“Mornin’,” Dupree said as she set down Brenda’s latté and brownie on her desk. Dupree glanced at the wall clock, and then looked at Wells. “I know why T.J. is here, but what got you out of bed so early this morning? Haven’t seen you here this early in ages.”
“Homicide got me up,” Wells said.
Kiddingly, Dupree said, “Anyone I know?”
Wells looked at T.J. “Should I tell her, or do you want to?”
“It’s your show,” T.J. answered.
“Ever heard of Jonathan Lentz?”
Suddenly, as if a shot of epinephrine was coursing through her veins, Dupree was wide-eyed and alert. “What about him?”
“He’s lying on a stainless steel table at the coroner’s office.”
For an instant, she couldn’t find her voice. “What happened?”
“Well, a housekeeper at Shoreline Hideaways on Long Island was doing her thing in the early afternoon. It’s one of those places where a couple can get away for a few days and screw like bunnies. Anyway, when she entered one of the cabins to clean it, she found Lentz handcuffed to the bed wearing only his underwear. The killer had stuffed a washcloth in his mouth and it was soaked with champagne. Must have been the killer’s innovative way of waterboarding.” Wells paused for a breath. “His head was bashed in with what appears to be the empty champagne bottle. Whoever killed the poor bastard must have whacked him a dozen or more times. It wasn’t pretty.”
“How did you get a positive ID?” Dupree asked.
“We talked to a lady at the check-in office and she gave us his name, address, credit card information, and the year, make, model, and plate number of his car. We found no driver’s license, and his face was so bashed in, it was impossible to get a visual ID from DMV records.”
“Was the car a new pearl white Audi A8?” Dupree asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Is it still on sight or impounded?”
“It’s gone.”
Dupree tried to process this new information. “Did the lady at the check-in get a look at Lentz’s companion?”
“She said Lentz checked in alone.”
“What time?”
“Before ten a.m. And get this. The young girl at check-in did say that she saw the Audi peel out of the driveway at eleven-thirty.”
“Could she give a description of the person driving the car?”
“Better than that. She felt sure she could pick her out of a lineup.”
“Just out of curiosity, why were you called to investigate a murder on Long Island?” Dupree asked.
“Benny Johnson was first on the scene. Worked with him for a lot of years before he transferred to the Island. When they ran Lentz’s name through the system, Benny noticed that we interviewed him in connection with the Crawford investigation, so he gave me a call.”
“Not for nothing,” Dupree said, “but you took it upon yourself to respond without contacting T.J. or me?”
“Hey, don’t get all territorial on me. I knew that you two had your hands full with the Crawford case and the mayor is putting lots of pressure on Captain Jensen, so I thought I’d be a nice guy and give you a break. I don’t sleep anymore anyways, so trekking out at six a.m. is no real inconvenience.”
Dupree could relate to not sleeping. “Sorry if I barked at you, Mark—”
“Wait till I tell you the best part,” Wells said. “We lifted a print off the handcuffs.”
“And?”
“Does the name Margaret Hansen ring a bell?”
Dupree and T.J. gawked at each other.
“Yeah,” Dupree said. “It rings a lot of bells.” She paused, her mind racing. “Has Lentz’s name been released to the media yet?”
“Not until we notify next of kin.”
“Here’s a bizarre coincidence,” Dupree said. “T.J. and I are meeting with Lentz’s step-father later this morning. Tell Benny Johnson to keep Lentz’s identity under wraps until we’ve had a chance to inform his step-dad. And I don’t want anyone in the media to know that we lifted Hansen’s fingerprint.”
“I’ll handle it,” Wells said.
“Thanks for all the info, Mark,” Dupree said. “T.J. and I have to check in with Brenda.” She winked. “Oh, and one more thing: Sorry I’m such a wench this morning.”
Dupree and T.J. walked down the long hallway to the back office cubicles.
“It seems,” T.J. said, “that little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has a really dark side. It’s one thing to punch a roommate in the chops because she’s hitting on your boyfriend, and quite another bashing someone’s brains in with a champagne bottle.”
“The question,” Dupree asked, “is why? What’s the motive?”
“Until we track her down, it’s anybody’s guess.”
When they reached Brenda’s cubicle, they found her sitting in front of the computer, arms folded across her chest, chair reclined as far back as it would go, staring at the flat screen.
Dupree held up the latté and brownie. “As promised, here’s your morning treat.”
Brenda beamed with a broad smile. “You’re the best, Missy.”
“Any luck with tracking down that account number?” Dupree asked.
Brenda cocked her head to one side. “Girl, you know better than that.” She set down her brownie, took a sip of the drink, and hit a few keys. She pointed to the screen. “C27-4150-6930 is an off-shore account number at GCI Trust Ltd., which, by the way, is Grand Cayman Island Trust, Limited. It took some doing but after being transferred to six different people, I finally spoke to someone who would help me. The account is in the name of Oscar Cassano. But here’s the kicker: The custodian for the account is none other than Margaret Hansen.”
“How shocking,” Dupree said. “Were you able to find out how much is in the account?”
“Six-hundred-fifty-thousand. USA legal tender.”
“Maybe that’s why we can’t locate her,” T.J. said. “She’s probably drinking a piña colada somewhere in the Caribbean.”
Dupree thought for a minute. “Brenda, is it possible to run a report for the passenger manifest for all the major airlines that fly to the Cayman Islands?”
“It’ll be a challenge,” Brenda said. “But let’s see what I can do.” She grinned. “It might cost you another latté and brownie.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Dupree said. “How about a box of chocolate truffles from Jacques Torres?”
“You got yourself a deal, Sugar.”
About to step away, Dupree’s cell phone rang. “Detective Dupree.”
“Hi, Detective, this is Officer Moretti. We met at the crime scene where Dr. Crawford was murdered. You may not remember me, but—”
“Sure I remember you, Tony. What’s up?”
“That APB you issued on a Margaret Hansen? Gab and I just picked her up at JFK. Apparently, a very alert TSA agent spotted her going through security, detained her, and contacted headquarters.”
“You just made my shortlist, Tony. And that’s a good thing. Where was she headed?”
“To Grand Cayman Island.”
“That’s no surprise.”
“Want me to bring her to the 40th?”
“That would absolutely make my day!”
“I’m on my way.”
Dupree dropped the cell in her jacket pocket. “You’re not going to believe this, T.J.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tony Moretti and Gab Hirsh, showed up a little after nine a.m. Dupree was chatting with T.J., asking him not to mention Lentz’s murder during their interrogation of Hansen, promising she’d explain her reasoning later. Obviously, due to the latest development, T.J. and Dupree could no longer stay with the plan to pay a sneak visit to Horizon, so she spoke to Captain Jensen and made arrangements for Parisi and Wells, along with three uniformed policemen, to go to Horizon and bring Mason, Adelman, and Gallo in for questioning as persons of interest. Dupree spotted the officers coming her way with Hansen wedged between the two of them. Hansen had a look on her face that could intimidate Mike Tyson.