Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

“The CSI team lifted your fingerprint off the handcuffs.”

Dupree could tell by the look in Hansen’s eyes that she was frantically searching for a believable retort.

“I don’t know who murdered Jonathan, honestly, but if the handcuffs you found were his, he and I used them many times. So, my fingerprints could have been on them for months.”

“Nice try,” Dupree said. “But there is one more minor fact that’s going to cause you major heartburn.” Dupree paused, purposely wanting Hansen to agonize for a few minutes.

“Well? What minor fact?”

“Just that the young woman working the reservation desk at Shoreline Hideaways saw you getting into Mr. Lentz’s A8 and peeling rubber out of the driveway. And she can identify you. Once she picks you out of a lineup, let’s just say that your goose is cooked.”

The veins in Hansen’s neck stood out on livid edges. “You tricked me, you motherfucking asshole!”

“My, oh my,” Dupree said. “You really have quite the potty mouth. You can mother-f me as much as you like if it makes you feel better. But know this: you’re going to spend the next twenty-five years—and maybe more—in a cage. And that’s exactly where a monster like you belongs.”

Dupree and T.J. turned to walk away, but Dupree stopped.

“One more thing,” Dupree said. “I’ve never tasted cat stew, nor would I like to sprinkle ricin on top of it. But you do get an A+ for originality.”

Hansen actually laughed. “Got to admit. It was pretty damn clever, no?”

“Genius,” Dupree said. “You just added attempted murder to your murder charge.”

Again Dupree and T.J. turned to leave.

“Hey, Detective,” Hansen yelled. “How did you know it was me who sent the letters?”

The corners of Dupree’s mouth turned up. “You just told me.”

The look of horror on Hansen’s face was an image Dupree would not soon forget.

On their way back to the office, T.J. said, “Nice double-reverse. When did you figure out that Hansen sent the letters?”

“Didn’t know for sure. But shortly after you reminded me that she was the only one associated with the investigation who knew I had two cats, and the fact that she’s a scientist capable of making ricin, I figured it had to be her.”

“I don’t get it,” T.J. said. “Why would Hansen send you the threatening letters?”

“Why do any nutcases do what they do?”

“But what was her motive? What did she hope to gain? She seems way too intelligent to do something so stupid.”

“You’re trying to rationalize the thought process of an irrational woman,” Dupree said.

“I don’t see her as that irrational.”

“Really? Would a rational woman beat her boyfriend to death with a champagne bottle and leave her fingerprint on a pair of handcuffs? Or would she conspire to murder a brilliant research scientist? Would a rational woman implicated in a murder conspiracy send a homicide detective ricin and potentially place herself in the spotlight?”

T.J. thought long and hard. “I see your point.”

“Great. Glad you’re finally realizing that my instincts are usually right.” She winked.

Dupree had one more piece of unfinished business, but decided to address it without T.J. She found him standing in front of the water cooler eating a Snicker’s bar.

“Early dinner?” Dupree asked.

“Something to tide me over.”

She noticed that he glanced at the handbag hanging from her shoulder.

“Where you headed?” he asked.

“Just have to run a few errands.”

“Need my assistance?”

“Everything’s under control,” Dupree said. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“I may already be gone, so give me a holler on my cell if I’m not here when you get back.”

“Sure thing.”

Through crawling traffic Dupree drove over the Brooklyn Bridge and headed for Mrs. Crawford’s home. When she got there, the street was congested with parked cars, so Dupree found a spot two blocks away.

As in the past, roaming the streets of Brooklyn gave Dupree a feeling of nostalgia.

Making her way to Mrs. Crawford’s, she passed home after home, one more magnificent than the other. One in particular caught her eye.

She’d once lived in such a place. She remembered sitting on the front steps of her mom’s home without a care in the world, eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, washing them down with a glass of ice-cold milk. She could still smell the chocolaty scent coming from the oven as her mom baked the cookies to perfection. To this day, she’d never tasted a cookie quite as delicious as her mom’s.

As Dupree climbed up the front steps of Leona Crawford’s home, she remembered her first meeting with the woman—the day she had crushed her heart when she’d told Mrs. Crawford that her daughter had been murdered. Nothing Dupree could say or do could ever begin to erase Mrs. Crawford’s unimaginable pain, but Dupree hoped she could at least give her a breath of relief today.

Dupree knocked softly. Mrs. Crawford opened the door almost immediately. Quite to Dupree’s delight, the woman greeted her with a cordial smile. Her face revealed no obvious signs of distress.

Mrs. Crawford stepped to the side and motioned with her arm. “Please come in, Detective. It’s so nice to see you again.” Mrs. Crawford extended her arm and held Dupree’s hand.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Crawford said. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, a soda?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Crawford.”

“What brings you to Williamsburg?” Crawford asked. “I hope you came to deliver good news.”

“I just wanted to let you know that we have arrested four people in connection with your daughter’s murder.”

Crawford’s eyes opened wide. She looked up at the ceiling. “Praise be to God.”

She grabbed a tissue, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. “That’s… that’s fantastic news, Detective.” Mrs. Crawford inhaled deeply. “I can’t even imagine one person wanting to harm my Lauren. But four ? That’s unthinkable. Would it breach police policy if you told me who they are?”

The police department hadn’t yet disclosed the names of the three people charged with conspiracy to commit murder, or the name of the actual killer, so technically, Dupree really wasn’t supposed to share the arrest information with anyone. But at this particular point in time, she didn’t care about protocol. All she cared about was trying to ease some of Mrs. Crawford’s anguish. Besides, what would Mrs. Crawford do with this information, call CNN ?

“I don’t know if this will shock you or not,” Dupree said, “but an ex-research scientist from Horizon, the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, and a member of the FDA were all involved in the conspiracy. But the man who actually committed the crime was basically a hired gun.

“Nothing you’re saying is shocking me, Detective. I am surprised that neither Dr. Mason nor Jonathan Lentz’s names came up. I never really trusted Dr. Mason. And I would suspect you know how I feel about Jonathan Lentz.”

“We have no evidence to support the theory that Dr. Mason was involved. Lentz did play a small role, but really wasn’t part of the conspiracy. Unfortunately, he got caught in the middle of a tangled web and ended up a murder victim himself.”

“That’s very sad.” Crawford wiped her eyes again. “I’m glad you found the monsters who took my Lauren. Nothing will bring her back. But at least I can sleep at night knowing that justice will be served.”

“Have you found anyone to escort you to Tijuana for your next treatment?”