“I thought to myself, ‘Done?’ She said she’d call me back in twenty-four hours and tell me where I could pick up a good faith payment of one-hundred thou.”
“And where was that?” T.J. asked.
“In a locker at the Postal Annex in the Bronx.”
“How did you get the key?”
“Overnight FedEx to my house.”
“So you went to the Postal Annex and found one hundred thousand cash in the locker?”
Cassano nodded. “A thousand, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in a black duffle bag. Just like in the movies.”
“How about the rest of the money?” Dupree asked.
“She said that once she confirmed that the doctor was dead, she’d wire the six-fifty to some offshore bank account set up in my name. Said she couldn’t get me cash because they don’t make a duffle bag big enough for that much loot. I wasn’t really comfortable with this arrangement. After all, I don’t even know who I’m talking to on the telephone. But I suppose I was so caught up in the money—I mean three quarters of a mill is a lot of scratch—I agreed to her terms. Well, guess what? I never got the fucking money. I went to see Jake Sullivan and asked him how I could get in touch with the guy that hired me in the first place. He gave me his name and said he’d call me if the guy came in the Night Owl. I found out where he lived, but when I went to his apartment, he had moved out and the manager said he didn’t leave a forwarding address. I pretty much figured that he was just a patsy and not the money guy.”
“Do you have any idea where the money was supposed to be wired?” Dupree asked.
“Some island down in the Caribbean.”
Nobody uttered a sound for a few minutes. Dupree could almost taste the tension in the air. That he could tell this story so casually, struck Dupree. As a homicide detective, she thought she’d seen it all. But this investigation seemed like virgin territory.
“So, Mr. Cassano, as it worked out,” Dupree said, “for a hundred grand, you killed a brilliant scientist that you didn’t even know. You must be so proud of yourself.”
“Not proud at all.” Cassano massaged his temples. “I nearly chickened out at the last minute. I almost took her computer and let her be. It’s one thing to talk about ending someone’s life, but it sure is different when you’re looking them in the eyes and can see the terror firsthand. Besides, I had no axe to grind with this lady. But she went and did something stupid.”
“And what was that?” Dupree asked.
“She found a nail file in her purse and stabbed me right in the face.” Cassano pointed to his still wounded cheek. “That set me off. I was bleeding like a stuffed pig and I completely lost it.”
“What happened next?” Dupree asked.
Cassano looked Dupree square in the eyes. “I put three bullets in her head.”
Dupree felt a chill crawl up her back and she shivered. She could not fathom how anyone could make a statement like that with such cold indifference. But this was not the time to get distracted. She forced herself to stay on task.
“Where did you get the gun?”
Cassano laughed out loud. “In case you haven’t noticed, Detective, this is New York City. You got the cash, you get the goods. Whatever you want.”
“Give me a name.”
“There is no name. It doesn’t work that way. You put the word out on the street that you’re looking for a piece and the sellers find you.”
“Where is the gun?” T.J. asked.
“Swimming in the East River.”
“What can you tell us about the woman on the telephone?” Dupree asked. “The one who made the deal with you to kill Dr. Crawford. Anything unusual about her voice?”
“If you call a thick southern accent unusual, then I guess she fits the bill.”
Dupree snapped her head toward T.J. and could tell by his wide-eyed look that he was thinking the same thing. “She had a southern accent? Are you sure?”
“That’s what I just said.” Cassano looked noticeably annoyed. “All I listen to is country music. I should know a southern accent when I hear one.”
“What happened to the cell they gave you?” T.J. asked.
“Keeping the gun company at the bottom of the East River.”
“She told you to get rid of it?” T.J. asked.
Cassano nodded. “After my final conversation with the woman that made the payment arrangements, she told me to toss it in the river.”
“Why didn’t you just keep the phone?” Dupree asked.
“I thought about it, but it stopped working. The woman must have cancelled the service or the phone crapped out. No big deal. I never really cared much for cell phones. I don’t understand all the doohickeys. Besides, whoever wanted the doctor killed was paying me a hefty chunk of change. I didn’t really give a rat’s ass about a dumb cell phone.”
“What happened to the computer?”
“She told me to leave it in the locker at the Postal Annex.”
Dupree thought about easing into the next part of the conversation, but this was one of those situations when you hit a suspect square between the eyes.
“Why did you murder Ivan Tesler?”
“Because he was a rat-bastard. A squealer. If he would have kept his big mouth shut, I’d still be walking the streets and he’d be alive. He deserved everything he got.”
Dupree found it hard to believe that even Cassano could be so callous. “So you have no regrets?”
“Yeah, I do. I regret giving him money to keep an eye on the doctor. I offer him a chance to earn a few bucks and he sticks it in my ass. Fuck ’em.”
“One last thing,” Dupree said. “Why did you ransack Dr. Crawford’s apartment? What were you looking for?”
“After I got screwed out of the additional six-fifty the lyin’ bitch owed me, I figured I’d try to make up for my losses. Not that I expected to find a truckload of cash, but hey, maybe I’d stumble upon some diamond jewelry or a stash of money. But I didn’t find shit—only worthless jewelry and a stupid camera.”
“So,” Dupree said, “you obviously never found the fireproof document case hidden under the china cabinet.”
Cassano’s head snapped up. “What document case?”
“The one with fifty-seven thousand dollars in it.”
He laughed. “You’re just screwing with me.”
“Whatever,” Dupree said.
Cassano’s face flushed with blood “I think we’re done.”
“When you gonna talk to the DA?”
“Soon,” Dupree said.
“Today? Tomorrow?”
“Soon,” T.J. echoed.
“How long do I have to stay in that rat-hole cage in the back?”
“Just until we transfer you to the county jail,” T.J. said.
The detectives stood up and each held one of Cassano’s arms. They led him through the door and down the hall to his jail cell.
“Let me know what the DA says,” Cassano requested.
“You’ll be the first,” Dupree said. “Oh, one more thing. We’re going to need a blood sample.”
“Why?”
“Silly question, Mr. Cassano.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Afraid not.”