“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?”
“If I tell you what I know, what’s in it for me?”
“As long as you haven’t committed a felony, we can make a deal with the IRS not to press charges for tax evasion and convince the district attorney not to charge you as an accessory to murder.”
Tesler thought about that for a minute. “So if I admit that somebody paid me to tail her, is that a felony?”
“If your only part in this was watching her,” T.J. said, “no, it’s not a felony.”
Tesler combed his fingers through his greasy hair and licked his lips. “If he hears I ratted him out, he’ll slit my fucking throat.” Tesler covered his face with both hands and cleared his throat several times. “His name is Oscar. Never got his last name, but he’s definitely Italian. A real scary type. Strange thing is, he’s got a twisted sense of humor. I mean this guy could crack jokes at a funeral. He used to be a regular at the Night Owl on Walnut Street in Yonkers, a few blocks away from my place. But I haven’t run into him in a while. I heard that he had a run in with the owner and it almost came to blows. Anyway, I’m a pretty fair pool player, but the first time I met Oscar, he mopped up the floor with me. Guy’s the best pool shark I’ve ever seen. Took my rent money and laughed all the way to the bank.
“He’s not the sociable type, mostly keeps to himself. But we kinda hit it off and got to know each other. Whenever I’d run into him, he’d kick my ass at pool, and then we’d share a few beers and shots of Jack. His treat. Booze always loosens up the tongue.” Tesler took a gulp of water. “He told me stories about his prison time, about the number of skulls he cracked open. I think he even scared the shit out of the guards. As it worked out, he ended up in a cage cuz his full-time job was breaking kneecaps for some loan shark and the cops finally nailed him. Been out of jail for a while.”