Hypocrisy (3 page)

“Just before Clark died, Lauren convinced her to let her work at the clinic and learn as much as she could about Clark’s research and treatments, promising Clark that she would work with her to prove her theories. Clark, knowing that she was close to death, didn’t want all her years of hard work to quietly go away. So, convinced that further research along the same path might yield some extraordinary medical discoveries, Lauren persuaded a private investor to fund the project. That’s when Lauren opened the Horizon Cancer Research Center.

“Clark’s critics—probably 90% of the medical community—believed that she was a quack and a charlatan. Whether or not this is true, only Hulda Clark and God know. If you Google her
name on the Internet, you’ll find some terribly disparaging accusations. All I know is that I’m still alive and feel better than I have in years, and that my daughter—one of the most brilliant freethinkers in the world—believed that Clark’s theories were valid. I’m sure you’ll be speaking with Dr. Edward Mason, director of operations for Horizon. He can give you more technical information about the research if that will help with your investigation.”

When Mrs. Crawford finished her story, Dupree asked, “Do you still go to Mexico for treatments?”

“Every ninety days. And I have to stay there for six days.” She stared at the floor. A look of deep concern on her face. “Oh, my. I don’t know how I’m going to get to the clinic in Tijuana for my next treatment. It’s not something I can do alone. All those terrible things you hear about Mexico, the killings, drug trafficking. It scares the daylights out of me. In the past, Lauren and I would fly to San Diego and she would drive me to the clinic. That’s the one flaw in this treatment. Once you start, you have to continue for the rest of your life. I guess it’s because it doesn’t cure cancer, it controls it.”

“There’s no one else that can accompany you?” Dupree asked.

“I do have a long lost nephew in Long Island. I’m sure I can twist his arm to help his only aunt—especially if I’m picking up the tab.” Mrs. Crawford paused for a minute and looked at the photograph of her daughter. Her eyes again filled with tears. “To be honest, now that Lauren is gone it doesn’t seem all that important that I go for my treatments. She was my…life.”

The room was so quiet, Dupree could hear the tick-tock of the pendulum clock sitting on the mantle.

“Is there anything else I can answer for you?” Mrs. Crawford said.

It was a delicate question but Dupree had to ask. “Did your daughter have any enemies, ex-boyfriends, a colleague at work who might want to hurt her?”

She thought about the question for a short time. “Well, she was dating a guy awhile back. Jonathan Lentz. But Lauren caught him cheating and broke it off. I can tell you first hand that he was terribly upset.”

“And how do you know this?” Dupree asked. “Did you see him afterwards, witness an argument?”

“I never saw Jonathan again, but a few days after she ended their relationship, I overheard a telephone conversation between the two of them. I wasn’t eavesdropping and of course, I could only hear my daughter’s side of the conversation, but it was a pretty heated exchange.”

“Does anything specifically come to mind that might suggest he threatened her?” T.J. asked.

“Not really. But there is another thing about their relationship that still troubles me.” Mrs. Crawford sipped a glass of water. “During the time Lauren and Jonathan dated, I noticed some suspicious bruises on her wrists and ankles. Every time I questioned her about the black and blue marks, she’d come up with some cockamamie excuse that really didn’t make sense. One time, when the bruises were particularly pronounced, I confronted her and she really got upset with me, which was so unlike her. So, I let it go and never bothered her again.” She drank a little more water. “There is one more interesting fact. After she ended her relationship with Jonathan, the bruises healed and I never saw them again.”

Obviously, Dupree thought, Dr. Crawford’s boyfriend enjoyed playing rough. Or maybe it was the other way around? She twisted her head from side to side, trying to get the kink out of her neck. “How often did you see your daughter?”

“Well, she called me twice a day, at nine a.m. and nine p.m. And twice a week we’d meet for dinner. Sometimes I’d prepare a home cooked meal, but usually Lauren would take me out to a fancy restaurant.” She paused. “When she didn’t call this morning…”

“Did your daughter ever talk about her research or give you updates on her progress?” T.J. asked.

“Often. In fact, she was scheduled to make a major announcement to the press.”

“Do you know what the announcement was about?” Dupree asked.

“Something to do with clinical trials and the Food and Drug Administration.” Mrs. Crawford hesitated again, her eyes still teary. “I’d like you to know that my Lauren did not decide to open Horizon because she was searching for fame and fortune. Quite to the contrary. She really wanted no part of the limelight, but she knew that if she did, in fact, find a cure for cancer, or at the least, more effective treatments, she’d never be able to hide from the press or medical community. I just want you to know that she was a selfless woman driven purely by humanitarian objectives. She had no ambitions to be a celebrity or line her pockets with hundred dollar bills.”

Dupree kept asking herself, who had the motive and will to murder Dr. Crawford? Was it her ex-lover? Revenge? A robbery gone bad? Or did it have something to do with her cancer research? Dupree now realized that the possibilities were many.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Crawford,” Dupree said. “We’ll be sure to update you on any new developments.”

Mrs. Crawford’s eyes again filled with tears. “I will keep you in my prayers, Detective Dupree.”

CHAPTER THREE

Dupree did not aspire to breaking the law. However, talking on her cell while driving was a habit she just couldn’t break. She turned on the speaker so T.J. could hear both sides of the conversation. “Don’t disappoint me, Butler. I need some good news.”

T.J. had lectured her more than once for not using a hand’s free device. But no matter how compelling his argument, Dupree didn’t care. Maybe, she thought, a hint of her rebellious teenage years still lingered.

“I hate to ruin your day—I really do,” Butler warned, “but we examined every surveillance tape and there’s not one single frame we can use for facial recognition.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” Dupree said. “You’re jeopardizing your rank as my number one go-to-agent. And I
know
you don’t want that.”

“Heavens no.”

“So, now that we know what you
don’t
have. Tell me what you
do
have.”

“If you study the perp’s body language,” Butler said, “it’s obvious that he knew the
exact
location of every video camera. When he stepped off the elevator, he immediately turned up the collar on his leather coat, stared at the floor, and all we could see was his baseball cap. He turned left when a camera was on the right, and turned right when it was on the left. But it does appear that he’s either bald or he’s completely shaved off his sideburns, which seems a little strange for a guy with hair.”

“So, the only thing you can tell me is that you think the guy is bald?”

“When he maneuvered into the backseat of Dr. Crawford’s car, his collar turned down just enough for us to see a small tattoo or birthmark on the back of his neck about the size of a quarter. Unfortunately, the surveillance system in the ramp garage must have been manufactured during the Renaissance, because the resolution is horrible. Even with our sophisticated video equipment, we can’t really get a clear close-up of whatever that mark is on his neck. And once they were in the backseat, the glare from the window made it impossible to see what was going on.”

“What else do you have for me?”

“Well, there’s more, but it’s trivial.”

“Nothing’s trivial.” Dupree said.

“He’s a big, thick man. Over six-feet tall. He was wearing a long leather coat that hung below his knees. And he’s Caucasian.”

“A leather coat in the middle of summer, in New York City?”

“It sure is odd.”

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Dupree offered. “If the guy’s intention
was
to kill Dr. Crawford, why pick a public place and risk being seen?”

“That’s the big question, Amaris.”

“Thanks, John. Keep me in the loop on any new developments.”

After disconnecting the call, she glanced at T.J. “What’s your take?”

“I think we need to interview Dr. Crawford’s ex-boyfriend.”

“You read my mind.”

Finding Jonathan Lentz’s address required little effort. Dupree wasn’t sure if he would be home in the middle of the day, but T.J. and she drove to his apartment in Queens anyway. Even if they
didn’t find him home, sometimes a suspect’s neighbors offered a wealth of information.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of neighborhood where Crawford’s ex-boyfriend would live,” T.J. said. He pointed to a pile of trash littering the sidewalk in front of Lentz’s building. “You’d think that a brilliant scientist like her would be dating someone from the Upper East Side.”

“Maybe she looked at people from the inside out and didn’t get all caught up in status.”

“Well,” T.J. said, “that would be a refreshing change from the norm.”

T.J. and Dupree parked in front of 3548 118
^th
Avenue, double-stepped it up three flights of stairs, and found apartment 3D. The dimly lit hallway reeked of cat urine and the carpeting looked as if it hadn’t been vacuumed since the day it was installed.

“By the looks of this place,” T.J. observed, “Dr. Crawford definitely wasn’t caught up in status. This joint is a rat-hole.”

Dupree knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked harder.

“Who is it?” shouted a voice from the other side of the door.

“New York City police,” Dupree shot back.

The door opened slowly; the hinges screeching in protest. The man stood there with his robe not quite covering his private areas. His hair was a mess.

“Are you Jonathan Lentz?” T.J. asked.

“In the flesh.”

Literally, Dupree thought.

“I’m Detective Dupree and this is Detective Brown.” She pointed to his groin area. “You might want to put that thing away.”

“Sorry.” He pulled his robe tighter around his body and did his best to calm down his unruly hairdo. “Sorry about my appearance, Detectives. It’s been a rough night.” He gestured. “Come on in.”

Except for the unmade bed in the corner of the tiny studio, the place was surprisingly neat and orderly. Even with his hair looking like it hadn’t been washed or combed in days, the young man was as attractive as a Calvin Klein model. She suspected that he’d had his way with a stable of women.

“Have a seat, Detectives.”

They made themselves comfortable on the worn-out sofa. Jonathan stood in front of them with his arms folded low on his torso, almost as if he were hugging an ailing stomach. Dupree noticed his eyes toggling back and forth between her face and chest. She nonchalantly fastened the top button of her blouse. She reached in her purse, removed a digital tape recorder, and set it on the cocktail table. “Mind if we record this interview?”

“Nope.”

Lentz stuffed his hands deep into the robe’s pockets and sat on a loveseat.

“This is about Lauren Crawford, isn’t it?”

“Why do you ask?” Dupree said.

“I heard it on the morning news. She hadn’t been positively identified yet, but when I saw the dent in the rear door of her Camry, I knew it was her.”

Dupree was somewhat surprised that Dr. Crawford’s murder had already hit the media. Then again, there were many instances when journalists knew more than the cops did.

He pointed to an almost empty bottle of Dewars. “Drank myself to sleep.”

“Can you tell us where you were last night between eight p.m. and midnight?” Dupree asked.

“Well, I can tell you one thing for certain: I wasn’t with Lauren.”

“I’m not suggesting that you were, Mr. Lentz. I just need to know your whereabouts for our investigation.”

“Wanna know where I was? Waiting for Lauren in a little coffee shop in Jackson Heights called Better Blast Coffee. Got there at eight-ish and left around eleven-thirty. You can verify that with both Jasmine, the owner, or Tim, one of the baristas.”

“We understand that you two split up weeks ago,” Dupree said.

“We did. But once she stopped being so pissed off at me, we actually became friends.”

“Why was she angry with you?” T.J. asked.

He adjusted his body and combed his fingers through his unruly hair. “I had a little…fling.”

“So, why were you meeting her for coffee?” Dupree asked.

“She called me a few days ago and said she needed to speak to me about something very important. I said, ‘Okay, let’s talk.’ But she insisted that we meet face to face. She sounded really nervous—almost desperate. Her voice was shaky and barely louder than a whisper.”

“Obviously,” T.J. said, “the meeting never took place.”

Lentz’s chin rested on his chest and his eyes filled with tears. “No…it…didn’t.”