the condition of the place,” Dupree said, “I’d say that your assumption is correct.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Cardone said. “First of all, nobody gets into any residence without a key. Our deadbolts are nearly impossible to jimmy. And second, Dr. Crawford’sneighbors, two senior citizens who have zero tolerance for noise, complain about everything . I don’t know how Dr. Crawford’s apartment could have been ransacked without her neighbors hearing anything.”
“I guess we’ll have to speak to the neighbors and see what they have to say.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Detective Dupree. You see, the Johnsons left early this morning for a European vacation and won’t return for five weeks.”
“Terrific,” Dupree said.
Just then, the doorman opened the front door for John Butler and two other CSI agents.
“Nice to see you could make it,” Dupree said. She turned toward Cardone. “This is John Butler, one of our forensic experts. He and his team are going to need access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment so they can dust for fingerprints and search for anything unusual.”
“You can take it from here, John,” Dupree said. “T.J. and I have bigger fish to fry.”
“Must be time for your midday snack,” Butler said. “You two have the good life.”
“That we do,” T.J. said. He turned towards Dupree. “What’s your pleasure, partner? Sushi? Italian? Thai?”
“Let’s try that new seafood restaurant in the Village.”
“Perfect!”
Just as Dupree and T.J. were about to leave, Dupree remembered something. “Mr. Cardone, I noticed surveillance cameras in the hallway not far from Dr. Crawford’s residence. Can we get a copy of the videotapes for the last forty-eight hours?”
“That’ll take a little maneuvering, but sure. I’ll get them ASAP.”
“If John Butler’s still here,” Dupree said, “just give them to him. If he’s not, you still have my phone number, correct?”
“Sure do, Detective. As soon as I give your colleagues access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment, I’ll contact the security company and see how quickly I can get you the videotapes.”
“Tell them it’s a police matter and it’s urgent,” T.J. said.
Dupree and T.J. headed for the front entrance and the doorman promptly opened the door. Dupree looked at Butler. “Call me if you stumble on anything worthwhile, John.”
He saluted her like a boot camp recruit. “Roger that, Sir.”
“Butler’s a real ball buster, isn’t he?” T.J. said.
“Yeah, but you gotta love the guy,” Dupree answered. “He knows his job inside and out.”
Dupree and T.J. waited in the idling car with the air conditioner on full blast. Knowing that Brenda would be calling any minute with info on the Ford Fusion plate number, Dupree thought it best that they just sit tight.
“Feels like it’s flirting with triple digits today,” T.J. said.
“One-oh-two to be exact. The humidity isn’t making it any better.”
“Do you have plans for the holiday?” T.J. asked.
At first, Dupree didn’t answer. She just studied her fingernails. “Every year on July 4 th , I participate in the Making Strides for Breast Cancer five-mile walk in Central Park—in memory of my mother.”
“I thought all the Making Strides events across the country were coordinated for May or September,” T.J. said. “Why the hell would they schedule the walk in the middle of summer?”
“I think it’s because Rita Sinclair, founder of the Sinclair Memorial Hospital, which specializes in treating breast cancer, opened the facility on July 4 th . I guess it’s in commemoration of her. Besides, it kicks off at six a.m., long before the crushingheat sets in. It’s more of a casual walk than a marathon. And there are a dozen booths set up along the way providing water, Gatorade, and dampened washcloths. Far as I know, no one’s ever died from the walk, so unless someone has a heat stroke, the local American
“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Cardone said. “First of all, nobody gets into any residence without a key. Our deadbolts are nearly impossible to jimmy. And second, Dr. Crawford’sneighbors, two senior citizens who have zero tolerance for noise, complain about everything . I don’t know how Dr. Crawford’s apartment could have been ransacked without her neighbors hearing anything.”
“I guess we’ll have to speak to the neighbors and see what they have to say.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Detective Dupree. You see, the Johnsons left early this morning for a European vacation and won’t return for five weeks.”
“Terrific,” Dupree said.
Just then, the doorman opened the front door for John Butler and two other CSI agents.
“Nice to see you could make it,” Dupree said. She turned toward Cardone. “This is John Butler, one of our forensic experts. He and his team are going to need access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment so they can dust for fingerprints and search for anything unusual.”
“You can take it from here, John,” Dupree said. “T.J. and I have bigger fish to fry.”
“Must be time for your midday snack,” Butler said. “You two have the good life.”
“That we do,” T.J. said. He turned towards Dupree. “What’s your pleasure, partner? Sushi? Italian? Thai?”
“Let’s try that new seafood restaurant in the Village.”
“Perfect!”
Just as Dupree and T.J. were about to leave, Dupree remembered something. “Mr. Cardone, I noticed surveillance cameras in the hallway not far from Dr. Crawford’s residence. Can we get a copy of the videotapes for the last forty-eight hours?”
“That’ll take a little maneuvering, but sure. I’ll get them ASAP.”
“If John Butler’s still here,” Dupree said, “just give them to him. If he’s not, you still have my phone number, correct?”
“Sure do, Detective. As soon as I give your colleagues access to Dr. Crawford’s apartment, I’ll contact the security company and see how quickly I can get you the videotapes.”
“Tell them it’s a police matter and it’s urgent,” T.J. said.
Dupree and T.J. headed for the front entrance and the doorman promptly opened the door. Dupree looked at Butler. “Call me if you stumble on anything worthwhile, John.”
He saluted her like a boot camp recruit. “Roger that, Sir.”
“Butler’s a real ball buster, isn’t he?” T.J. said.
“Yeah, but you gotta love the guy,” Dupree answered. “He knows his job inside and out.”
Dupree and T.J. waited in the idling car with the air conditioner on full blast. Knowing that Brenda would be calling any minute with info on the Ford Fusion plate number, Dupree thought it best that they just sit tight.
“Feels like it’s flirting with triple digits today,” T.J. said.
“One-oh-two to be exact. The humidity isn’t making it any better.”
“Do you have plans for the holiday?” T.J. asked.
At first, Dupree didn’t answer. She just studied her fingernails. “Every year on July 4 th , I participate in the Making Strides for Breast Cancer five-mile walk in Central Park—in memory of my mother.”
“I thought all the Making Strides events across the country were coordinated for May or September,” T.J. said. “Why the hell would they schedule the walk in the middle of summer?”
“I think it’s because Rita Sinclair, founder of the Sinclair Memorial Hospital, which specializes in treating breast cancer, opened the facility on July 4 th . I guess it’s in commemoration of her. Besides, it kicks off at six a.m., long before the crushingheat sets in. It’s more of a casual walk than a marathon. And there are a dozen booths set up along the way providing water, Gatorade, and dampened washcloths. Far as I know, no one’s ever died from the walk, so unless someone has a heat stroke, the local American
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