“I think we’re going to make the captain’s day,” Dupree said. “If full confessions from Adelman and Hansen don’t moisten his loins, nothing will.”
“Do you think Gallo will cave in?”
“I guess it depends on how his attorney advises him,” Dupree answered. “Personally, it really doesn’t make much difference. He can proclaim his innocence till doomsday. But in the end, considering the solid evidence against him, there isn’t a jury in the world that’s going to let him off the hook. He’s dead meat.”
“What do you think is going to happen with Horizon?” T.J. asked.
“That’s a complicated issue. The only thing I know for sure is that someone has to follow through. Dr. Crawford’s research is far too important and consequential for it to just go away.”
“How about Mason? Do you think he’s totally innocent?”
“Well,” Dupree said, “we have nothing concrete, but I still think we need a covert operation to surveil his activities.”
“I agree.”
Dupree could barely keep her eyes opened.
“So, Amaris, you’ve been talking about taking a vacation as soon as we closed this investigation. Got something planned?”
“Thinking about flying to the west coast for a week or so.”
“Do you have family or friends out there?”
“No, but a couple of years ago, I attended a law enforcement conference in Sacramento and met a homicide detective working out of San Diego. She had solved two serial killer cases in less than two years and got major national press. In fact, she was the keynote speaker at the conference. Having so much in common—two women working in what is basically a man’s world—we bonded rather quickly. We’ve kept in touch via telephone, texting, and e-mails. Long story short, she’s been trying to get me to the west coast for a while now; wants me to meet her hubby and kids. So, I’ve been checking airfares and I may just surprise her.”
“Are you talking about Sami Rizzo?”
“You know who she is?”
“Every cop in the free world knows who she is. She was in the spotlight for months.”
“I know,” Dupree said. “She’s a rock star.”
Just then, Captain Jensen entered his office, out of breath.
“Am I late for the party?” the captain said, glancing at his wristwatch. He lumbered to his desk and moaned when he sat down. “Back’s not feeling great today. Can’t understand why I’m so tense.”
“Sorry to hear that, Captain,” Dupree said “You can make it feel a whole lot better by telling me that your interviews this morning yielded a strong lead. Commissioner Ryan just knocked the snot out of me. I guess Mayor Brooks is driving him nuts—calling five times a day to get a progress report on the Crawford murder investigation. Don’t know how much more I can take.” He adjusted himself in the chair and let out a painful moan. “Whoever coined the phrase, ‘shit flows downhill’, must have been in law enforcement.”
Dupree and T.J. exchanged glances and smiled like Cheshire cats.
“I think we’re going to make your back feel a whole lot better,” Dupree said.
After updating the captain on the status of the soon-to-be-closed investigation, Dupree and T.J. finished some reports, neither having much to say. Dupree’s body was achy and drained of energy and her brain felt like scrambled eggs. She couldn’t wait to get home and submerge herself in a hot bath, drink a glass or two of wine, hop in bed, and sleep till noon. But before she could earn this privilege, she had two more tasks on her “To-Do” list.
“Should we give Hansen the bad news?” Dupree asked, breaking the silence.
“There’s no time like the present,” T.J. said.
Before they even reached lockup, Hansen spotted them and came charging towards the front of the cell, holding onto the bars like a crazed gorilla.
“Did you talk to the DA.?” Hansen said, almost panting.
“We did indeed,” Dupree said.
“And?”
“You’re good to go. Conspiracy to commit murder will be reduced to accessory to murder.”
Hansen’s face relaxed and she smiled victoriously. “Thank you.”
T.J. looked at Dupree.
“Don’t celebrate quite yet, Ms. Hansen,” Dupree said. “There’s still the matter of Jonathan Lentz’s murder that we have to discuss.”
“What? Jonathan was murdered?”
“Sad isn’t it?” Dupree said. “Why did you do it? Why did you bash his brains in? Was it because he gave up Gallo and that threatened your little scheme?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Hansen said.
“Oh, I think you do.”
“I haven’t seen Jonathan—”
“Save it for the jury,” Dupree said. “You see, you were smart enough to wipe the champagne bottle clean but you forgot one important detail.”
Hansen stood silently, her rosy cheeks turned chalk white.
“The CSI team lifted your fingerprint off the handcuffs.”
Dupree could tell by the look in Hansen’s eyes that she was frantically searching for a believable retort.
“I don’t know who murdered Jonathan, honestly, but if the handcuffs you found were his, he and I used them many times. So, my fingerprints could have been on them for months.”
“Nice try,” Dupree said. “But there is one more minor fact that’s going to cause you major heartburn.” Dupree paused, purposely wanting Hansen to agonize for a few minutes.
“Well? What minor fact?”
“Just that the young woman working the reservation desk at Shoreline Hideaways saw you getting into Mr. Lentz’s A8 and peeling rubber out of the driveway. And she can identify you. Once she picks you out of a lineup, let’s just say that your goose is cooked.”
The veins in Hansen’s neck stood out on livid edges. “You tricked me, you motherfucking asshole!”
“My, oh my,” Dupree said. “You really have quite the potty mouth. You can mother-f me as much as you like if it makes you feel better. But know this: you’re going to spend the next twenty-five years—and maybe more—in a cage. And that’s exactly where a monster like you belongs.”
Dupree and T.J. turned to walk away, but Dupree stopped.
“One more thing,” Dupree said. “I’ve never tasted cat stew, nor would I like to sprinkle ricin on top of it. But you do get an A+ for originality.”
Hansen actually laughed. “Got to admit. It was pretty damn clever, no?”
“Genius,” Dupree said. “You just added attempted murder to your murder charge.”
Again Dupree and T.J. turned to leave.
“Hey, Detective,” Hansen yelled. “How did you know it was me who sent the letters?”
The corners of Dupree’s mouth turned up. “You just told me.”
The look of horror on Hansen’s face was an image Dupree would not soon forget.
On their way back to the office, T.J. said, “Nice double-reverse. When did you figure out that Hansen sent the letters?”
“Didn’t know for sure. But shortly after you reminded me that she was the only one associated with the investigation who knew I had two cats, and the fact that she’s a scientist capable of making ricin, I figured it had to be her.”
“I don’t get it,” T.J. said. “Why would Hansen send you the threatening letters?”
“Why do any nutcases do what they do?”
“But what was her motive? What did she hope to gain? She seems way too intelligent to do something so stupid.”
“You’re trying to rationalize the thought process of an irrational woman,” Dupree said.