“And you’re point?”
“Given the right circumstances, good people will do bad things.”
“Seriously?” T.J. said. “You actually believe that Hansen is capable of such a thing?”
“My point is that as harmless as Hansen may seem, it is possible that she somehow is complicit in Dr. Crawford’s murder. Remember the Carson homicides? How certain were we that this fragile, old lady wasn’t capable of hurting a flea? Turned out that this sweet woman who looked like she could win first prize for grandmother of the year, hacked up her neighbors with an axe, just because their German shepherd kept digging up her tulips. If messing with your neighbor’s flowers can get you chopped up into little pieces, maybe getting fired can make you hungry for revenge as well.”
“Revenge, yes,” T.J. said. “But murder?”
Dupree talked while she still typed on her iPhone. “Been around dead bodies long enough to know that nothing would surprise me.”
“Okay,” T.J. said. “Let’s get real crazy here. We know that the bald guy videotaped on the surveillance cameras at the crime scene was the killer. So, let’s assume that Hansen hired him to murder Dr. Crawford. Do you know what kind of money we’re talking?”
“Hey,” Dupree said, “Hansen lives in a pretty posh condo. Just because she’s crying poverty doesn’t mean it’s true. Besides, how do we know that the bald guy didn’t have something to gain from murdering Dr. Crawford and taking her computer? And… could be that Hansen wasn’t flying solo.”
“Good point,” T.J. admitted. “First thing tomorrow after our morning briefing, I’ll get a complete background check on Maggie Hansen. Criminal records. Employment history. Credit reports.”
“And if we find anything suspicious,” Dupree said, “I’ll contact Judge Marshall and I’m sure I can twist his arm for a subpoena to check her banking records. I’d like to know if there are any unusual transactions.”
Dupree started the car and drove towards the condo exit, still holding her phone while driving.
“Interesting that Dr. Mason also pointed out that certain people or corporations would benefit from stealing Dr. Crawford’s research records and putting her in an early grave,” Dupree said.
“True,” T.J. agreed. “But more often than not, homicides usually come down to the most obvious possibility. This whole case might be something as simple as a mugging, sexual assault, or a carjacking gone badly.”
“I think it’s something bigger,” Dupree said. “Something much bigger.” She handed the iPhone to T.J. “Don’t you just love smartphones? The Internet at your fingertips 24/7.”
T.J. seemed not to understand why Dupree gave him her phone. Then he looked at the screen. “Holy shit.”
“Hyland Laboratories,” Dupree said, “the company that allegedly offered Hansen a job and tried to partner with Horizon, is the number one manufacturer of Camadyacin, the most widely used chemotherapy drug in the world.”
Dupree eased her car into the heavy traffic and stopped at a red light. “So, where are you buying me that cocktail?”
Dupree sat across from T.J. and tasted her drink. She clicked her glass against his bottle of Heineken. “Thanks for the drink. They taste so much better when someone else picks up the tab.”
She hated the bar scene, all of the games and the lies and the antics. Lonely women searching for “Mr. Right,” and hopeful men looking for “Ms. Right-Now.” Why would any woman search for a quality man in a bar? Then again, she’d read somewhere that in this day and age, more women than men were on the prowl for one-night stands. It was probably an article in Cosmo. Maybe all the steamy romance novels she’d read and the romantic comedies she’d watched on TV with storybook endings were nothing more than fairytales.
Sitting across from T.J., nursing her drink, Dupree once again realized how very little she knew about him personally. Sure, she had heard the gossip about his supposed unsavory reputation with women, and his daily accounts of conquests. But she had no idea who he was, where he came from, or what made him tick. Strange, she thought. How is it possible to work with someone closely day after day for half a year and not really know them?
“I owe you an apology,” Dupree said. “You probably think I’m a fourteen-carat-jerk for lecturing you when we went to interview Dr. Mason, and I’m sorry. I have no right to judge your lifestyle or any part of your personal life. But when it interferes with our job duties, I can’t turn my head the other way. Someday I’m going to need you to watch my back and you’re not going to be there. If this was an isolated incident or a once-in-while-thing, I could let it go, but—”
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Amaris. I have no argument and no defense for my irresponsible actions. I’m truly sorry.” He took a long swig of his beer.
Dupree studied T.J. with probing eyes. He waved to the cocktail waitress and she promptly came to their table. T.J. looked at Dupree.
“Another?” he asked.
Normally, she was a one-drink-gal, but felt a little wound up today. She nodded. “I can handle one more.”
For over an hour, the two detectives talked about their homicide investigation, trying to fit all the pieces in place and noting where pieces were missing. Dupree, quite to her surprise, was nursing her third lemon drop; T.J. gulped the last mouthful of his fourth beer. Dupree hadn’t been this tipsy in years and she actually enjoyed the feeling. It was refreshing to let down her guard. Refreshing and dangerous.
“So, T.J., don’t you think it’s about time we get to know each other?”
He looked confused. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been working together for six months.”
“And that in itself means we know each other? I mean really know each other?”
“Where are you going with this, Amaris?”
“I’m only trying to point out that our entire relationship is superficial; business only. I know little if anything about you, and you know less about me.”
“That’s horseshit.”
“Want to bet another cocktail?”
“You’re on.”
“Okay, smart ass,” Dupree said. “Let’s play twenty questions.” She tapped her index finger on the side of her temple. “When is my birthday?”
He chewed on his lip. “It’s coming soon. In August.”
“August what?”
He shrugged. “Sometime between the 1st and the 31st.”
“Strike one,” Dupree said. “Do I have any siblings?”
“Um, I think so.” More lip chewing. “You’ve got a brother and sister?”
“Good guess. I’m an only child. Strike two.” She hesitated for a minute, not sure if she should ask this question. But her head was spinning and her tongue flapping freely, so why stop now? “Have I ever been married?”
T.J. rested his chin on folded hands. “Okay, you made your point. I owe you another drink.”
No way could Dupree deal with drink number four. “I’ll take a rain check on that, thank you.”
“Come on,” T.J. taunted. “You can handle one more.”
She’d parked her car in the underground garage in her apartment building, and she and T.J. had walked to Wicked Willy’s in the Village. So having to drive wasn’t an issue for Dupree. However, the compelling question was whether or not she could walk back to her apartment without stumbling like a brown-bag juicehead. But in spite of the alarm going off in her brain, she abandoned her common sense.