Hypocrisy (4 page)

T.J. waited for him to regain his composure. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Mr. Lentz, but I’m sure you can appreciate why we need to ask you some questions.”

“When she said she wanted to see me, I was hoping she had second thoughts about us splitting up and maybe wanted to give it another go. We were supposed to meet at eight p.m. When she didn’t show up, I didn’t panic because she’d done this before. She’d get so caught up in her work that she’d completely lose track of time. I called her cell and left her three voicemails.”

He paused for a minute, his emotions again hard to control. “Can you imagine how I felt when she dumped me? I really loved her.”

“Didn’t love her enough to keep it in your pants,” Dupree said.

Lentz glared at Dupree. “I guess I have no defense for that accusation, except to say that guys will be guys.”

“Hm,” T.J. said. “I thought the expression was, ‘Guys will be pigs’.”

Lentz didn’t say a word.

“Tell us about the frequent bruises on Lauren’s wrists and ankles,” Dupree said. “What’s that all about?”

Dupree expected that the question would rile him, but it hardly fazed him.

“Without getting into any nitty gritty details, which is none of your damn business anyway, let’s just say that Lauren enjoyed some kinky sex games. And that’s all you need to know.”

“And did these games include bondage?” T.J. asked.

Lentz nodded. “Are we done?”

“For the time being,” Dupree said. “But as the investigation moves forward, we may want you to come down to the 40
^th
precinct in the south Bronx to answer a few more questions.”

“Well I hope you two work weekends because I’m booked solid Monday to Friday. I work two jobs just trying to keep my head above water. Only reason I’m home today…well I don’t think I have to explain.”

Dupree handed Lentz her business card. “Call me day or night if there’s anything else you can remember that might help with the investigation.”

He snatched the business card and stuffed it in the robe pocket without looking at it. Just as the detectives were leaving, Lentz touched Dupree’s arm.

“I know that both of you probably think I’m a total, white-trash deadbeat and can’t begin to understand why a brilliant, educated, and sophisticated woman like Lauren would even give me the time of day. Well, appearances don’t always tell the whole story. I know I live in a crappy, rundown building in Loserville, USA. But it hasn’t always been like that. Up until I lost my obscenely lucrative job at Lehman Brothers right after they went belly-up in 2008, I was flying high. Unless you’ve gone through a meltdown
like this, you have no idea what it’s like to go from Armani suits and a 500SL to grease-stained overalls and a cardboard sign begging for loose change. There’s no dignity in being poor. I lost my home and forfeited all my worldly belongings. I slept in shelters, rat-infested alleys, and sometimes I hunkered down in the backseat of an unlocked car. I wolfed down half-eaten Big Macs and pissed in the streets. I collected unemployment for as long as I could. I figured the government at least owed me that. Never once did I apply for welfare or food stamps. I’m clawing my way back slowly, working two low-paying jobs. I don’t have much, but I have my integrity. I pay my rent and my belly is full. Lauren saw something in me, a quality hidden beneath the surface of a man wearing a silly paper hat and peddling hot dogs and pretzels from a little stainless steel cart. She saw my heart and she saw my soul and knew that I was more than just a corner vendor.”

Dupree and T.J. stood silently in the doorway. His story begged for a meaningful reply, yet neither detective knew what to say. All Dupree could muster was one quick remark.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lentz. I’m sorry for your loss” She looked deep into his eyes, and felt that something wasn’t quite right.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You buy his hard-luck story?” Dupree asked. T.J. and she headed back to the precinct.

“I believe that he got caught up in the financial meltdown, lost his job, and now works a couple of scrub jobs, but the rest, I think, is classic horseshit. What’s your opinion?”

“I thought his performance earned him an Oscar.”

“I’ll check out his alibi at that Better Blast Coffee shop,” T.J. said.

Although T.J. always tried to portray himself as a thick-skinned, unflappable man, Dupree suspected that he, like her, was deeply moved by Mrs. Crawford’s painful situation. She had been a detective long enough to know that a cop just can’t get emotionally involved with a victim’s family, a suspect, or witness. It was the first commandment in law enforcement. Yet, more than once, she found herself too close to the wrong person.

“What’s next on our ‘To Do List’?” T.J. asked.

“First thing in the morning, we’re meeting with Dr. Mason, the director of research for Horizon.”

“When the hell did you set up that appointment?”

“I’m a multi-tasker, remember?”

“What time?”

“He said to drop by any time between eight a.m. and noon. After that, he’ll be out of town for several days.”

“Nine o’ clock okay with you?” T.J. asked.

“How about eight?” Dupree smiled. “And one more thing. If you’re not here on time, I’m going to talk to the captain about demoting you to a beat cop in Harlem.”

Dupree dropped off T.J. at the precinct. On her way back to her place, she called Brenda and asked her to run a background and criminal record check on Jonathan Lentz.

Dupree loved living in the heart of the city. Although most tourists referred to this throbbing area of sidewalk cafés, off-Broadway playhouses, and jazz clubs, as Greenwich Village, the locals just knew it as “The Village.”

As soon as Dupree entered the apartment, her two cats, Benjamin and Alexandra—Ben and Alex for short—greeted her at the door with a chorus of “meows.” She looked at their bowls of dry food and they were almost empty.

“Sorry guys. Been a rough day.”

To Dupree, New York was so much more than the Empire State Building, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty. It was a thriving metropolis of culture, entertainment, and fashion. Where else could she buy a Gray’s Papaya hot dog, the best in the world? Or walk into Katz’s deli for a delicious pastrami or corn beef sandwich, piled high and as tender as prime rib? Dupree loved New York. The food. The people. The energy. The culture. But every so often, she needed an escape from the hectic pace of the city. So, she’d rent a remote cabin buried deep in the Adirondack Mountains, where she had to pump water from a well, do her business in a broken down outhouse, and survive without a refrigerator, stove, or even electricity. Completely alone and isolated from civilization, she’d sit by a warm fire and read a classic Fitzgerald or Hemingway novel by candlelight, and enjoy a peaceful weekend with no computers, cell phones or TVs. Once
in a while, she’d curl up with a trashy novel, a vice she never shared with anyone. An occasional weekend in the mountains was how Dupree decompressed, how she reflected on her chaotic life and kept herself focused. Without a frequent escape from dead bodies and diabolical killers, she’d never be able to cope with the demands of her job.

People often asked Dupree how she could afford a million-dollar apartment in the heart of the Village on a homicide detective’s salary. She would generally say, “I can’t. That’s why I eat Ramen noodles every night.” At the reading of her mom’s will, when Dupree learned that her mom had willed the apartment and a modest savings account to her, Dupree was overwhelmed with guilt, shocked that the woman she’d so deeply wounded would leave everything to her. Dupree kept asking herself, “What did I do to deserve this?” Her answer was always the same: “Nothing.” The apartment served as a constant and nagging reminder that her mom, in spite of Dupree treating her so poorly, was a kindhearted, loving woman.

There was a time—it seemed in another life—when Dupree looked forward to preparing a nice dinner and sharing a bottle of wine with someone special. But it had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—at least on an intimate level. With her thirty-fifth birthday coming soon, it loomed as a poignant reminder that a stiff drink, dark chocolate, and chick-flicks had become substitutes for a comforting hug and passionate kiss.

Her cell phone rang.

She looked at the display and didn’t recognize the caller. “Detective Dupree.”

“Hi, Detective, this is Jonathan Lentz, Lauren Crawford’s ex-boyfriend. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Tearing her away from a bagel and cream cheese was an interruption she could forgive. “No, you’re not disturbing me at all. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you asked me to call if I remembered anything that might be significant.” His voice sounded raspy, as if he’d just woken up. “I don’t know if this means anything, but about a week ago when I spoke to Lauren on the telephone, she said that for the last few weeks she felt as if someone was watching her.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to Lauren, a creepy guy in a white Ford Fusion would frequently sit in his car across the street from her apartment and seemed to be watching her. On two occasions, she’d seen the same car parked across the street from where she worked.”

Dupree thought it peculiar that Lentz hadn’t mentioned something as significant as this when she’d interviewed him earlier. Then again, shock plays a lot of tricks on your brain. She recalled that Mrs. Crawford had also spoken of a mysterious stalker.

“Did she describe the man or happen to take down his license plate number?”

“She didn’t say. I told her to call the police and report it, but I don’t know if she ever did.”

“Is there anything else, Mr. Lentz?”

“Only that I hope you find the bastard who killed her and lock him up for life.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She hung up, picked up her glass of wine and gulped a mouthful.

Before she barely had a chance to swallow, her cell rang again. “This is Detective Dupree.”

“Hey there Detective, it’s Brenda.”

Dupree looked at her watch. “Are you still working?”

“On my way out the door, but I thought I’d give you the info on Jonathan Lentz.”

“How utterly ironic,” Dupree said. “Would you believe that I just got off the phone with him?”

“Odd coincidence.”

“So, what’s the scoop, Brenda?”

“He’s been a good boy for the last few months, but before that he was quite a character.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it all started in June of 2008. It seems that he likes to get into fist fights. Mostly in bars. Must be one of those guys who gets alcohol courage when he drinks—makes him want to kick some ass. He likes to hang with some pretty seedy characters. Real bad boys. He’s been arrested four times but never been convicted. Maybe he just likes to beat the crap out of people.”

“That’s interesting,” Dupree said. “He doesn’t seem the type.”

“Do they ever?”

“Good point. Anything else I should know?”

“You got it all, Sugar. Have a good night.”

“You as well.”

Dupree remembered Lentz’s narrative about losing his job at Lehman Brothers in 2008 and how he was clawing his way back to solvency. Curious, Dupree thought, that Lentz neglected to mention his colorful past.

Maybe he wasn’t the hard-working citizen he claimed to be.

CHAPTER FIVE

T.J. hopped in Dupree’s car with a groan and closed the door. He strapped on his seatbelt and reclined the seatback as far as it would go. On the radio, Lady Gaga was proclaiming that she was “Born this Way.” T.J. turned off the radio.

“Don’t like Gaga?” Dupree asked.

“Not this morning.”

“I can’t believe you actually got here on time.”

“Enjoy it,” T.J. said. “It may never happen again.”

“You look like you could use a gallon of strong coffee and a quart of Visine.”

“Shoot me. Please.” T.J. said. “Just put me out of my misery.”

Dupree merged into the flowing traffic and headed for the Horizon Cancer Research Center in the Bronx. “Rough night, hey?”

“The night was just fine.” T.J. said. “It’s the morning that got me.”

“Too much partying?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just don’t get enough sleep.”

“Try a couple of Excedrin PM’s and melatonin just before you go to bed. But be sure you turn the volume up on your clock radio or you’ll sleep till Christmas.”

The rush hour traffic was unusually light this morning, which was as rare an event as a solar eclipse of the sun.

“Want me to swing by Starbucks?” Dupree offered.

“Don’t think my stomach could handle it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, by the way. Before I went home last night, I drove to
the Better Blast Coffee Shop and Lentz’s story checked out. He was there all evening.”

“I’m impressed by your tenacity. Are you turning over a new leaf?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Dupree had much to say about their impending conversation with Dr. Mason, and she wanted to be sure that T.J. and she were on the same wavelength. But every time she glanced at him, about to speak, his eyes looked droopy and it appeared that he’d be sound asleep in a few minutes. For most of their six-month partnership, T.J. had been alert and ready to roll first thing in the morning. In fact, he was an energetic, cheery “morning person” who came to work singing. He annoyed the crap out of everyone around him who was still struggling to gradually wake up. But something recently changed. Something wasn’t quite right with him. She realized that she had to confront the issue, but now was not the time.