It seemed to Dupree that Cassano had run out of smart-ass remarks. Either that or she’d gotten his attention. Clearly, he was deep in thought. It was time to drop the hammer.
“I read a fascinating article in Newsweek magazine a few months ago. It was titled, “Execution by Injection far from Painless.” Apparently, a group of researchers from Florida conducted a thorough investigation into lethal injection. After extensive research, they concluded that since the Supreme Court approved capital punishment in 1976, 788 people have been put to death by injection in the United States, and as many as 90% felt pain, and 40% were conscious throughout the procedure. Now I have no idea how much you know about lethal injection, but it’s a three step process. First, a technician injects a solution that induces anesthesia. Then, a second injection is introduced that paralyzes the body. Third, an injection of potassium chloride stops the heart. It takes several minutes before the anesthesia numbs the entire body, so when the technician injects the paralytic solution, parts of the body are still very much awake. Sadly, the paralytic solution they use is like injecting lava into your veins. So, any body part that hasn’t yet been anesthetized, feels like it’s literally on fire. Here’s the thing. The subject, no matter how much in pain, can’t move, can’t even twitch a finger. So, no one knows how much agony the convict endures, but by all accounts, it’s likely excruciating. I would guess that it’s even more painful than slicing someone’s body and pouring salt and vinegar in their wounds.”
Dupree saw his eye twitch. “Oh, and one more thing: We know that you drive a Chevy pickup truck, license plate number QZZ-6851.”
“So, what if I do?”
“We also know that your truck was parked in front of Ivan Tesler’s house the night he was brutally murdered.”
“Who says so?”
“Ivan’s neighbor. He saw you leaving the scene about thirty minutes before Ivan called 911. Isn’t that an interesting coincidence?”
T.J. walked in the interview room and closed the door. “Williamson should be here in about an hour.”
“You can wait here or in your cell,” Dupree said. “It’s up to you.”
Cassano wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He nervously drummed his fingers on the table. “Fuck the public defender. I wanna make a deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dupree and T.J. left Cassano in the interview room for a few minutes. At his request, they went to the staff break room and got him a soda. Before they headed back to face what they both thought would be an illuminating interview, they carefully examined Maggie Hansen’s bank statement and cell phone records. Dupree figured that the longer they let Cassano stew, the looser his tongue might be.
“Let’s see,” Dupree said. She ran her index finger slowly down the page. “Three calls to Albany, New York. And check this out. Four calls to international area code 345 in the Grand Cayman Islands.”
“Now that sparks my curiosity,” T.J. said.
Normally, Dupree would take the time to make calls herself to determine who a suspect was communicating with, like she’d done with Lentz’s phone records. But at this time, she had more important issues to deal with. “Let’s have Brenda run all the numbers and see what comes up.”
T.J. studied the bank statement. “Nothing unusual here. No deposits, four ATM withdrawals, and seven checks issued to various payees. Last balance was nine-thousand-twenty dollars.”
“Well,” Dupree said, “I don’t know where she fits into this puzzle, but she’s anything but squeaky-clean. I guess we’ll just have to see how the rest of the investigation unfolds.”
T.J. looked at his watch. “Ready for this?”
“No, but let’s hope Cassano has something for us to sink our teeth into.”
Dupree and T.J. entered the room and handed Cassano a Dr. Pepper. Although Cassano was in theory about to cooperate with Dupree and T.J., she still felt like smashing the soda can in his face. Setting aside the fact that he was a cold-blooded murderer, Dupree just couldn’t stand the sight of him.
“Let me make this easy for you,” Dupree said. “As soon as we get a DNA sample from you and match it with the blood found in the backseat of Dr. Crawford’s car, we own your ass. This is what we want to know: First, who originally contacted you to steal Dr. Crawford’s computer? Second, why did you kill her? Third, who else is involved? And fourth, why did you kill Ivan Tesler?”
Cassano popped the top on the can of soda and took a long swig. “Before I say even one word, how do I know that the DA is going to reduce the charges?”
“I can only make one promise. If you don’t cooperate 100%, you’ve got a guaranteed appointment with cardiac arrest.”
“So, I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
“That’s your only option,” Dupree said. “Either answer our questions or we can escort you back to your cell and tell the DA to proceed. What’ll it be?”
Cassano appeared to be deep in thought.
“I don’t even know the guy’s name that hired me. I met him through Jake Sullivan, a bartender at the Night Owl. Jake knows I’m always looking to make a few bucks on the side and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty—if you know what I mean.”
“When you say ‘dirty’, you mean ‘bloody’, correct?” T.J. asked.
Cassano didn’t answer but his eyes said, “Yes.”
“Anyway, this guy says he’ll pay me two-thousand dollars to steal this big-shot doctor’s computer. Seemed like easy money to me. I gave Ivan Tesler a few hundred to keep an eye on her so I could monitor her daily routine and figure out when would be the best time to snag her computer. The guy who hired me gave me a cell phone and told me that someone would be calling to give me specific instructions and to make arrangements to pay me. Well, I get the call but it was not what I expected. The woman blows my mind. She says—”
“Wait a minute,” Dupree interrupted. “Did you say a woman called?”
“Yeah. A woman. A chick. A broad. Whatever you want to call her.”
Dupree remembered that Lentz had told her Dominic Gallo was going to call Cassano with instructions. If Cassano was telling the truth, this new information put a whole new spin on the investigation. An image of Maggie Hansen flashed in her mind. “You’re absolutely sure it was a woman?”
“Unless it was a guy getting his nuts squeezed, yes, I’m positive it was a woman. Geez, do you want me to answer your questions or what?”
“Sorry,” Dupree said. “Go ahead.”
“Anyway, she asks me how much she’d have to pay me to kill somebody. Kill somebody. I didn’t know what the fuck to say. I mean, how often in your life does some crazy stranger ask you a question like that? How do you even answer that question? I’ve done lots of weird shit in my day, but I ain’t never killed anyone. Came close a couple of times in prison. But they were all useless knuckleheads. I told her that the price all depends on who it is. Now keep in mind, I had no intention of ending anyone’s life. But I got to admit, I had dollar signs in my eyes.
“She tells me she wants me to kill the doctor I was supposed to steal the computer from. She says that she still wants me to snatch the computer, but also wants me to put a bullet in the doctor’s head. I figured that if this woman really wanted the doctor dead, she’d have to pay for it—and I’m talking serious money. Hey, I thought that maybe this was my big break. A chance for me to get the hell out of New York and spend the rest of my life lying in the sun somewhere nice. Not that I really wanted to end a stranger’s life, a woman I had no beef with, but for a guy like me, money talks and bullshit walks. So, I tried her on for size and asked for a million dollars. What did I have to lose? Worst that could happen was that I’d hear the dial tone. The woman offers me a half mill without even flinching. It was like we were talking about chump-change. I would have taken the half-mill. But I thought I’d go for broke, so I said, seven-fifty. Before the words even slipped off my tongue, she says, ‘Done.’