“We understand that you two split up weeks ago,” Dupree said.
“We did. But once she stopped being so pissed off at me, we actually became friends.”
“Why was she angry with you?” T.J. asked.
He adjusted his body and combed his fingers through his unruly hair. “I had a little… fling.”
“So, why were you meeting her for coffee?” Dupree asked.
“She called me a few days ago and said she needed to speak to me about something very important. I said, ‘Okay, let’s talk.’ But she insisted that we meet face to face. She sounded really nervous—almost desperate. Her voice was shaky and barely louder than a whisper.”
“Obviously,” T.J. said, “the meeting never took place.”
Lentz’s chin rested on his chest and his eyes filled with tears. “No… it… didn’t.”
T.J. waited for him to regain his composure. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Mr. Lentz, but I’m sure you can appreciate why we need to ask you some questions.”
“When she said she wanted to see me, I was hoping she had second thoughts about us splitting up and maybe wanted to give it another go. We were supposed to meet at eight p.m. When she didn’t show up, I didn’t panic because she’d done this before. She’d get so caught up in her work that she’d completely lose track of time. I called her cell and left her three voicemails.”
He paused for a minute, his emotions again hard to control. “Can you imagine how I felt when she dumped me? I really loved her.”
“Didn’t love her enough to keep it in your pants,” Dupree said.
Lentz glared at Dupree. “I guess I have no defense for that accusation, except to say that guys will be guys.”
“Hm,” T.J. said. “I thought the expression was, ‘Guys will be pigs’.”
Lentz didn’t say a word.
“Tell us about the frequent bruises on Lauren’s wrists and ankles,” Dupree said. “What’s that all about?”
Dupree expected that the question would rile him, but it hardly fazed him.
“Without getting into any nitty gritty details, which is none of your damn business anyway, let’s just say that Lauren enjoyed some kinky sex games. And that’s all you need to know.”
“And did these games include bondage?” T.J. asked.
Lentz nodded. “Are we done?”
“For the time being,” Dupree said. “But as the investigation moves forward, we may want you to come down to the 40th precinct in the south Bronx to answer a few more questions.”
“Well I hope you two work weekends because I’m booked solid Monday to Friday. I work two jobs just trying to keep my head above water. Only reason I’m home today… well I don’t think I have to explain.”
Dupree handed Lentz her business card. “Call me day or night if there’s anything else you can remember that might help with the investigation.”
He snatched the business card and stuffed it in the robe pocket without looking at it. Just as the detectives were leaving, Lentz touched Dupree’s arm.
“I know that both of you probably think I’m a total, white-trash deadbeat and can’t begin to understand why a brilliant, educated, and sophisticated woman like Lauren would even give me the time of day. Well, appearances don’t always tell the whole story. I know I live in a crappy, rundown building in Loserville, USA. But it hasn’t always been like that. Up until I lost my obscenely lucrative job at Lehman Brothers right after they went belly-up in 2008, I was flying high. Unless you’ve gone through a meltdown like this, you have no idea what it’s like to go from Armani suits and a 500SL to grease-stained overalls and a cardboard sign begging for loose change. There’s no dignity in being poor. I lost my home and forfeited all my worldly belongings. I slept in shelters, rat-infested alleys, and sometimes I hunkered down in the backseat of an unlocked car. I wolfed down half-eaten Big Macs and pissed in the streets. I collected unemployment for as long as I could. I figured the government at least owed me that. Never once did I apply for welfare or food stamps. I’m clawing my way back slowly, working two low-paying jobs. I don’t have much, but I have my integrity. I pay my rent and my belly is full. Lauren saw something in me, a quality hidden beneath the surface of a man wearing a silly paper hat and peddling hot dogs and pretzels from a little stainless steel cart. She saw my heart and she saw my soul and knew that I was more than just a corner vendor.”
Dupree and T.J. stood silently in the doorway. His story begged for a meaningful reply, yet neither detective knew what to say. All Dupree could muster was one quick remark.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lentz. I’m sorry for your loss” She looked deep into his eyes, and felt that something wasn’t quite right.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You buy his hard-luck story?” Dupree asked. T.J. and she headed back to the precinct.
“I believe that he got caught up in the financial meltdown, lost his job, and now works a couple of scrub jobs, but the rest, I think, is classic horseshit. What’s your opinion?”
“I thought his performance earned him an Oscar.”
“I’ll check out his alibi at that Better Blast Coffee shop,” T.J. said.
Although T.J. always tried to portray himself as a thick-skinned, unflappable man, Dupree suspected that he, like her, was deeply moved by Mrs. Crawford’s painful situation. She had been a detective long enough to know that a cop just can’t get emotionally involved with a victim’s family, a suspect, or witness. It was the first commandment in law enforcement. Yet, more than once, she found herself too close to the wrong person.
“What’s next on our ‘To Do List’?” T.J. asked.
“First thing in the morning, we’re meeting with Dr. Mason, the director of research for Horizon.”
“When the hell did you set up that appointment?”
“I’m a multi-tasker, remember?”
“What time?”
“He said to drop by any time between eight a.m. and noon. After that, he’ll be out of town for several days.”
“Nine o’ clock okay with you?” T.J. asked.
“How about eight?” Dupree smiled. “And one more thing. If you’re not here on time, I’m going to talk to the captain about demoting you to a beat cop in Harlem.”
Dupree dropped off T.J. at the precinct. On her way back to her place, she called Brenda and asked her to run a background and criminal record check on Jonathan Lentz.
Dupree loved living in the heart of the city. Although most tourists referred to this throbbing area of sidewalk cafés, off-Broadway playhouses, and jazz clubs, as Greenwich Village, the locals just knew it as “The Village.”
As soon as Dupree entered the apartment, her two cats, Benjamin and Alexandra—Ben and Alex for short—greeted her at the door with a chorus of “meows.” She looked at their bowls of dry food and they were almost empty.
“Sorry guys. Been a rough day.”
To Dupree, New York was so much more than the Empire State Building, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty. It was a thriving metropolis of culture, entertainment, and fashion. Where else could she buy a Gray’s Papaya hot dog, the best in the world? Or walk into Katz’s deli for a delicious pastrami or corn beef sandwich, piled high and as tender as prime rib? Dupree loved New York. The food. The people. The energy. The culture. But every so often, she needed an escape from the hectic pace of the city. So, she’d rent a remote cabin buried deep in the Adirondack Mountains, where she had to pump water from a well, do her business in a broken down outhouse, and survive without a refrigerator, stove, or even electricity. Completely alone and isolated from civilization, she’d sit by a warm fire and read a classic Fitzgerald or Hemingway novel by candlelight, and enjoy a peaceful weekend with no computers, cell phones or TVs. Once in a while, she’d curl up with a trashy novel, a vice she never shared with anyone. An occasional weekend in the mountains was how Dupree decompressed, how she reflected on her chaotic life and kept herself focused. Without a frequent escape from dead bodies and diabolical killers, she’d never be able to cope with the demands of her job.