Hypocrisy (19 page)

Dupree and T.J. turned and moved towards the front door.

“Wait!” Jake yelled.

“Is your memory working better now?” T.J. asked.

“Okay, okay,” Jake said. “I
am
pretty good friends with Oscar.”

“Then why did you deny it?” Dupree asked.

“Cassano is trouble. Big trouble.”

“Explain,” T.J. said.

“I heard some guys talking about something big going down and it involved Cassano.”

“That doesn’t tell us shit. Be more specific,” Dupree said.

“All I know is that it had to do with a robbery.”

“So you knew Cassano was going to be involved in a crime and did nothing?” T.J. said “I didn’t want to get involved.”

“Well, then,” Dupree said, “the way I see it, you
are
involved. You’re an accessory to a felony.”

“Please,” Jake said. “I had no idea—”

“I think you better come with us,” T.J. said.

The color drained from Jake’s face. “If you take me with you, I’ll have to throw everyone out and lock the doors. If the owner finds out, I’m out of a job. Isn’t there anything I can do to make things right?”

Dupree eyed T.J. “What do you think, partner? Should we give this schmuck a break?”

“Nah. There’s nothing he can do for us. We should cuff him and drag his ass to the police station.”

“Please,” Jake said, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “The next time Oscar comes in, I’ll call you right away. I swear. I mean, he’s the one you really want, right?”

T.J and Dupree didn’t say a word, acting as if they were considering his offer. Dupree reached in her handbag, removed a business card, and set it on the bar. “Two things. First, if we find out that Oscar showed up and you didn’t call us? I guarantee you’ll regret it. Second, I want you to display no smoking signs near the front door, behind the bar, in the bathrooms, and near the pool table. And if
anyone
—and I mean
anyone—
lights up, throw them out on their ass. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Now gather up your barflies and tell them the smoking party is over.”

On their way back to the precinct, traffic was impossible. Dupree tried a different route, but it seemed that half the city was trying it as well.

“Think Jake will come through?” Dupree asked.

“Not a chance.”

“What’s the expression? Thick as thieves?”

T.J. laughed. “Guess there’s a code of ethics among criminals.”

“It was worth a try,” Dupree said. “I’m thinking we should stake out Cassano’s place. What do you think?”

“Tonight?”

Dupree nodded. “Bring a thermos of coffee. It may be a long night.” Just then, her cell phone rang. She reached in her purse and pulled it out. When she glanced at the display, Dupree recognized the phone number and turned on the speaker. “What’s the good word, Brenda?”

“Did Captain Jensen call you yet?”

“I talked to him yesterday and gave him an update on the investigation, but haven’t spoken to him today. Why?”

“There’s a nice surprise waiting for you on your desk.”

“A box of Godiva dark chocolate truffles? You shouldn’t have, Brenda.”

“Better than chocolate.”

“The only thing better than chocolate is—”

“How about the bank records and cell phone activity for Jonathan Lentz?”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“How the hell did they get the bank and mobile carrier to release the records so quickly?”

“Hey, Sugar, this is the new millennium, the world of electronics, e-mail, and text messaging. You hit a few keys on your computer, contact the right people, twist a few arms, and voila, it’s like magic.”

“Your name is going to the top of my Christmas list.”

“Hey, all I did was give you a head’s up.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’m on my way out. See you in the a.m., Amaris.

Dupree dropped the cell in her purse. “Time to get back to work.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dupree and T.J. got back to the precinct a little after four p.m. There were a few lingering detectives—mostly finishing paperwork—and half a dozen administrative people. But for the most part, the majority of staff members were gone for the day. Dupree had learned early on that the life of a detective was not a nine-to-five job. She could remember investigating particularly difficult cases and working fifteen or twenty hours a day. Having an almost obsessive desire to crack a case, along with what felt like gallons of strong coffee, seemed to be the only two things that kept her going. It was cause for a celebration on the rare occasion she got more than five hours shuteye. For the most part, she functioned on power naps and closing her eyes for ten minutes while sitting on the toilet.

After Dupree had parked the squad car, she’d made a beeline for the precinct employee entrance, leaving T.J. several paces behind her. She could feel the adrenalin pumping as she made her way to her desk, anxious to review Lentz’s bank statements and cell records. Lying on her chair, she saw the bright green envelope with the word, “CONFIDENTIAL” printed across the top in big, bold letters. Below that it read, TO: Detective Amaris Dupree. FROM: Amy Sutherland. Dupree didn’t know Amy but at this particular point in time, she loved her!

T.J. finally caught up to her. “Where’s the fire?”

“I’m just dying to see Lentz’s bank statement and cell phone records.”

“Well,” T.J. said, “let’s use one of the interview rooms so we can have some privacy.”

Interview room 2 was unoccupied, so the two detectives walked in and sat side by side. Dupree used her index finger as if it were a letter opener and tore open the envelope. Inside, she found a cover letter from Amy Sutherland, a copy of the subpoena signed by Judge Marshall, and six 8 ½ by 11 pages, four with a list of cell calls Lentz had received and made, and two with a recap of all his banking transactions for the last sixty days.

“That’s strange,” Dupree said. “We got Lentz’s records but not Hansen’s.”

“I’ve seen that happen before,” T.J. said. “I’m sure they’ll come through in a day or two.”

She handed T.J. the bank statement. “Check this out while I look at the phone records.”

Both detectives, neither saying a word, examined the documents as if they were cramming for a final exam in astrophysics. After several minutes, T.J. was first to break the silence.

“This ought to perk up your ears.” He pointed to Lentz’s bank statement. “On July 1, Lentz deposited one-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars in a savings account.”

“So, he deposits a hundred-fifty K the day after Dr. Crawford was murdered?” Dupree said. “Very interesting coincidence. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Let’s check out his cell records and see if anything jumps off the page,” Dupree suggested.

“Our boy called an 888 number in Silver Spring, Maryland a bunch of times.” She ran her finger down the list and counted. “Twenty-three calls to be exact. In less than thirty days.”

“Did he receive any calls from that number?”

“Nope. Even if he had, that particular 888 number might show up as a different number. It’s like making a call from your office. The caller ID for the person you’re calling is going to show the main trunk number, not the specific extension.” She studied the received calls more carefully. “Here we go. Ready for this? Lentz received fourteen calls from a particular number with a 301 area code. Guess where.”

“Silver Spring?”

“Bingo,” Dupree said.

“So, apparently, Lentz and someone in Maryland were phone buddies.”

Dupree removed her iPhone from her purse. “Let’s conduct a little experiment.” She turned on the speaker and first dialed the 888 number Lentz had called twenty-three times. “Better to call from my cell than from an office phone. I’ve got it programmed to display ‘PRIVATE’ on the caller ID display so it doesn’t disclose my cell phone number.”

They listened to the phone ring three times.

“Thank you for calling the Food and Drug Administration. You may find additional information by visiting our web site at
www.fda.gov
. Please listen carefully—”

Dupree disconnected. “Tell me
that
doesn’t make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.”

“I don’t even know what to think at this point,” T.J. said. “Why would Lentz call the FDA so many times?”

“Let’s see if we can find out.” Dupree punched in the number beginning with area code 301, from where Lentz had received fourteen calls. “If it’s a business number, I would guess that it’s an automated answering system.”

One ring. Two rings.

“You have reached the office of Dominic Gallo, deputy director for the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. At the tone, please leave a detailed message and a contact telephone number, and I will return the call as soon as I am available—”

Dupree glanced at T.J. and could tell by the dumbfounded look on his face that the voice message had stunned him as much as her.

“Didn’t Dr. Mason tell us that Dominic Gallo was the guy from the FDA working with Dr. Crawford?” T.J. asked.

“Sure was.”

“Are your wheels spinning as fast as mine?” T.J. said.

“Mr. Lentz has been a busy boy and has a lot of explaining to do.”

“If they were up to no good—and it’s obvious they were—why would Gallo be stupid enough to make all these calls from his office phone and leave a trail?”

“Well,” Dupree said, “either he never expected that anyone would connect the dots, or he made a serious technical error. Sometimes smart people do dumb things. If they didn’t, our job would be a lot harder.”

“What’s the plan?” T.J. said “We need to get to Lentz as soon as possible and it can’t wait until morning. Besides that, we were planning to stakeout Cassano’s place tonight.”

“It’s like all hell’s breaking loose at once,” T.J. said.

“Isn’t that how
all
investigations go?”

T.J. nodded. “Yep.”

Dupree refocused her eyes on the phone records. Running her index finger slowly down the column, she stopped. “This number looks familiar.” She turned the list towards T.J. and pointed. “212-555-1010. I know that number but don’t know why.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” T.J. said.

Before he even finished his sentence, Dupree hit the speaker button and thumbed the number into her cell phone.

“Horizon Cancer Research Center, how may I help you?” Her voice was soft and pleasant.

Dupree and T.J. exchanged looks of bewilderment.

“May I speak with Dr. Mason, please?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Detective Dupree.”

“One moment, please.”

The woman placed Dupree on hold and the room was filled with the sound of classical music. “Bach or Beethoven?” Dupree asked T.J.

“Actually, I’m a rocker. Beatles, Stones, Aerosmith, Zeppelin. I should have been born a boomer.”

“Never would have guessed.”

“Not all blacks are into Flo Rida or P. Diddy.” He smiled and winked. “Some of us actually like white music.”

“Hello, Detective, this is Dr. Mason.”

“Hi, Doctor.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’m surprised you’re working this late.”

“Just tackling a few critical issues.”

“How have you been?”

“I’d be much better if you told me you’ve apprehended Dr. Crawford’s killer.”

Dupree didn’t want to share any sensitive information with Mason. At least not at this juncture. “We’ve made some progress but we’re not quite there yet.”

“Well, I hope you make an arrest soon.” He paused. “What can I do for you?”

“I know you have a very demanding schedule, but is there any chance my partner and I can swing by your office and speak to you privately?”

“When?”

“Anytime tomorrow would be fine.”

“Let me bring up my Outlook calendar. Hm. Let me see. Actually, I have a little window of time tomorrow around noon. Would that work for you?”

“That would be perfect.”

“Okay, then, see you tomorrow. Have a great night.”

“You as well, Dr. Mason.” She pushed “END” and dropped the phone in her handbag.

“That was easier than I thought,” Dupree said to T.J.

Dupree stood, nervously tapped her foot, and folded her arms across her chest. “Here’s an idea. Let’s head over to Cassano’s and stake out his place. Hopefully, we’ll find him home, coming or going. On the way there, I’ll call Captain Jensen, fill him in on the situation, and ask him to send a couple of our colleagues to pick up Lentz and bring him to the precinct. We certainly have enough evidence to hold him without charging him. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds like a solid plan.”

“Tomorrow, we can meet with Dr. Mason at noon, and maybe we’ll even find time to pee.”

T.J. gave her a thumbs up.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“You’re going to be bouncing off the windshield in a few minutes,” T.J. warned. “Four shots? Really?”

“That’s how I drink my lattés,” Dupree answered. “Would you rather hear me snoring?”

“Good point.” T.J. took a long swig of his drink. “Who’s the captain sending to pick up Lentz?”

“Wells and Parisi.”

“They must be delighted. Especially Wells. What’s he got, three months before he retires?”