“The only thing I understand is that you two pigs are in deep shit. You got nothing on me, and I ain’t saying anything without my attorney.”
“Not a problem,” Dupree said. “I still have to know if you understand your rights.”
“All right, already, I do understand,” Cassano yelled. “Now get me a fucking lawyer! And not some snotty-nosed kid right out of college.”
“T.J., would you mind contacting Shawn Williamson and asking him to get down here right away?”
T.J. looked puzzled, but left the room without comment.
“Who the hell is Shawn Williamson?” Cassano asked.
“He’s a public defender.”
“Is he any good?”
“I guess you’ll find out when you’re standing in front of a judge and jury.”
Cassano and Dupree engaged in a staring contest.
“You don’t mind if I wait here with you until your attorney arrives, do you?” Dupree said.
“Do whatever the fuck you want, but I ain’t answering no questions.”
Dupree found it difficult to maintain her composure but forced herself to remain polite. “Mind if I sit down? It’s been a long day.”
“Do you think it’s been a party for me, locked up in a rat trap like an animal?
“It must be a real drag pacing the floor of a twelve by twelve jail cell, knowing you’re going to spend the rest of your life behind bars. But there’s something even worse than life in prison.”
“And what might that be?”
“Dying by lethal injection.”
“Are you trying to scare me, cuz my knees are shaking.”
“I wouldn’t try to scare you, Oscar. You’re a real tough guy.”
“You’re not supposed to be questioning me.”
“I thought we were just having a conversation.”
Cassano focused his eyes on the handcuffs.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Al Fiorino, former New York State senator,” Dupree said. “Well, his daughter, Isabella, is the District Attorney. She’s really made a name for herself. Has more murder one convictions than any DA in the country. And she also holds the record for most executions.”
“Gee, thanks for the little history lesson. Do you offer math classes too?”
Oh, how she wanted to yank him by the shirt collar and smack him. “One thing interesting about Fiorino is that she refuses to prosecute for the death penalty without rock solid evidence because she hates to lose. Got an ego as big as the Goodyear blimp. You know what I mean, don’t you Mr. Cassano? She looks for evidence like a DNA match of blood samples, a sworn testimony from a reliable witness, a videotape of the actual crime scene showing a unique birthmark, or fingerprints at the scene of the crime.”
Suddenly, Cassano didn’t look so smug.
“But Fiorino likes to play the game, too. She’s a born deal-maker and enjoys negotiating with criminals who cooperate and finger their accomplices. But here’s the best part: She can take a poor sap facing two murder one counts and life in prison, or execution by lethal injection, and cut a plea bargain deal that gets them out of prison on good behavior in twenty-five years. Twenty-five years for two murders! Now, for a guy under thirty-five, a deal like that is a hell of a bargain, don’t you think?”
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 s
upposed 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.’
“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 heft
y 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?”
Hypocrisy Page 18