T.J. gave her a thumbs up.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“You’re going to be bouncing off the windshield in a few minutes,” T.J. warned. “Four shots? Really?”
“That’s how I drink my lattés,” Dupree answered. “Would you rather hear me snoring?”
“Good point.” T.J. took a long swig of his drink. “Who’s the captain sending to pick up Lentz?”
“Wells and Parisi.”
“They must be delighted. Especially Wells. What’s he got, three months before he retires?”
“Something like that,” Dupree said.
She turned onto Webster Avenue and slowed to a crawl. Luckily, she found a parking spot directly across the street from Cassano’s duplex. Dupree noticed a light shining through the front window; drapes slightly opened. While she enjoyed her latté, she focused on the lighted window, looking for any sign of life. “What would you do if you could retire tomorrow and you were healthy and financially secure?” Dupree asked.
“First thing I’d do is go on an African photo-shoot safari. I’ve always wanted to see lions and tigers and elephants in the wild.”
“Why do you have to wait until you’re retired?”
“Probably because I’d want to stay there for at least three or four weeks, and unless I took a special leave of absence, no way could I get that much consecutive time off.”
“Okay,” Dupree said, “You’re retired, healthy, in pretty good financial shape, and you just returned from an extended trip to Africa. Now what?”
T.J.’s face suddenly turned serious. “Well… ever since Haley was…”
He paused, noticeably searching for the right words.
“After Haley… died, I promised myself that someday I’d start a non-profit organization to support rape victims. I tried—a couple of times—but you can’t imagine how complicated it is. The documents, permits, federal and state requirements are overwhelming. It’s amazing how hard you have to work to help people. It’s an undertaking that would be difficult to manage while working full-time. So, my plan is twenty years and out. My pension will be vested by then and hopefully, if I continue packing away a good chunk of money every pay period, I’ll have enough cash to enjoy three squares a day, keep the snow off my head, and still have enough left over to launch my charity.”
Dupree didn’t know what to say. Less than a week ago, T.J. was an obscure man. But now, with his most recent admission, Dupree saw a man with character and nobility.
“So what do you think, Amaris? Am I chasing a pipedream?”
“I think you’re following your heart. And in my opinion, it’s an impressive goal.”
Dupree, her eyes still focused on Cassano’s front window, saw a shadow move. She held up her hand and pointed to Cassano’s home. “There’s someone inside.”
“If we knock on his door it’s going to spook him,” T.J. warned.
“Let’s sit tight for a while. Maybe he’ll step out for a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of hooch.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’re going to kick in his front door.”
T.J. seemed to be lost in his thoughts and Dupree couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told her. About to ask T.J. a question, Dupree’s cell rang. It rang three times before she found it hiding in the bottom of her handbag.
“Detective Dupree.”
“I hear you’re burning the midnight oil. It’s not going to get you a raise you know.”
Dupree immediately recognized John Butler’s voice. “Shouldn’t you be home with your wife and kids watching a Disney movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn?”
“Not when there’s a dead body that needs some CSI expertise.”
“Well, you’re the right guy for the job,” Dupree said.
“I think this one’s going to peak your interest,” Butler said.
“All murders interest me.”
“Does the name Ivan Tesler ring a bell?”
Dupree turned on the speaker so T.J. could hear. “It sure does. Tesler’s a suspect in Dr. Crawford’s murder.”
“Not anymore.”
“Fill me in.”
“This is a strange one. We found his body sitting in a chair. Both of his legs and his left arm were bound to the chair. But it appears that he somehow managed to break his right arm free. He was sitting right next to an end table in the living room and there was a telephone, pad, and pencil on the table. With his free arm, Tesler apparently called 911. But when they answered, all they heard was unintelligible yelling and screaming. This went on for several minutes. The 911 operator ran his phone number and gave his address to a couple of black and whites and asked them to check it out.”
“How did you know to call me?”
“He managed to scribble two words on that pad on the end table. ‘Oscar’ and ‘Dupree’.”
Dupree glanced at T.J. and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“How was he murdered, John?”
“Ready for this one? Whoever killed him must have really had an axe to grind. The killer sliced up his entire body, from head to toe, with what was likely a razorblade. Now these weren’t cuts that would make him bleed out; they were surface cuts that barely broke the skin. But get this. Next to his body, we found an empty bottle of vinegar and an almost empty box of table salt. Best we can figure, the killer cut nearly every square inch of this poor bastard’s body and poured salt and vinegar into the wounds. I know it’s cliché, but it really happened. The guy must have suffered excruciating pain.”
“Any prints?” Dupree asked.
“Not on the bottle of vinegar or box of salt, but we’re still dusting.”
Dupree’s mind was racing. That Cassano was capable of such brutality spoke volumes about the type of lunatic they were dealing with. “Have you determined the cause of death?”
“Well, it seems that after the killer tortured this guy for who knows how long, he wasn’t satisfied. For his final performance, he cut out Tesler’s tongue and it likely didn’t take long before the guy bled to death.”
“That’s wild, John, totally barbaric.”
“I’m curious,” John said. “Obviously, we figured out who ‘Dupree’ was on the scribbled note, but do you know what the name, ‘Oscar’ means?”
“Coincidentally, the name of the guy we’re staking out is Oscar Cassano. We like him for the murder of Dr. Crawford.”
“I guess you can like him for Tesler’s murder, too. Good luck, Amaris. If you need anything at all, just give me a holler.”
Dupree disconnected the call and dropped the cell in her handbag. “I guess Tesler was almost right when he said Cassano would slit his throat if he suspected that he ratted him out.”
“Well,” T.J. said, “I suppose we now have justification to kick this asshole’s door in.”
“Now that we know just how violent he is, we need to call for backup,” Dupree said.
Dupree made the call and requested two black and whites. She’d warned the dispatcher to tell the police officers to approach the area quietly—no sirens blaring or lights flashing.
“We’ve got this bastard cold,” Dupree said. “Once we arrest him, check out the birthmark on the back of his neck, run DNA tests on his blood, match it to what we found in the backseat of Dr. Crawford’s car, we’ve got him for murder one.”
“And there’s no reason for us to cut any deals with the DA.” T.J. added.
“I’m thinking we do,” Dupree said. “There is no way in hell that Cassano was a solo pilot on this murder. He was working for someone else. And I believe that ‘someone’ is high on the food chain.” Prior to today, Dupree had considered that Dr. Crawford’s murder was part of a much bigger story. Now, she felt certain it was.