Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

There was a time—it seemed in another life—when Dupree looked forward to preparing a nice dinner and sharing a bottle of wine with someone special. But it had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—at least on an intimate level. With her thirty-fifth birthday coming soon, it loomed as a poignant reminder that a stiff drink, dark chocolate, and chick-flicks had become substitutes for a comforting hug and passionate kiss.

Her cell phone rang.

She looked at the display and didn’t recognize the caller. “Detective Dupree.”

“Hi, Detective, this is Jonathan Lentz, Lauren Crawford’s ex-boyfriend. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Tearing her away from a bagel and cream cheese was an interruption she could forgive. “No, you’re not disturbing me at all. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you asked me to call if I remembered anything that might be significant.” His voice sounded raspy, as if he’d just woken up. “I don’t know if this means anything, but about a week ago when I spoke to Lauren on the telephone, she said that for the last few weeks she felt as if someone was watching her.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to Lauren, a creepy guy in a white Ford Fusion would frequently sit in his car across the street from her apartment and seemed to be watching her. On two occasions, she’d seen the same car parked across the street from where she worked.”

Dupree thought it peculiar that Lentz hadn’t mentioned something as significant as this when she’d interviewed him earlier. Then again, shock plays a lot of tricks on your brain. She recalled that Mrs. Crawford had also spoken of a mysterious stalker.

“Did she describe the man or happen to take down his license plate number?”

“She didn’t say. I told her to call the police and report it, but I don’t know if she ever did.”

“Is there anything else, Mr. Lentz?”

“Only that I hope you find the bastard who killed her and lock him up for life.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She hung up, picked up her glass of wine and gulped a mouthful.

Before she barely had a chance to swallow, her cell rang again. “This is Detective Dupree.”

“Hey there Detective, it’s Brenda.”

Dupree looked at her watch. “Are you still working?”

“On my way out the door, but I thought I’d give you the info on Jonathan Lentz.”

“How utterly ironic,” Dupree said. “Would you believe that I just got off the phone with him?”

“Odd coincidence.”

“So, what’s the scoop, Brenda?”

“He’s been a good boy for the last few months, but before that he was quite a character.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it all started in June of 2008. It seems that he likes to get into fist fights. Mostly in bars. Must be one of those guys who gets alcohol courage when he drinks—makes him want to kick some ass. He likes to hang with some pretty seedy characters. Real bad boys. He’s been arrested four times but never been convicted. Maybe he just likes to beat the crap out of people.”

“That’s interesting,” Dupree said. “He doesn’t seem the type.”

“Do they ever?”

“Good point. Anything else I should know?”

“You got it all, Sugar. Have a good night.”

“You as well.”

Dupree remembered Lentz’s narrative about losing his job at Lehman Brothers in 2008 and how he was clawing his way back to solvency. Curious, Dupree thought, that Lentz neglected to mention his colorful past.

Maybe he wasn’t the hard-working citizen he claimed to be.

T.J. hopped in Dupree’s car with a groan and closed the door. He strapped on his seatbelt and reclined the seatback as far as it would go. On the radio, Lady Gaga was proclaiming that she was “Born this Way.” T.J. turned off the radio.

“Don’t like Gaga?” Dupree asked.

“Not this morning.”

“I can’t believe you actually got here on time.”

“Enjoy it,” T.J. said. “It may never happen again.”

“You look like you could use a gallon of strong coffee and a quart of Visine.”

“Shoot me. Please.” T.J. said. “Just put me out of my misery.”

Dupree merged into the flowing traffic and headed for the Horizon Cancer Research Center in the Bronx. “Rough night, hey?”

“The night was just fine.” T.J. said. “It’s the morning that got me.”

“Too much partying?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just don’t get enough sleep.”

“Try a couple of Excedrin PM’s and melatonin just before you go to bed. But be sure you turn the volume up on your clock radio or you’ll sleep till Christmas.”

The rush hour traffic was unusually light this morning, which was as rare an event as a solar eclipse of the sun.

“Want me to swing by Starbucks?” Dupree offered.

“Don’t think my stomach could handle it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, by the way. Before I went home last night, I drove to the Better Blast Coffee Shop and Lentz’s story checked out. He was there all evening.”

“I’m impressed by your tenacity. Are you turning over a new leaf?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Dupree had much to say about their impending conversation with Dr. Mason, and she wanted to be sure that T.J. and she were on the same wavelength. But every time she glanced at him, about to speak, his eyes looked droopy and it appeared that he’d be sound asleep in a few minutes. For most of their six-month partnership, T.J. had been alert and ready to roll first thing in the morning. In fact, he was an energetic, cheery “morning person” who came to work singing. He annoyed the crap out of everyone around him who was still struggling to gradually wake up. But something recently changed. Something wasn’t quite right with him. She realized that she had to confront the issue, but now was not the time.

Driving the side streets of the Bronx, watching kids enjoying their summer vacation—

playing hopscotch and stick ball—reminded Dupree of a life less complicated. A life she abandoned when her teen years changed her from a sweet girl to an out of control and defiant young woman. She tried to blame it on her father, a worthless man who abandoned his wife and daughter when Dupree was only three years old. But the peer pressure in high school influenced her more than any other factor and set her on the wrong path.

Why at this particular time she would be reminiscing about such things made no sense. But she not only had survived her teenage years, she’d fulfilled the promise she had whispered in her mother’s ear moments before she died.

“I’m going to be somebody, Mom. I’m going to make you proud of me.”

Dupree wasn’t sure if she’d kept her promise by getting into law enforcement. But she hoped that her mother looked down from the heavens with favor.

Trying to clear her head of all these troubling thoughts, she pulled into the driveway of the ten-story office building and found a visitor’s spot. They got out of the car and headed for the entrance. Just inside the door, Dupree noticed the building directory. Horizon was located on the top floor.

Dupree and T.J. stepped into the elevator. As soon as the door closed and the elevator moved upward, Dupree elbowed T.J. “Are you ready for this interview?”

“Want the truth?”

“No. I want you to bullshit me.”

“I really don’t feel up to it.”

Although annoyed, Dupree appreciated his honesty. “Tell you what. You just sit there and look pretty and I’ll ask the questions. Just don’t fall asleep.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The elevator door opened and Dupree stepped out; T.J. lagged a few steps behind her. It appeared that Horizon Cancer Research Center occupied the entire floor, which was not what Dupree had anticipated. For some reason, after speaking to Mrs. Crawford, Dupree got the impression that Horizon would be in a small space the size of a janitor’s closet in the basement of a musty old building. But clearly, this was a first class operation, and whoever funded the project had wheelbarrows full of money. Just looking around, Dupree guessed that there had to be at least a couple dozen employees moving about. And she suspected there were many more “worker bees” out of sight.