Hypocrisy (24 page)

Cassano wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He nervously drummed his fingers on the table. “Fuck the public defender. I wanna make a deal.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dupree and T.J. left Cassano in the interview room for a few minutes. At his request, they went to the staff break room and got him a soda. Before they headed back to face what they both thought would be an illuminating interview, they carefully examined Maggie Hansen’s bank statement and cell phone records. Dupree figured that the longer they let Cassano stew, the looser his tongue might be.

“Let’s see,” Dupree said. She ran her index finger slowly down the page. “Three calls to Albany, New York. And check this out. Four calls to international area code 345 in the Grand Cayman Islands.”

“Now
that
sparks my curiosity,” T.J. said.

Normally, Dupree would take the time to make calls herself to determine who a suspect was communicating with, like she’d done with Lentz’s phone records. But at this time, she had more important issues to deal with. “Let’s have Brenda run all the numbers and see what comes up.”

T.J. studied the bank statement. “Nothing unusual here. No deposits, four ATM withdrawals, and seven checks issued to various payees. Last balance was nine-thousand-twenty dollars.”

“Well,” Dupree said, “I don’t know where she fits into this puzzle, but she’s anything but squeaky-clean. I guess we’ll just have to see how the rest of the investigation unfolds.”

T.J. looked at his watch. “Ready for this?”

“No, but let’s hope Cassano has something for us to sink our teeth into.”

Dupree and T.J. entered the room and handed Cassano a Dr. Pepper. Although Cassano was in theory about to cooperate with Dupree and T.J., she still felt like smashing the soda can in his face. Setting aside the fact that he was a cold-blooded murderer, Dupree just couldn’t stand the sight of him.

“Let me make this easy for you,” Dupree said. “As soon as we get a DNA sample from you and match it with the blood found in the backseat of Dr. Crawford’s car, we own your ass. This is what we want to know: First, who originally contacted you to steal Dr. Crawford’s computer? Second, why did you kill her? Third, who else is involved? And fourth, why did you kill Ivan Tesler?”

Cassano popped the top on the can of soda and took a long swig. “Before I say even one word, how do I know that the DA is going to reduce the charges?”

“I can only make one promise. If you
don’t
cooperate 100%, you’ve got a guaranteed appointment with cardiac arrest.”

“So, I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

“That’s your only option,” Dupree said. “Either answer our questions or we can escort you back to your cell and tell the DA to proceed. What’ll it be?”

Cassano appeared to be deep in thought.

“I don’t even know the guy’s name that hired me. I met him through Jake Sullivan, a bartender at the Night Owl. Jake knows I’m always looking to make a few bucks on the side and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty—if you know what I mean.”

“When you say ‘dirty’, you mean ‘bloody’, correct?” T.J. asked.

Cassano didn’t answer but his eyes said, “Yes.”

“Anyway, this guy says he’ll pay me two-thousand dollars to steal this big-shot doctor’s computer. Seemed like easy money to me. I gave Ivan Tesler a few hundred to keep an eye on her so I could monitor her daily routine and figure out when would be the
best time to snag her computer. The guy who hired me gave me a cell phone and told me that someone would be calling to give me specific instructions and to make arrangements to pay me. Well, I get the call but it was not what I expected. The woman blows my mind. She says—”

“Wait a minute,” Dupree interrupted. “Did you say a
woman
called?”

“Yeah. A woman. A chick. A broad. Whatever you want to call her.”

Dupree remembered that Lentz had told her Dominic Gallo was going to call Cassano with instructions. If Cassano was telling the truth, this new information put a whole new spin on the investigation. An image of Maggie Hansen flashed in her mind. “You’re absolutely sure it was a woman?”

“Unless it was a guy getting his nuts squeezed, yes, I’m positive it was a woman. Geez, do you want me to answer your questions or what?”

“Sorry,” Dupree said. “Go ahead.”

“Anyway, she asks me how much she’d have to pay me to kill somebody.
Kill
somebody. I didn’t know what the fuck to say. I mean, how often in your life does some crazy stranger ask you a question like that? How do you even answer that question? I’ve done lots of weird shit in my day, but I ain’t never killed anyone. Came close a couple of times in prison. But they were all useless knuckleheads. I told her that the price all depends on who it is. Now keep in mind, I had no intention of ending anyone’s life. But I got to admit, I had dollar signs in my eyes.

“She tells me she wants me to kill the doctor I was supposed to steal the computer from. She says that she still wants me to snatch the computer, but also wants me to put a bullet in the doctor’s head. I figured that if this woman really wanted the doctor dead, she’d have to pay for it—and I’m talking serious money. Hey, I thought that maybe this was my big break. A chance for me to get
the hell out of New York and spend the rest of my life lying in the sun somewhere nice. Not that I really wanted to end a stranger’s life, a woman I had no beef with, but for a guy like me, money talks and bullshit walks. So, I tried her on for size and asked for a million dollars. What did I have to lose? Worst that could happen was that I’d hear the dial tone. The woman offers me a half mill without even flinching. It was like we were talking about chump-change. I would have taken the half-mill. But I thought I’d go for broke, so I said, seven-fifty. Before the words even slipped off my tongue, she says, ‘Done.’

“I thought to myself, ‘
Done
?’ She said she’d call me back in twenty-four hours and tell me where I could pick up a good faith payment of one-hundred thou.”

“And where was that?” T.J. asked.

“In a locker at the Postal Annex in the Bronx.”

“How did you get the key?”

“Overnight FedEx to my house.”

“So you went to the Postal Annex and found one hundred thousand
cash
in the locker?”

Cassano nodded. “A thousand, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in a black duffle bag. Just like in the movies.”

“How about the rest of the money?” Dupree asked.

“She said that once she confirmed that the doctor was dead, she’d wire the six-fifty to some offshore bank account set up in my name. Said she couldn’t get me cash because they don’t make a duffle bag big enough for that much loot. I wasn’t really comfortable with this arrangement. After all, I don’t even know who I’m talking to on the telephone. But I suppose I was so caught up in the money—I mean three quarters of a mill is a lot of scratch—I agreed to her terms. Well, guess what? I never got the fucking money. I went to see Jake Sullivan and asked him how I could get in touch with the guy that hired me in the first place. He gave me his name and said he’d call me if the guy came in the Night Owl.
I found out where he lived, but when I went to his apartment, he had moved out and the manager said he didn’t leave a forwarding address. I pretty much figured that he was just a patsy and not the money guy.”

“Do you have any idea where the money was supposed to be wired?” Dupree asked.

“Some island down in the Caribbean.”

Nobody uttered a sound for a few minutes. Dupree could almost taste the tension in the air. That he could tell this story so casually, struck Dupree. As a homicide detective, she thought she’d seen it all. But this investigation seemed like virgin territory.

“So, Mr. Cassano, as it worked out,” Dupree said, “for a hundred grand, you killed a brilliant scientist that you didn’t even know. You must be so proud of yourself.”

“Not proud at all.” Cassano massaged his temples. “I nearly chickened out at the last minute. I almost took her computer and let her be. It’s one thing to talk about ending someone’s life, but it sure is different when you’re looking them in the eyes and can see the terror firsthand. Besides, I had no axe to grind with this lady. But she went and did something stupid.”

“And what was that?” Dupree asked.

“She found a nail file in her purse and stabbed me right in the face.” Cassano pointed to his still wounded cheek. “That set me off. I was bleeding like a stuffed pig and I completely lost it.”

“What happened next?” Dupree asked.

Cassano looked Dupree square in the eyes. “I put three bullets in her head.”

Dupree felt a chill crawl up her back and she shivered. She could not fathom how anyone could make a statement like that with such cold indifference. But this was not the time to get distracted. She forced herself to stay on task.

“Where did you get the gun?”

Cassano laughed out loud. “In case you haven’t noticed, Detective, this is New York City. You got the cash, you get the goods. Whatever you want.”

“Give me a name.”

“There
is
no name. It doesn’t work that way. You put the word out on the street that you’re looking for a piece and the sellers find you.”

“Where is the gun?” T.J. asked.

“Swimming in the East River.”

“What can you tell us about the woman on the telephone?” Dupree asked. “The one who made the deal with you to kill Dr. Crawford. Anything unusual about her voice?”

“If you call a thick southern accent unusual, then I guess she fits the bill.”

Dupree snapped her head toward T.J. and could tell by his wide-eyed look that he was thinking the same thing. “She had a
southern
accent? Are you sure?”

“That’s what I just said.” Cassano looked noticeably annoyed. “All I listen to is country music. I should know a southern accent when I hear one.”

“What happened to the cell they gave you?” T.J. asked.

“Keeping the gun company at the bottom of the East River.”

“She told you to get rid of it?” T.J. asked.

Cassano nodded. “After my final conversation with the woman that made the payment arrangements, she told me to toss it in the river.”

“Why didn’t you just keep the phone?” Dupree asked.

“I thought about it, but it stopped working. The woman must have cancelled the service or the phone crapped out. No big deal. I never really cared much for cell phones. I don’t understand all the doohickeys. Besides, whoever wanted the doctor killed was paying me a hefty chunk of change. I didn’t really give a rat’s ass about a dumb cell phone.”

“What happened to the computer?”

“She told me to leave it in the locker at the Postal Annex.”

Dupree thought about easing into the next part of the conversation, but this was one of those situations when you hit a suspect square between the eyes.

“Why did you murder Ivan Tesler?”

“Because he was a rat-bastard. A squealer. If he would have kept his big mouth shut, I’d still be walking the streets and he’d be alive. He deserved everything he got.”

Dupree found it hard to believe that even Cassano could be so callous. “So you have no regrets?”

“Yeah, I do. I regret giving him money to keep an eye on the doctor. I offer him a chance to earn a few bucks and he sticks it in my ass. Fuck ’em.”

“One last thing,” Dupree said. “Why did you ransack Dr. Crawford’s apartment? What were you looking for?”

“After I got screwed out of the additional six-fifty the lyin’ bitch owed me, I figured I’d try to make up for my losses. Not that I expected to find a truckload of cash, but hey, maybe I’d stumble upon some diamond jewelry or a stash of money. But I didn’t find shit—only worthless jewelry and a stupid camera.”

“So,” Dupree said, “you obviously never found the fireproof document case hidden under the china cabinet.”

Cassano’s head snapped up. “What document case?”

“The one with fifty-seven thousand dollars in it.”

He laughed. “You’re just screwing with me.”

“Whatever,” Dupree said.

Cassano’s face flushed with blood “I think we’re done.”

“When you gonna talk to the DA?”

“Soon,” Dupree said.

“Today? Tomorrow?”

“Soon,” T.J. echoed.

“How long do I have to stay in that rat-hole cage in the back?”

“Just until we transfer you to the county jail,” T.J. said.

The detectives stood up and each held one of Cassano’s arms. They led him through the door and down the hall to his jail cell.

“Let me know what the DA says,” Cassano requested.

“You’ll be the first,” Dupree said. “Oh, one more thing. We’re going to need a blood sample.”

“Why?”

“Silly question, Mr. Cassano.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Afraid not.”

As soon as Cassano was out of earshot, T.J. said, “Nice touch about the document case.”

“Just wanted to pucker up his ass.”

“You certainly did.”

Dupree and T.J. walked side-by-side toward their desks. They glanced at each other and spoke one word at exactly the same time.

“Hansen?”

Just then, Captain Jensen doubled-stepped it to Dupree’s desk. “We need to talk.”

Rarely had Dupree seen Jensen so wired. He looked like a junkie two days into rehab.

She picked up her purse.

The captain pointed at T.J. “Why don’t you join us, Detective?”

Dupree and T.J. followed Captain Jensen to his office. Once inside, Jensen closed the door. Dupree spotted John Butler sitting in an armchair. By the stern look on Butler’s face, Dupree knew that the captain hadn’t invited them to his office for afternoon tea.

Jensen nodded toward Butler.

“This little powwow is about the second envelope I received, isn’t it?” Dupree asked.

Butler nodded. “There’s bad news and worse news.”

Dupree, nerves frazzled, almost shouted, “Are you going to keep me in suspense or tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“First,” Butler said, “with the exception of the captain, two FedEx employees, and the FedEx driver, there are no viable fingerprints on the envelope. The small envelope inside was filled with ricin.” He hesitated. “There was also a note.”