Before Hansen had a chance to calm down, Dupree kept the pressure on. She never bought into the good-cop-bad-cop strategy. Through her interrogative experiences, bad-cop-bad-cop was much more effective. If you can rile a suspect’s emotions and keep the pressure on, sometimes they say something stupid—something that incriminates them. And once the words slip off their tongue, they’re already a matter of record.
“Have you ever beaten up another person?” Dupree asked.
Hansen actually forced a laugh that was more mocking than sincere. “Forgive the cliché, but I wouldn’t hurt a fucking flea. I am a total pacifist.”
“I think that Tammy Chambers would disagree,” T.J. said. “You might know her as Tammy Holtz.”
The color drained from Hansen’s face. “That was a… long time ago. We were… just kids. I don’t even remember what the fight was about.”
“Let me refresh your memory,” T.J. said. “Tammy and you were roommates and were dating the same guy. Starting to come back to you?”
“Okay, okay, so we got into a bit of a pushing match—”
“You broke her nose, Ms. Hansen,” Dupree said. “Sounds like more than a little spat.”
“I didn’t do anything to hurt Dr. Crawford. So, if you have evidence to the contrary and want to charge me with something, go ahead and do it. Otherwise, this interview is over.”
“Just one more question,” Dupree said, “and you can be on your way. When we spoke to you last time, you led us to believe that you were a few months away from poverty. Are your bank records going to support that statement?”
“I’m done with this conversation!” Hansen stood up and made a beeline for the door, slamming it behind her.
“Geez,” T.J. said. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”
“And I was just getting warmed up,” Dupree said. “Any thoughts?”
“She’s one screwed up scientist, but I don’t think she has the stomach for murder.”
“But she still might have dirt under her fingernails,” Dupree added. “Let’s go check out Dr. Crawford’s place.”
T.J. and Dupree cruised up and down Plaza Street West until they found a parking spot reasonably close to Dr. Crawford’s building. As soon as they reached the front door, the unusually tall doorman they’d seen before opened the door and greeted them with a warm smile.
He tipped his hat. “You two are the detectives who were here the other day, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Dupree said. “We’d like to speak with Mr. Cardone, please.”
Before the doorman had a chance to pick up the telephone and page the superintendent, Mr. Cardone stepped off the elevator. He was about to head in the other direction, but when he spotted the two detectives he did an about-face.
“Good afternoon, detectives.” His voice sounded cheery. “I hope you’re staying cool on this muggy day.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I would suspect that you’re here because you have the warrant for entry into Dr. Crawford’s apartment?”
T.J. handed Cardone the warrant. Cardone unfolded it and carefully studied it. “I’m not going to waste your time reading all the fine print. I’ve seen what I need to see. Follow me, please.” T.J. and Dupree stepped into the elevator with Cardone. The superintendent pushed the button for the twenty-second floor.
“Have you made any headway on the murder investigation?” Cardone asked. “Any suspects?”
“Sorry,” Dupree said, “but we really can’t discuss the investigation.”
“I understand.”
Along the way to Dr. Crawford’s floor, the elevator stopped several times and passengers got on and off. Cardone knew each and every one of them, and addressed the passengers by name. After what felt like a ride to the top of the Empire State Building, they finally reached their destination. Cardone led them down a long corridor until they reached 22C.
Cardone unlocked the door. “I don’t think you detectives need my assistance. Take as long as you like, but please turn the deadbolt clockwise when you leave to be sure the door locks. Good luck.”
The detectives slipped on latex gloves.
Dupree turned the doorknob and pushed open the steel door. T.J. and she stopped cold before stepping over the threshold.
“Looks like someone beat us to the punch,” Dupree said. “This place looks like a tornado blew through it.”
Dupree speed-dialed Butler’s phone number. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, John. It’s Amaris.”
“What’s up?”
“I need a CSI team dispatched to 1550 Plaza Street West ASAP. It’s in the Park Slope area. T.J. and I just gained entry to Dr. Crawford’s apartment and somebody turned the place upside down. Call me when you get here and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can. I know I don’t have to remind you, but please don’t touch—”
“Save your speech for the rookies.”
When Dupree hung up and turned around, T.J. was still standing in the doorway perusing the main living area.
“Well, it seems that whoever murdered Dr. Crawford,” Dupree said, “wasn’t satisfied with her computer and external drive. Or they didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“Should we go in and poke around before the crew gets here?” T.J. asked.
“Of course.”
Dupree and T.J. gingerly navigated their way into the apartment, finding it difficult to weave through the rubble without disturbing anything. The sofa was turned upside down and the fabric on the underside of the sofa was torn open. Like fallen soldiers, several lamps lay on the floor. A desk was turned on its side, the drawers pulled out, lying on the floor with the contents scattered about. A flat screen TV lay on the floor, its screen shattered. They wandered into bedrooms, bathrooms and looked in closets. But nothing struck either of them.
“Wow,” Dupree said. “It almost looks like whoever did this was more than looking for something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you think that a thief would take her jewelry? There’s a pile of it lying on the bedroom floor and a few pieces look expensive.” Dupree, moving towards the kitchen, pointed. “Look at that Nikon camera sitting on the kitchen table. Why would a thief leave that behind?”
Dupree walked over to the refrigerator and studied the front of the door. It was covered with everything from photos, to little pieces of paper with phone numbers, to magnets from the local pizza joint, insurance agent, and a real estate broker. There was also an assortment of sticky notes attached to the side of the refrigerator. Dupree studied each and every one of them. About to walk away, a light blue sticky note caught her eye.
“Check this out.”
T.J. made his way to the kitchen.
“Remember what Lentz told us about Dr. Crawford believing that someone in a white Ford was following her?”
“What about it?”
Dupree pointed to the blue sticky note “White Ford Fusion. JAF-9401.”
CHAPTER TEN
Dupree was amazed that she could get a cell phone signal while T.J. and she rode the elevator down to the lobby of Dr. Crawford’s building. She called Brenda—her go-to-gal—and asked her to run the plate number for the Ford Fusion. When the elevator doors opened, David Cardone, the superintendent, was standing near the entrance speaking to the doorman. As soon as Cardone noticed the detectives, he abruptly ended his conversation and walked over to them.
“Well, detectives, did you find anything unusual in Dr. Crawford’s residence?”
“Other than the fact that it looks like Godzilla and King Kong had a little party up there,” T.J. said, “everything looks fine.”
T.J. explained to Cardone what they’d found.