I think this one’s going to peak your interest,” Butler said.

“All murders interest me.”

“Does the name Ivan Tesler ring a bell?”

Dupree turned on the speaker so T.J. could hear. “It sure does. Tesler’s a suspect in Dr. Crawford’s murder.”

“Not anymore.”

“Fill me in.”

“This is a strange one. We found his body sitting in a chair. Both of his legs and his left arm were bound to the chair. But it appears that he somehow managed to break his right arm free. He was sitting right next to an end table in the living room and there was a telephone, pad, and pencil on the table. With his free arm, Tesler apparently called 911. But when they answered, all they heard was unintelligible yelling and screaming. This went on for several minutes. The 911 operator ran his phone number and gave his address to a couple of black and whites and asked them to check it out.”

“How did you know to call me?”

“He managed to scribble two words on that pad on the end table. ‘Oscar’ and ‘Dupree’.”

Dupree glanced at T.J. and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“How was he murdered, John?”

“Ready for this one? Whoever killed him must have really had an axe to grind. The killer sliced up his entire body, from head to toe, with what was likely a razorblade. Now these weren’t cuts that would make him bleed out; they were surface cuts that barely broke the skin. But get this. Next to his body, we found an empty bottle of vinegar and an almost empty box of table salt. Best we can figure, the killer cut nearly every square inch of this poor bastard’s body and poured salt and vinegar into the wounds. I know it’s cliché, but it really happened. The guy must have suffered excruciating pain.”

“Any prints?” Dupree asked.

“Not on the bottle of vinegar or box of salt, but we’re still dusting.”

Dupree’s mind was racing. That Cassano was capable of such brutality spoke volumes about the type of lunatic they were dealing with. “Have you determined the cause of death?”

“Well, it seems that after the killer tortured this guy for who knows how long, he wasn’t satisfied. For his final performance, he cut out Tesler’s tongue and it likely didn’t take long before the guy bled to death.”

“That’s wild, John, totally barbaric.”

“I’m curious,” John said. “Obviously, we figured out who ‘Dupree’ was on the scribbled note, but do you know what the name, ‘Oscar’ means?”

“Coincidentally, the name of the guy we’re staking out is Oscar Cassano. We like him for the murder of Dr. Crawford.”

“I guess you can like him for Tesler’s murder, too. Good luck, Amaris. If you need anything at all, just give me a holler.”

Dupree disconnected the call and dropped the cell in her handbag. “I guess Tesler was almost right when he said Cassano would slit his throat if he suspected that he ratted him out.”

“Well,” T.J. said, “I suppose we now have justification to kick this asshole’s door in.”

“Now that we know just how violent he is, we need to call for backup,” Dupree said.

Dupree made the call and requested two black and whites. She’d warned the dispatcher to tell the police officers to approach the area quietly—no sirens blaring or lights flashing.

“We’ve got this bastard cold,” Dupree said. “Once we arrest him, check out the birthmark on the back of his neck, run DNA tests on his blood, match it to what we found in the backseat of Dr. Crawford’s car, we’ve got him for murder one.”

“And there’s no reason for us to cut any deals with the DA.” T.J. added.

“I’m thinking we do,” Dupree said. “There is no way in hell that Cassano was a solo pilot on this murder. He was working for someone else. And I believe that ‘someone’ is high on the food chain.” Prior to today, Dupree had considered that Dr. Crawford’s murder was part of a much bigger story. Now, she felt certain it was.

“I didn’t really think so, but now I’m on the same page.”

“Are you saying that I’m right and you’re wrong ?”

“Of course not!” T.J. laughed out loud. “Just saying that…”

Before he could finish his sentence, a police car pulled parallel to Dupree’s squad car and the officer rolled down the passenger window.

“You guys need a little assistance?” the officer asked.

Dupree didn’t recognize the policeman. She told him what was going down. Just then, another patrol car arrived on the scene.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dupree said.

Dupree asked the officers to move their patrol cars down the street a half block. If Cassano looked out his window, she didn’t want him to notice the black and whites. Dupree, T.J. and the four uniformed policemen huddled together and discussed their plan. Because Cassano’s home was half of a side-by-side duplex, they only needed to be concerned with guarding the front and back entrances, and the two windows on one side of the house. They agreed that T.J. and Dupree would knock on the front door, while two policemen watched the back door, and two watched the windows on the side of the house.

Once the policemen were in position, Dupree and T.J. tiptoed up the front steps to Cassano’s front door. Weapons drawn, T.J. knocked and Dupree stood ready to react.

No answer.

Again T.J. knocked—harder this time—but still no answer.

“The front door doesn’t look like solid wood,” T.J. whispered. “If we kick it hard at the same time, just above the doorknob, I think we can break through.”

Dupree nodded. “On my count. One. Two. Three.”

Their timing was near perfect. The heels of their shoes hit the door simultaneously, a few inches above the doorknob. They heard wood splinter and Dupree could see that the door caved in slightly, but it held strong.

“Again,” Dupree said. “One. Two. Three.”

This time the force from their timed kick broke the lock, ruptured the door jam, and the door flew open. Cautiously, with T.J. slightly ahead of Dupree, pistols in the ready position, they entered the living room. Cassano was nowhere in sight, but Dupree noticed two overstuffed, wheeled suitcases sitting in the middle of the living room floor.

Dupree waved at T.J. and whispered, “Looks like our guy has travelling plans.”

“Hope he didn’t buy non-refundable plane tickets,” T.J. whispered, grinning.

Side by side, they moved deeper into the home, looking for any sign of life. Suddenly they heard a commotion coming from behind a closed door—glass breaking, two voices yelling. With great vigilance, they slowly opened the door. In front of an opened window, Cassano stood with the upper half of his body hanging out the window. In his back pocket, Dupree noticed a white envelope.

From outside the window, one of the policemen yelled, “Are you in there detectives?”

“We’ve got him covered,” Dupree yelled.

Cassano pulled his torso back into the bedroom and turned around, a mocking grin was painted across his face. “Welcome to the party,” he said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d a put on a pot of coffee and stopped by Donuts Delight.”