Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

Mason blinked excessively. “There was another issue that convinced me to go with Hyland.” Mason, noticeably uncomfortable, adjusted himself in the chair and swallowed several times. “They tried to bribe me.”

“In what regard?” Dupree asked.

“They offered me personally a significant amount of money to sign an agreement with them. They claimed, of course, that it was an incentive and made it clear that I could keep the money even if I decided not to consummate the deal. But clearly, they were trying to bribe me.”

“Mind if I ask how much they offered?” T.J. asked.

“One-million dollars.”

“Wow,” T.J. said. “No offense, but that had to be a tempting offer. I mean a million dollars.”

“My integrity is worth a lot more, Detective Brown. I had a very successful practice and invested wisely, so money in itself is not much of a motivator for me. Granted, if and when the FDA approves our findings, I expect to earn a fair share of the profits. But make no mistake about it. This is not about money; it’s about finding better treatments, and possibly a cure for cancer.”

Dupree looked in Mason’s eyes the whole time he was talking, searching for any sign that he was nervous or uncomfortable. He passed the test.

“Dr. Mason,” Dupree said, “tell us about Horizon’s connection to Dominic Gallo?”

“He’s the Deputy Director of the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, a wing of the FDA. In fact, I believe I told you when we last met that he had been working with Lauren for quite some time.”

“Excuse me for asking,” Dupree said, “but isn’t it a conflict of interest for a senior representative from the FDA to work directly with any organization researching and developing drugs?”

“You’re absolutely right, Detective. But not everything in the world is clearly black and white. Lauren had appealed personally to the FDA commissioner and asked permission to work directly with a high-level representative from the CDER. At first, the commissioner turned her down flat. But when he learned the significance of her research and the potential to cure cancer, how could he not support her efforts every way possible?”

“Did Dr. Crawford ask specifically to work with Dominic Gallo?” Dupree asked.

“If my memory serves me correctly, I think it was the other way around. Dominic was very passionate about Lauren’s theories and wanted to work with her throughout the entire developmental process.”

“He sounds like a very dedicated man,” T.J. said. “Did he actually come to Horizon or communicate with Dr. Crawford more by telephone, text, and e-mail?”

“He was a regular visitor. In fact, he’s flying in from Maryland tomorrow morning to meet with Michael Adelman and me. He wants to help us solidify the partnership agreement and help us cut through as much red tape as possible.”

Dupree glanced at her watch. “Well, Dr. Mason, we’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you so much for talking with us again. Good luck with your meeting tomorrow morning.”

“My pleasure, detectives. I hope you have a pleasant day.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Dupree said. “Are you acquainted with Jonathan Lentz?”

“I wouldn’t use the word, ‘acquainted’, but yes, I met him at my last holiday party.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“As a matter of fact, he’s called a couple of times.”

Dupree could tell by the tone in Mason’s voice that Lentz’s calls were unwelcomed. “May I ask why he called?”

“He asked me to rehire Margaret Hansen.”

“And is that something you’re considering?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “At this particular time I’d say, no, but nothing is carved in stone.”

“Thanks again, Dr. Mason,” Dupree said.

Dupree and T.J. couldn’t get to the elevator fast enough.

“Talk about good timing,” T.J. said as the doors closed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we’re coming back here tomorrow morning to bushwhack Mason, Adelman, and Gallo?”

“Exactly.”

“Now let’s get back to the precinct. It’s time to squeeze Cassano’s huevos ,” Dupree said.

“I’m drooling just thinking about it,” T.J. said.

“You have no idea how many one-liners are popping into my head.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Just hanging down there with you, partner.”

When Dupree and T.J. dragged their weary bodies through the front door of the precinct, they spotted Captain Jensen having a conversation with Detectives Mark Wells and Craig Parisi.

“What’s the latest?” the captain asked Dupree. “Commissioner McVay is up my ass all-day-long.”

“Wow,” T.J. said, “I didn’t know the commissioner was a proctologist.”

Jensen glared at T.J. “Best button your lips, Detective.”

“Lots going on, Captain,” Dupree said. “I’ll have a full report by the end of the day.”

“Just give me the abridged version for now.”

Dupree told the captain everything T.J. and she had discovered over the last couple of days; Lentz’s connection to Gallo and Cassano; the unusual circumstances surrounding Tesler’s murder; Dr. Mason’s involvement with Hyland Laboratories and Gallo; the apparent romance between Lentz and Hansen. She gave him a recap of all the major facts, but decided to tell him privately about the suspicious letter she’d received.

Captain Jensen handed Dupree a plain white envelope. “This ought to make your day.”

At first, Dupree ignored Jensen’s outstretched hand, remembering the last letter she’d gotten. Feeling uneasy, she gingerly tore open the envelope and felt relieved to find Maggie Hansen’s bank statement and cell phone records. “You did make my day, Captain.”

“That’s just the beginning,” the captain said. “Parisi’s got an early Christmas gift for you.”

Parisi grinned from ear to ear. He stood and pushed his thinning hair out of his eyes. “Since Ivan Tesler’s murder, Wells and I, along with a few police officers, have been canvassing the neighborhood, hoping that someone saw or heard something. We thought that it was a bust, but then Tesler’s next door neighbor, a John Richardson called headquarters. He said that he saw a large man leaving Tesler’s home at nine p.m., the night Tesler was murdered, and that the guy looked like he was in a hurry. That’s about thirty minutes before Tesler called 911 for help.”

“How can the neighbor be sure of the time?” T.J. asked.

“Because he claims that he walks his dog every night at precisely nine-o-clock and that he’s been doing it for twelve years.”

“Did he see what kind of car the suspect was driving, or get a license plate number?” Dupree asked.

“Richardson said it was dark and he wasn’t sure what the guy was driving. But it looked like a full-size Chevy pickup truck. When the suspect started the truck and turned on the lights, Richardson memorized part of the plate number.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dupree said. “Why would he even think to do that? What led Richardson to believe the driver of the truck was up to no good?”

“I asked Richardson the same thing and he told me the guy just looked out of place.”

“Did you run the partial plate number?”

“I gave the info to Brenda—the Wizard of Oz—and she worked her mojo.” Parisi grinned again. “Guess what? The truck is registered to Oscar Cassano.”

Dupree felt her heart thumping in her ears. “Thanks, Craig.”

“My pleasure. I hope you nail this son-of-a-bitch.”

Parisi went about his business and T.J. was busy shuffling through a pile of papers.

“Hey, Dupree,” the captain yelled. “Got a few minutes for me?”