Hypocrisy (16 page)

T.J. looked at Dupree as if she’d lost her mind.

Tesler stood. “How the fuck do I get home when I got no money and no car?”

“Not a problem, Mr. Tesler,” Dupree said. “There are two IRS tax fraud investigators waiting for you outside the door. I’m sure they’d be happy to give you a ride—but it might not be to your
home.” She forced a laugh. “They’re not particularly fond of tax evaders.”

The color drained from Tesler’s face. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Open the door and see for yourself,” Dupree said. “But if you walk out that door, no deals, no second chances, no mercy. You’re going down.”

“So, you threw me to the dogs just because I make a few bucks selling odds and ends out of my trunk?”

“No,” Dupree said. “We threw you to the dogs because you’ve been busting our chops since the moment we met.”

Tesler stood silent for several minutes, staring past the two detectives, his hands deep in his pockets. “Can you give me some time to think?”

“Three days wasn’t enough?” T.J. asked.

“It’s different now that my nuts are in a vice.” Tesler twisted his neck from side to side. “Can you call off the dogs for a little while?”

Dupree glanced at her watch. “We’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll keep the IRS guys on ice. But remember this: when we get back, the bullshit is over. We want to know
everything
you know. Or else.”

After Dupree and T.J. returned Tesler to lockup, they headed for Brenda’s cubicle.

“Nice play with the IRS investigators,” T.J. said. “You had me going there for a few minutes.”

“Try to keep up, okay?”

T.J. laughed. “I guess that’s why we call you the Velvet Hammer. You walloped the shit out of Tesler before he even knew what hit him. Kudos to you.”

“Once he’s had a little more time to think,” Dupree said, “hopefully he’ll spill his guts.”

“I think he’s going to sing like a blue jay.”

Brenda’s chubby fingers were dancing on her computer keyboard when Dupree and T.J. approached. She stopped typing and swiveled her seat toward the detectives. Brenda stood just under five-foot-tall and carried an extra thirty pounds. On the corner of her desk she kept a candy bowl full of chocolate treats. In theory, they were there for her colleagues to enjoy. But Brenda, addicted to chocolate, grazed on the candy all day long.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Amaris Dupree and her worldly sidekick, Prince Charming.”

“Hey, Brenda,” Dupree said. “How goes it?”

“You know what they say about the police department. They beat the horse that works and let the lazy one sleep. I guess I’m the stupid horse that works. Barely have time to go wee-wee.”

“We can come back a little later if you’re too busy,” Dupree offered.

“No matter when you come back, I’ll likely be busy, so what can I do to help you?”

Dupree removed the digital recorder from her purse and pushed play.

“Audi A8, Jonathan Lentz is the driver. Plate number KMZ-9255. Check with Brenda”

“Can you run that plate number through DMV and tell me what you come up with?” Dupree said.

“Right away,” Brenda said.

Dupree and T.J. waited while Brenda worked her magic. Her fingers banged on the keyboard as if she were angry with it.

After two minutes, Brenda pointed to the computer screen. “Voila. 2014 Audi A8. Pearl white. Plate number KMZ-9255. Registered and titled to Jonathan F. Lentz, 3548 118
^th
Avenue, Queens, New York. No bank liens. That what you need?”

“You’re the bomb, Brenda,” Dupree said. Lentz seemed the most unlikely to own such a car. She felt certain that somehow ownership of the A8 connected to the investigation. Dupree looked at T.J. “Feel like taking a ride to Queens?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You drive and I’ll call Judge Marshall on our way to Lentz’s to see if I can get him to move quickly on a subpoena.” Dupree grasped T.J.’s arm. “Oh, and one more thing: I’d really like to get there in one piece, so can we keep it under a hundred miles an hour?”

T.J. smirked. “You spoil all my fun.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“So, you think we’ll find Lentz home in the middle of the morning?” T.J. asked.

“That’s where we found him last time, no?” Dupree answered. “We don’t know where he works, but I did run into him at Starbucks in the middle of the morning romancing Hansen. So, I have a strong feeling we’ll find him on his sofa, eating chocolate bonbons, and watching soap operas. Personally, I think the guy’s a big bag of wind. I actually bought into his hard-luck story when we last spoke to him. I felt sorry for the loser. Just goes to show what a poor judge of character I am.” She grinned. “Present company excluded, of course.”

T.J. turned onto 118
^th
Avenue and slowed to a crawl across the street from Lentz’s place. In front, Dupree spotted the new Audi. T.J. pulled to the curb marked, “Commercial Loading.” He flipped down the visor to alert the local parking enforcement agent that he was on official police business.

T.J. pointed to the A8. “Nice wheels. Guess you were right. He’s probably home.”

The detectives walked toward the Audi and Dupree looked in the rear side window. Boxes and clothing filled the backseat, piled so high that they obstructed the driver’s view of the rear window. She looked up and down the street and saw a U-Haul a few spaces down from the Audi. “Looks like our boy might be moving up in the world.”

“Well,” T.J. said, “considering his pricey new car that makes sense.”

Just as they were about to ring the door chime, Lentz opened the door holding a heap of clothing. By the fear in his eyes, Dupree thought he looked like the proverbial little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Good morning, Mr. Lentz,” Dupree said in a cordial manner. “Can we assist you in any way?”

“Um, no, I…I think I can handle it.”

He stood frozen, his eyes darting back and forth between Dupree and T.J. “Mind if I throw these clothes in the trunk?”

The detectives stepped aside. “No problem,” Dupree said. “When you’re finished, we’d like to have a word with you.”

“Sure thing,” Lentz said. His voice cracked ever so slightly.

After loading his trunk, Lentz hopped up the front steps and stood in front of the detectives. “What can I do for you?”

“Mind if we talk inside?” Dupree asked. “It’s rather confidential.”

“No problem.” Lentz opened the front door. Dupree and T.J. followed Lentz up the stairs to his apartment. When they walked in the door, Dupree met T.J.’s glance and knew he was thinking the same thing: the place looked like a missile testing site.

“I’d ask you to have a seat,” Lentz said, “but as you can see, there’s really no place to sit.” His cursory smile cued Dupree that the last thing he wanted was to make them comfortable.

“Looks like you’re moving out,” T.J. said. “I really like your new car. Nice ride.”

“Well, I’m moving in to a new apartment—sharing it with a friend. And that’s freed up some money.”

“
Some
money?” T.J. said. “You must be a whiz at managing your income. You might want to consider changing careers. Maybe become a financial advisor.”

“The last time we spoke,” Dupree said, “you claimed you were pretty much living from paycheck to paycheck, struggling to survive. Do you really expect us to believe that moving in with a friend—something you haven’t even done yet—gave you enough money to buy an A8?”

“My friend floated me some money.”

“Enough for you to buy an Audi?” Dupree said. “Cash money?”

Lentz looked at his watch. “I’d love to chat with you two fine detectives a little longer, but I’ve got a full plate today.” He picked up a small cardboard box marked “fragile,” tucked it under his arm, and headed for the door.

“The friend you’re moving in with wouldn’t happen to be Maggie Hansen, would it?” Dupree asked.

Lentz lost his grip on the box and nearly dropped it.

“Be careful now,” Dupree warned. “That box is marked ‘fragile’.”

“Look,” Lentz said. “Maggie and I are really close friends. Is there some obscure law prohibiting two people of the opposite sex from being friends and living together?”

“No,” Dupree said. “But there
are
laws against lying to detectives investigating a homicide.”

“Call Maggie and see for yourself. She’ll confirm my story.”

“We’ll be sure to do that,” Dupree said. She moved closer to Lentz and locked her eyes on his. “Tell me, Mr. Lentz, when you meet a female
friend
for coffee, are you in the habit of holding her hands?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw Hansen and you in the Village this morning, sitting in Starbucks, making goo-goo eyes like a couple of high school kids.”

Lentz tugged on his shirt collar.

“So, what do you think?” T.J. said. “Want to continue jerking us off or should we drag your ass down to the precinct and talk to you there?”

“I’ve got nothing more to say without my lawyer present.”

“Lawyer?” T.J. said. “If you’re so innocent, why would you need a lawyer?”

“Because that’s my legal right.”

“Really?” T.J. said. “So, you know a little about the law?”

“Enough to know that I have the right to an attorney.”

“Well,” Dupree said, “once a judge signs the subpoena to give us access to your bank records and cell phone activity, you might indeed need a lawyer.” She pursed her lips. “You need to come with us.
Now
.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Dupree and T.J. got back to the precinct, T.J. escorted Jonathan Lentz to interview room 1, while Dupree headed straight for the lab.

Delighted to find him on the job this early, Dupree spotted Butler as soon as she entered the lab.

“I kinda figured I’d run into you sometime today,” Butler said.

“Well, John, you are quite the chic magnet so it’s hard for any woman to stay away from you.”

“Yeah, right. Maybe thirty pounds ago. But that was another decade.”

“Nah, you still got it, John.”

“Wish my wife felt that way.”

“Every honeymoon has to end sometime,” Dupree said.

“Yeah, but I never dreamed Judy and I would be sleeping ass-to-ass before our fifth anniversary.”

Dupree laughed. “Well, at least you’re still sleeping in the same bed.”

“Whoop-de-do,” Butler said. He picked up a plastic bag with the envelope inside. “I wish I had some good news for you, but there’s really not much to go on. The note itself is clean. Whoever wrote it and stuffed it in the envelope knew what they were doing. The large envelope has lots of prints on it, including yours, which shouldn’t surprise you. We ran the prints through the data base and the only two matches we found were for a Nate Winston
and Juan Vargas. Neither has a criminal record. The only reason they’re in the system is because both have pistol permits. Do you happen to know either of them?”

“Nate works at the front desk of my apartment building.” She thought for a moment, remembering her conversation with Charlie, the overnight security guard. “Oh yeah, Vargas works for Express Delivery. He delivered the envelope.”

“Sorry I don’t have more for you,” Butler said. He squeezed Dupree’s shoulder in a comforting way. “Be careful out there, Amaris.”

Dupree half-jogged to the break room, poured herself a cup of coffee, and joined T.J and Lentz in the interview room. She glanced at T.J., her lips tight, cheeks flushed. She could tell by his reaction that he understood the lab struck out with the envelope.

“How long are you going to hold me here?” Lentz asked. “You have no evidence to charge me with
anything
.”

“Not yet,” T.J. answered. “Of course, that could change in a heartbeat once my partner and I finish our little chat with Maggie Hansen. Did I mention that she’s in the other interview room?”

Lentz’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t react. Dupree recognized that Lentz was trying hard to conceal his concern and was doing a pretty good job. But when he started nervously fidgeting, she knew that T.J. had struck a raw nerve.

“Can I get you some water, coffee, a stale donut?” T.J. offered. “Or maybe you’d like to call an attorney.”

“You’re a real friggin’ comedian, Detective. I know my rights.”

“Do you really?” T.J. said. “If you think I’m violating those rights, you can file a grievance.”

“Sit tight, Mr. Lentz,” Dupree said. “My partner and I have to go powder our noses. If you have to take a whiz, just knock on the door and someone will escort you to the little boy’s room.”

“Gee, thanks. How long before you come back?”

“Don’t know,” Dupree answered.

Dupree and T.J. headed for lockup. “Did you make any progress with Tesler?” Dupree asked.

“He still needs some time to think about his dubious future.”

“He may not have a future.”

T.J. touched her arm. “Sorry about the envelope.”

“Me too.”

They led Ivan Tesler to an empty interview room. T.J. sat but Dupree remained standing. She kept her eyes locked on Tesler’s. She saw fear in his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Tesler, you’ve had plenty of time to think. What’ll it be? Want to talk to us or would you prefer the IRS?”