“Aren’t you going to ask me if it’s okay for you to record this conversation?” Lentz asked.
“What makes you think this is going to be a conversation?” Dupree said. “Consider this more of a fight for your life.”
Lentz folded his arms defiantly. “Let’s get this over with so I can get the hell out of here.”
“I wouldn’t make any plans for the next twenty years,” Dupree said.
“Unless, of course, you cut the bullshit and tell us the truth.”
Noticeably distressed, Lentz said, “You guys just don’t stop harassing innocent people, do you?”
“Actually,” T.J. said. “We get a real kick out of it.”
“I have nothing more to say. You two know what I know.”
Dupree glanced over at T.J. and he nodded ever so slightly, signaling her to hit him hard.
“Who’s Dominic Gallo?” Dupree asked.
Lentz tugged on his collar and cleared his throat several times. His eyes were opened wide. Almost spooky. “He’s… my step-father.”
Dupree didn’t see that coming. “Really? You two must be really close.”
“We are,” Lentz answered.
“So close that in a thirty day period, he called you fourteen times and you called him twenty-three times,” T.J. said. “Now that’s a close relationship.”
“So is there a law that limits the number of times family members can speak to one another?”
“Not at all,” Dupree said. “But there is a law that prohibits conspiracy to commit murder.”
“You two are real cute,” Lentz said, his voice edged with contempt. “Do either of you two jokers have even a shred of proof that I’ve committed any crimes?”
T.J. ignored his question. “How long has your step-father worked for the FDA?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Tell us about your relationship with Dr. Mason from Horizon Cancer Research,” T.J. said.
Bombarding him with questions kept him off balance.
“I don’t have a relationship with Dr. Mason.”
“But you know him?” T.J. asked.
“Casually.”
Dupree stood and glared at Lentz. “Let’s review a few facts and see if it jogs your memory.”
Lentz nervously yanked on his shirt collar.
“On July 1st you deposited one-hundred-fifty thousand dollars in a savings account,”
Dupree said. “And your ex-girlfriend was about to make a major announcement to the press concerning her cancer research and an application she had prepared for the FDA. Your step-father, coincidentally, happens to work for the FDA. And you spoke to him thirty-seven times just before Dr. Crawford was murdered.”
Lentz laughed out loud. “You two have been watching way too many CSI reruns. What do you think, just because you introduce a few meaningless facts that I’m going to cave in and admit to anything? If that’s all you got, I’m out of here.”
Lentz was correct: they really didn’t have any compelling evidence, but during the entire interrogation, Dupree had been studying Lentz’s eyes very carefully and she didn’t like what she saw. She believed in the adage, “The eyes are the windows to the soul.” Lentz’s eyes contradicted his words. During her many years of interviews and interrogations, Dupree had learned to examine the eyes of many a suspect. She couldn’t quite explain it, but each of them who had lied shared a certain look, a common characteristic. It was time for her to act on her instincts. Dupree inched closer to Lentz, her face just inches away from him, her eyes searching his.
“There is one more curious fact,” Dupree said. “We haven’t spoken to your buddy Cassano yet, but I’d bet he’s a wealth of information. Want to know why? When someone’s facing a murder one charge and the death penalty, even a tough guy like Cassano can be brought to his knees. What do you suppose is going to happen when we put his nuts in a vice and make a deal with him? Think he’ll trade his life for the names of his accomplices?”
Lentz’s eye twitched and Dupree heard the air draining from his lungs. He combed his fingers through his hair and coughed in his hand.
Dupree felt certain she had hit the right nerve.
“If I talk, what kind of deal can you cut me?”
“That depends on how valuable the information is. If it helps us, we’ll talk to the DA about reducing the conspiracy to commit murder charge. ”
Lentz’s lip twitched; he was silent a long time before he spoke. “About a month ago, my step-father contacted me.”
“Dominic Gallo?” T.J. asked.
Lentz nodded. “He asked me if I’d like to make some fast money—serious money. Not having more than loose change in my pocket, I was all ears. He knew that I’d had a relationship with Lauren Crawford. When he asked me if I could find a way to steal her computer, it about knocked me off my feet. I was ready to tell him to go fuck himself, but when he told me he’d be willing to pay one-hundred-fifty K for it, well, I guess he got my attention.”
“So, he wanted you to steal her computer?” Dupree asked.
“Not exactly. He wanted me to find someone to do it—someone she wouldn’t recognize.”
“And what made him think that you would know anyone who’d be willing to commit such a crime?” T.J. asked “Well, I guess my background is a little more colorful than I let on. But I’m sure if you’ve done your homework you already know that.” Lentz, for no obvious reason, let out a subdued laugh. “I know a few people who don’t exactly play by the rules. One of them, Jake Sullivan, probably my closest friend, is a bartender at a seedy little bar called the Night Owl.”
Dupree and T.J. exchanged glances.
“Did you say the Night Owl?” T.J. asked “Yep. For whatever reason, it’s a haven for ex-cons. Anyway, I spoke to Jake, explained the situation, and asked if he had anyone in mind. Without even hesitating for a minute, he pointed to a big bald guy playing pool.”
“Oscar Cassano?” Dupree asked.
Lentz nodded.
“So,” Dupree said, “you must have been a little shaken when Cassano ended up in the cell right next to you.”
“Wanted to strangle the asshole. But I felt relieved to see him behind bars. Believe me, I was happy we weren’t in the same cell.”
“How did you approach Cassano at the Night Owl?” T.J. asked.
“I didn’t. Jake huddled with him and the next thing I know, Cassano tugs my arm, he says, ‘Let’s talk,’ and he leads me outside to the back alley. Gotta admit, I nearly shit myself. He is one scary dude.”
“How much did you offer him to steal the computer?” T.J. said.
“That’s the strange thing. My step-father asked me to buy one of those prepaid cell phones—the kind they sell at Walmart or discount electronics stores. He told me to give it to whoever agreed to steal Lauren’s computer and tell him he’d be getting a call at a particular time with specific instructions and details of how he’d get paid. My step-father insisted that I not give Cassano his name.”
“And you didn’t question this at all?” Dupree asked.
“My only role was to find the guy. The rest was between my step-father and Cassano.”
“You had no idea that Cassano had planned to kill Dr. Crawford?” Dupree asked.
Lentz’s eyes glossed over. “I swear on my dead mother’s soul, I didn’t know. He agreed to snatch her computer and that was it. I know that I’m a slime-ball, but I never would have done anything to harm Lauren. She dumped my ass, and I deserved to be dumped, but I still cared for her.” He paused and covered his face with both hands.
Dupree and T.J. waited a few minutes for Lentz to regain his composure.
“If you suspected that Cassano was likely the one who murdered Dr. Crawford,” Dupree said, “why didn’t you contact the police?”