“I didn’t really think so, but now I’m on the same page.”
“Are you saying that I’m right and you’re wrong?”
“Of course not!” T.J. laughed out loud. “Just saying that…”
Before he could finish his sentence, a police car pulled parallel to Dupree’s squad car and the officer rolled down the passenger window.
“You guys need a little assistance?” the officer asked.
Dupree didn’t recognize the policeman. She told him what was going down. Just then, another patrol car arrived on the scene.
“Let’s get this over with,” Dupree said.
Dupree asked the officers to move their patrol cars down the street a half block. If Cassano looked out his window, she didn’t want him to notice the black and whites. Dupree, T.J. and the four uniformed policemen huddled together and discussed their plan. Because Cassano’s home was half of a side-by-side duplex, they only needed to be concerned with guarding the front and back entrances, and the two windows on one side of the house. They agreed that T.J. and Dupree would knock on the front door, while two policemen watched the back door, and two watched the windows on the side of the house.
Once the policemen were in position, Dupree and T.J. tiptoed up the front steps to Cassano’s front door. Weapons drawn, T.J. knocked and Dupree stood ready to react.
No answer.
Again T.J. knocked—harder this time—but still no answer.
“The front door doesn’t look like solid wood,” T.J. whispered. “If we kick it hard at the same time, just above the doorknob, I think we can break through.”
Dupree nodded. “On my count. One. Two. Three.”
Their timing was near perfect. The heels of their shoes hit the door simultaneously, a few inches above the doorknob. They heard wood splinter and Dupree could see that the door caved in slightly, but it held strong.
“Again,” Dupree said. “One. Two. Three.”
This time the force from their timed kick broke the lock, ruptured the door jam, and the door flew open. Cautiously, with T.J. slightly ahead of Dupree, pistols in the ready position, they entered the living room. Cassano was nowhere in sight, but Dupree noticed two overstuffed, wheeled suitcases sitting in the middle of the living room floor.
Dupree waved at T.J. and whispered, “Looks like our guy has travelling plans.”
“Hope he didn’t buy non-refundable plane tickets,” T.J. whispered, grinning.
Side by side, they moved deeper into the home, looking for any sign of life. Suddenly they heard a commotion coming from behind a closed door—glass breaking, two voices yelling. With great vigilance, they slowly opened the door. In front of an opened window, Cassano stood with the upper half of his body hanging out the window. In his back pocket, Dupree noticed a white envelope.
From outside the window, one of the policemen yelled, “Are you in there detectives?”
“We’ve got him covered,” Dupree yelled.
Cassano pulled his torso back into the bedroom and turned around, a mocking grin was painted across his face. “Welcome to the party,” he said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d a put on a pot of coffee and stopped by Donuts Delight.”
Amazing, Dupree thought. They were going to arrest this smart-ass, charge him with two counts of murder, and he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. She remembered what Tesler had said about Cassano’s twisted sense of humor. “Get on your knees and place your hands on the back of your head.”
Cassano, without arguing or making another wisecrack, fell to his knees and planted his hands as instructed.
“We noticed your suitcases,” Dupree said. “Taking an extended vacation?”
“No place in particular. Just thought I’d fire up the old RV and drive to California. I hear there’s still a gold rush there.”
“You’re a real fucking comedian,” T.J. almost yelled. “Well here’s something that might wipe that smug look off your face. You’re under arrest for the murders of Dr. Lauren Crawford and Ivan Tesler. You have the right to—”
“Save the speech,” Cassano said. “I ain’t saying anything more till I talk to a lawyer.”
Holding her pistol aimed squarely at Cassano’s chest, Dupree moved closer to the big man. She stepped behind him, cuffed him, and snatched the envelope. She pulled out the contents and waved it in his face.
“Well, what have we here?” Dupree said. “A one-way airline ticket to Rome, Italy. And it’s first class.”
“So,” T.J. said, “guess you’re not driving to California for the gold rush, huh?”
“I was just screwing with you,” Cassano said.
“No shit,” T.J. responded. “Got family in Rome or are you just looking for asylum?”
“Like I said, I’ve got nothing more to say without a lawyer present.”
“Get up,” Dupree ordered, clutching his arm and pulling him upward. It felt as if she were trying to lift a sumo wrestler. Cassano easily weighed two-fifty. Dupree, still standing slightly behind Cassano, noticed the figure eight birthmark on the back of his neck.
“Let’s take a ride, Oscar,” Dupree said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Dupree entered the precinct at six-forty-five the next morning, drinking her morning pick-me-up, she did a classic double-take when she saw T.J.
He looked up and smiled.
“What did you do, sleep here last night?” Dupree said.
“Just trying to mend my ways.”
“Well, I’m certainly impressed.” Dupree checked out the wall clock. “So, what do you say we have some fun with Mr. Lentz?”
“Nothing would please me more.”
T.J. and Dupree walked down the long corridor towards lockup. There were four jail cells in the 40th precinct, only two were currently occupied—one for Lentz and the other for Cassano.
“I still don’t get it,” T.J. whispered. “Why would you lock up Cassano and Lentz in adjoining cells? We haven’t questioned Cassano yet, so if they are in cahoots, which seems obvious, this would give the two of them the opportunity to corroborate their stories.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you. But I have a strong feeling that this strategy is going to work in our favor.”
As they moved closer to lockup, Dupree noticed that the two suspects were deep in conversation. By the harsh tone in their voices, Dupree sensed that it wasn’t merely a chat between two strangers. It sounded more like a serious disagreement. She could tell by their body language that neither Cassano nor Lentz had spotted T.J. or her. She yanked on T.J.’s arm, who was one step ahead of her. When he looked back, ready to speak, she shushed him.
They listened carefully, but could not make out what they were talking about. Figuring that they couldn’t get close enough to the suspects to hear their conversation before being spotted, Dupree and T.J. moved toward the cells.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” T.J. said. “Birds of a feather do flock together, hey?”
“Where’s my lawyer?” Cassano barked.
“Relax. The public defender should be here in a couple hours.”
“A couple hours?”
“Don’t sweat it,” Dupree said, “you’ll still be here when he arrives.”
“You’re really funny, Detective. You know that?”
“What,” Dupree said. “Suddenly you’ve lost your sense of humor?”
Dupree waved to the on-duty policeman. “Would you unlock number two, please?” She looked at Cassano. “You don’t mind if we have a little chat with your pal, do you?”
Cassano didn’t utter a sound.
The policeman promptly unlocked the cell and Lentz stepped out. First, T.J. cuffed Lentz, then, the two detectives led him to interview room 3.