Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

Traffic was congested on their way to Prospect Heights.

“Why don’t you just use the siren and beacon?” T.J. suggested.

“Wouldn’t that be abusing my authority?”

“C’mon, Amaris, it isn’t like you’re lifting some pot from the evidence room.”

“Good point, but—”

“Do you always play by the book?”

“Thus far, I haven’t found a reason not to. But you never know what tomorrow might bring. And remember: I do use my cell when I’m driving.”

Finally, after a grueling ride, Dupree and T.J. arrived at Hansen’s building. She wasn’t sure why, but during the drive, she and T.J. hardly spoke. A noticeable air of tension hovered over them. Under normal circumstances, she might not give this a second thought. But with all they had uncovered over the last couple of days, it seemed that T.J. and she had plenty to discuss. She wanted to let it rest, but an uncontrollable urge got the best of her.

“Talk to me, T.J. What the hell is going on?”

“Did I miss something?”

“Don’t play that game with me,” Dupree said. “It’s been like a morgue in this car for over an hour. I had to check a couple of times to be sure you were still breathing. What gives?”

“Well, you haven’t been much of a conversationalist either,” T.J. shot back.

“I’m really sorry. Guess I’m just a little preoccupied with cat stew and ricin.” Dupree’s voice was a little shaky.

T.J. glanced at her. “Am I an insensitive clod or what? I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about—”

“You’re not insensitive. But you are a little self-absorbed right now. What is it?”

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

Dupree backed into a parking spot, unbuckled her seatbelt, and turned off the ignition. “Is it Haley?”

“It’s always Haley, Amaris. Thoughts of her…”

She grasped his forearm. “We’re both dealing with a lot of shit right now, but we’re so close on this investigation, we just can’t afford to get distracted.”

“You’re absolutely right,” T.J. agreed. “I know that for a long time I haven’t been much of a partner. You had every right to blow me in to the captain, but you didn’t. You stood by me. I really appreciate that. Then, you finally kicked me square in the ass and woke me up. Haven’t you seen a change in me?”

“Of course I have, T.J. You’ve been right on top of everything.” She squeezed his forearm again. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me. Spill your guts. Dump on me. Tell me what you’re feeling. You talk and I’ll listen. Sometimes it really helps to let it all out. Believe me, I know what it’s like to keep everything bottled up inside, waiting for your head to explode. It’s not a place where I want to be. And I know it’s not a good place for you either.”

Silence again. But a different kind of quiet.

“I guess I’m feeling really guilty,” T.J. admitted.

“About what?”

“I’m finally ready to move on.”

“And by ‘move on’, you mean?”

“I think I can actually leave the past in the past and start living again.”

Dupree could see his eyes glazing over. “That’s not a bad thing, T.J.”

“Haley’s always going to be there, somewhere in my thoughts. I’ll never erase the image of her lying on that bed…”

Dupree knew better than to say anything.

“But I can’t live like this any longer. I don’t want to be haunted by something I can’t change. I have to get beyond this or there’s absolutely no possibility that I’ll ever have a meaningful relationship again.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You already did.” He reached over and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Let’s get down to business.”

Dupree was a little stunned by T.J.’s actions. Was it merely a friendly gesture? Or more?

They dodged traffic crossing the street, heading towards Hansen’s building. Once across, Dupree grabbed T.J.’s arm just as they were about to enter. “Something just occurred to me,” Dupree said. “Butler said that the process to make ricin from caster beans was very complicated, right?”

“He did.”

“Well, wouldn’t you think that a research scientist knowledgeable in chemistry might figure out how to extract ricin from castor beans?”

“Holy shit.”

As soon as they entered the building, the grossly overweight, shabbily groomed security guard Dupree remembered walked over to them.

He pointed at them. “You’re those detectives aren’t you?”

Dupree showed him her badge. “Yes, we are those detectives.”

She and T.J. moved past him as if he didn’t exist and headed for the elevator.

“Excuse me,” the security guard yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well,” T.J. said, “when we get on this elevator, we’re probably going up.”

“Who exactly are you looking for?”

“That’s exactly none of your business,” T.J. answered.

The security guard gave them a seething look. “Now you two just wait one… darn… minute. You’ve got no right to barge in here like you own the place.”

Dupree pulled the search warrant out of her inside jacket pocket and waved it in front of his face. “Actually,” she glanced at his name tag, “Ralph, we do kind of own the place.”

“Well, can you at least tell me who you want to see?”

T.J. pushed the ‘up’ button and the doors opened immediately. “Do you have a master key to all the residences?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you come with us?” T.J. said. “And you can find out first hand who we want to see.”

Dupree could see that Ralph would rather jump off a cliff than join them, but he didn’t protest. Unlike the friendly, animated elevator operator Dupree and T.J. had encountered during their first visit, this one was expressionless, talked in a monotone voice, and his face was as milky white as an Albino wolf.

“Floor, please.”

“Twenty-three,” Dupree said.

The turbocharged elevator climbed up in less than ten seconds.

As the doors opened, Ralph’s face lit up. “Now I remember! You’re here to see Margaret Hansen, aren’t you?”

“Sh,” Dupree said. “We want to surprise her.”

Ralph led them to unit 2311.

About to knock on the door, Dupree said, “Wait a minute before you leave. If she’s not home, we need you to unlock the door.”

T.J. knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

T.J. pointed to the ring of keys hanging off Ralph’s belt. “Please let us in.”

Ralph sorted through his keys, found the master, unlocked the door, and slowly pushed it open.

“We’ll take it from here,” Dupree said. “You can go about your business. We’ll let you know when we’re done.” Dupree took out her cell. “May I have your phone number, Ralph?”

“212-555-9153.”

Dupree saved the number.

They entered the apartment and closed the door. “Let’s get busy,” Dupree said. “I’ll start in the bedroom, you check out the kitchen.”

Remembering the messy condition of Hansen’s apartment the first time she’d spoken to the suspect, Dupree was surprised at its tidiness. The bedroom looked like a centerfold ad for Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Before Dupree began going through dresser drawers, searching closets, and inspecting the items scattered on the nightstands and vanity, five cardboard boxes neatly stacked in the corner caught her eye.

She reached for the box on top of the pile and tried to lift it, but the box felt way too heavy.

“Hey, T.J.,” she yelled. “Can you help me for a sec?”

When T.J. walked into the bedroom, Dupree pointed to the box. “Mind helping me with this?”