“Damn it.” Daley looked to the floor. The sweat was almost dripping off his brow now. “He’s connected. Very well connected. He could kill anyone, at any time, and still make it look like an accident. He was known to a lot of people as being a violent police captain, and the rumor was that he was asked to leave the force because of a number of corruption allegations. He could’ve killed those guys. I could see that happening. And all he’d have to do is ask his cop buddies to write it up as suicide. We can’t touch him.”
A parking enforcement officer approached the driver outside the car and then engaged in a discussion about the legalities of parking there. The discussion with the parking inspector became heated before the driver conceded. The driver tapped on the window and held up two fingers to indicate the time we had left on the street.
“I need you to set up a meeting with Jonathon DiMarco.”
“When?”
“Now.” I held my stare on Daley. “I need you to tell him that you’ll meet with him in a quiet location, and that he needs to be alone.”
“But why would DiMarco want to meet with me?”
“You need to tell him that you have information about Clarke Hudson and Larry Fittler. Information that will help DiMarco’s cause. Information that he can publish on his website to further insult their names.”
“But why would that come from me? Why would he trust a defense lawyer?”
“Because they’re from rival law firms. He knows you’re a defense lawyer, so he already thinks you’re dirty, and he thinks that you’ll do anything to protect yourself. He wants to believe that you’re corrupt,” I said. “And DiMarco won’t talk to me. I’ve tried to call him five times today, but he’s avoiding me. I went to his house—I was told he wasn’t there. Same thing at his office. He knows I’m close, and that’s why he’s refusing to meet with me.”
Daley nodded and removed his mobile phone from his jacket pocket. I explained to Daley exactly what I needed him to say, and exactly where I needed to meet DiMarco.
He made the call. He talked for a few moments, and I assumed DiMarco’s wife was on the other end of the line. Daley ended the call and looked out the window. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and loosened his collar. Within a minute of ending the call, Daley’s phone rang again. He checked the number and answered his cell. He agreed with the person on the other end of the line.
“That was Jonathon DiMarco. He agreed to meet with me. He’ll be at the location in one hour.”
And now I had a play to make.
Chapter 27
I didn’t have much of a plan.
That was the way I approached much of my life. I was all in, or all out, making things up as I went along. Plans, tactics, and strategies were for astute people, people who liked control. I needed the opposite—I needed things to be out of control to be at my best.
People like Jonathon DiMarco liked to plan. He liked to know what was going to happen next, where he was going to be, and who he was going to talk to. His life seemed rehearsed, well-thought out, and prepared. To force him to make a mistake, to force him to blunder, I needed to back him into a corner, and apply an almighty amount of pressure.
Under my instruction, Daley had convinced DiMarco to meet at a small parking lot, just off the Stevenson Expressway. I knew the location well. There were no cameras, no witnesses, and no chance that I could’ve been seen. It was dark, secluded, and there was only one narrow road in and out. I’d met contacts there before—it was next to the river, there was a bridge overhead, an unused boat ramp nearby, and thick bushes lined the embankment. There were graffiti tags on every concrete structure, faded cans of beer in the bushes, and burn marks on the entrance ramp from small fires lit by rebellious teenagers.
I arrived deliberately late, rolling my truck into a position where it blocked the road. Jonathon DiMarco heard my truck roll up to the spot next to the entrance. I was ten feet from his vehicle, but there was no way out for him. He was standing beside his car, cigarette in hand, puffing a large cloud of smoke, when I stepped out of my truck. I could see the fear in his eyes the second he saw me.
“I do like drama, but this is a bit much, even for me.” DiMarco flicked his cigarette away. “What are you doing here? I was expecting Kenneth Daley, not some private investigator thug. I wanted information on those dirty lawyers.”
In a burst of rage, I charged towards DiMarco. He threw his hands up in defense, but it was no use. I gripped his collar and slammed him into the door of his car.
“You think you can come after Casey?!” I growled, bringing my face an inch away from his. “You think you can do that to me!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes jumped up in surprise. If he was acting, he was good at it. It was an Oscar worthy performance. “Casey? That pretty girl that was at my house?”
“Where were you at 10pm yesterday?”
“I was at the function, remember? You were there with me. There are fifty people that can verify that I didn’t leave until after midnight.” He pushed his chin into his chest, trying to hold my forearm back. “Why would I go after your friend? I would never hit a woman.”
I stared at his eyes. They didn’t flinch. I believed him when he said that he wouldn’t hit a woman. DiMarco was old school. He could be corrupt, cunning, and dishonest, but he still held onto old-school honor. It was a code, a moral plan that he wouldn’t break for anyone. I released my grip on his collar, and took the pressure off his throat. He fell forward, putting his hands on his knees, and sucked in a number of deep breaths. I stepped back from him.
I hated to admit it, but I’d targeted the wrong guy for Casey’s attack. I ran my hand through my hair, contemplating what this meant. A truck hummed past on the nearby road, as the darkness started to take hold of the evening.
“I guess Daley’s not coming?” He spat on the ground. “And there’s no information about the dead lawyers?”
“No.”
“And the girl? Casey?” DiMarco began to stand up again, and rubbed his hand along his throat. “Is she ok?”
“She’s recovering in hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I really am. I hope they didn’t damage that beautiful face. The world needs beauty now more than ever. But I had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t harm her. Are you sure that it wasn’t a random guy? She’s a beautiful girl and would gather a lot of attention from strangers.”
I’d spent most of my life reading people and their reactions. DiMarco was arrogant, no doubt about it, but he was also shocked by the news of Casey’s attack. He wasn’t involved with Casey, but I hadn’t taken him off the killer list yet.
“Someone jumped Casey in the parking lot close to our office. They didn’t try to sexually assault her or take her bag. It was a targeted attack because of the case that we’re investigating.”
“Anthony Waltz’s death. I guess you’ve pushed someone’s buttons.” He nodded. “But like I said, I’m sorry that happened to her.” He patted down his shirt, and spat on the ground again. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”
“When was the last time you saw Larry Fittler?” I stepped back towards him.
“Does it matter? The guy is dead. Decided to turn the gun on himself. That was karma. He had it coming, and karma delivered justice.”
“Not likely.”
“If you had evidence of that, then the cops would be here, not you. You’ve got nothing.” He waved his hand at me, leaned against his car, and reached into his top pocket to remove another cigarette. “Maybe my website has something to do with them killing themselves, but I don’t feel bad about that. These guys made their own beds. They made their own decisions. If you live for money, and break your oath for wealth, then you can guarantee that karma will come for you. That’s life.”
“Your ruse is up. Each of those lawyers had a video posted on your website a week before they decided to kill themselves. That’s not a coincidence. That’s you inciting viol
ence against others. There are laws against that. You’re going down for your involvement in these killings.”
“How ridiculous.” He lit his smoke and took a long drag. “Just because these men can’t take the pressure, doesn’t make me a murderer. Just because I tell the world how bad they really are, doesn’t mean I’m responsible for their deaths. These guys know what they’re doing. They know how bad they are. They know that they’re breaking their oath to uphold the justice system, just to get more money into their bank accounts. These men were scum, and the world won’t miss them.” He took another drag on the cigarette before looking at the end of it. “And how about the pressure that’s placed on the victims? How about that pressure? How about the pressure of not only being the victim, not only experiencing a horrific crime, but then watching those lawyers walk the criminal out of prison? How about that pressure?”
“Your website is the thing that links you to all this. We’ll find the evidence, and we’ll take you down for it.”
He laughed. “I don’t even run the website. I just post my videos to it. It gives me a voice. I have nothing to do with running the site.”
“Then who runs the website?”
“I’m not telling you. You think I care that defense lawyers are shooting themselves? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t.”
“They’re not shooting themselves.”
“Of course, they are. What else could it be?” He laughed again. “You think that I’m going around and killing these guys and making it look like suicide? That’s a bit much, isn’t it? They deserve what’s coming to them. They’re victims of karma.”
“It’s you or one of your supporters.”
He froze, and I could see the thought spooked him. He paused for a long moment, and then stared at the end of his smoke. He nodded slightly, before taking a long drag, and blowing the smoke up into the air. “Interesting theory.”
“Any supporters that stand out?”
He scoffed. “Even if there were, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t care if I’m inspiring people to take care of these vultures. If that’s true, then so be it. I won’t say that publicly, of course. I’ll deny I’ve said that, but people make their own choices. If a person is inspired by my posts on that website to deliver their own sense of karma on these dirty vultures, then so be it.”
“What did you call them?”
“Vultures. Every single one of those lawyers are in it for the money. They’re all vultures.”
Chapter 28
The lack of sleep was starting to hit me. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I drove back through the streets of Chicago, racing along the Interstate, weaving in and out of traffic. The streetlights were catching in my eyes, and I slapped myself in the face a number of times to wake myself up. I arrived at Anthony Waltz’s building as the traffic was starting to ease off. I threw the truck into a parking spot, leaving the wheels hanging on the sidewalk. It was the only way my beast would fit.
It was 5:50pm, more than a day since I’d even considered sleep. I was running out of options. The footage of the back entrance to the Five-Five was one of my last hopes. Robbie didn’t start his shift until 6pm, so I knew I had a few minutes to kill. I dropped the seat back, closed my eyes, and easily drifted off. I woke in a startled jolt. Looking at my watch, an hour had passed. It took me a moment to remember my bearings. I was chasing a killer. I was chasing leads. I was protecting Casey. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, slapped myself in the face again, and stepped out of the car.
With adrenaline running through me, I walked past the doorman of the Five-Five and towards the security office. I moved past an older couple, past a young family, and past a suit yelling on the phone, moving through the stairwell and through the underground parking lot. With a strong shove, I threw open the door to the security office, expecting to find Robbie drawing pictures.
“Who are you?” There was an older man standing over the computer screens. “What are you doing in the security office?”
“My name is Jack Valentine. I’m a Private Investigator.”
“Ah, right.” The man sighed and turned back to the computer. “Yeah, Robbie told me about you. I heard that you were investigating Anthony Waltz’s death. Not much to investigate, I suppose. Guy shot himself. Must be easy money for you.”
The man was in his late fifties, balding on top and overweight through the middle. His skin looked wrinkled, and his shoulders made him look defeated. He sat down on the office chair and typed a number of commands on the keyboard. When the computer didn’t respond, he clenched his fist and punched the table lightly.
“I need to talk to Robbie.” I was blunt.
“You and me both.” The man shook his head. “He quit this morning.”
“He quit?”
“Yeah. I’m his boss with the security firm. Tony Hawthorne. Robbie’s been working with us for a few years, and I would’ve expected that he’d at least say that he quit with two weeks’ notice.” He sighed and then ran his hand over his balding head. “But he didn’t show any respect at all. He sent me a message and said that he quit. A text message. Can you believe that? He only gave me five minutes notice before he walked out the door. What’s this generation come to? You look after a kid, teach him some skills, give him some work, and then he just gets up and leaves. This generation has no respect at all.”
“Did he give you a reason for the sudden exit?”
“The poor kid said he was too damaged after finding Anthony Waltz all shot up. He’s a sensitive soul, that Robbie. I told him to take a few weeks off, take a holiday, go to California and relax, but he said no, he wanted to quit. Said he didn’t want to do any of this anymore. He’d had enough.”
I stared at the surveillance screens. They were all working. I watched people come in and out of the foyer, people exiting the elevators, and people standing at the back entrance. The monitor for the rear entrance wasn’t working a few days ago but was now running smoothly.
“Robbie was organizing file footage from the cameras at the back door for me. He said he had to get them from the head office because the cameras were out, and he couldn’t retrieve them from here.”
“The cameras? They’ve never been out.” Tony tapped one of the monitors. “The live feed is coming straight through.”
“What about the history?”
“Well, that’s the thing, I can’t access any of the history. I’ve got a live feed, but nothing is being recorded. Talk about frustrating. Everything’s been wiped, and Robbie’s changed all the passwords. I can see what’s happening live, but nothing is being recorded. And I can’t access a thing.”
“You didn’t wipe the files?”
“Me? No. Why would I do that? It’s company procedure to keep any recordings for three months before they’re wiped. But it looks like Robbie has wiped everything from the Five-Five. Even the current footage isn’t being recorded. Talk about frustrating. Whatever he’s done has changed the way the computer records the footage.”
“Are you sure?”
“He must’ve written some sort of code to instantly wipe everything. I’m trying to decode it, but I’ve got nothing. He was good at coding computer systems, that Robbie. Always good at computers. He runs a couple of other websites in his spare time. I didn’t ask much about them, but it sounded like he made some money from them. I’ll miss having Robbie in the company. Right up until this morning, he was a reliable employee. Not that I can access his files.”
“Why not?”
“The code that he wrote to block the recording has also locked all the employee files. I can’t access any of them. I can’t even tell you Robbie’s date of birth.”
“Nothing?” I was perplexed. “Why would he do that?”
“I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine.” He shook his head. “Apart from coming to work, I don’t know much about Robbie. The only thing I can tell you about him is that he was working out at a different building before this one. He’d only bee
n here five months. Perhaps he didn’t like this location?”
A thought caught in my head. I looked around the office. Robbie had left his pencil sketches on the walls. There were five pictures taped to the concrete wall at the furthest end of the room. They were all of his hero—D.O.A—swinging a sword and fighting off attacks from birds.
“Why did Robbie leave the other building?”
“Same thing. A guy killed himself and Robbie found the body. The guy he found was a lawyer, as well. I guess that’s the industry. It all gets to be a bit too much for them and they off themselves. Poor Robbie. Having to walk in on that twice. That’s got to take a toll on a boy.” He shrugged. “He asked to be moved buildings after that. Said he couldn’t keep coming to work in the same place as the death.”
“Did Robbie request to move to the Five-Five?”
“Ah,” he squinted. “Yeah. Yeah. I think he did. We’ve got twenty-five buildings under our security management, and I was happy to help him out after what he’d been through. You don’t want anyone to witness that sort of stuff.”
My mouth hung open for a moment. “Did he leave anything behind?”
“The only thing he left were these pictures. The guy was supposed to be watching the footage, but he spent half his time in here drawing.” Tony pointed to the walls. “I didn’t mind it when he was here, but now it just looks like he was lazy. I tell you—I’m not giving him a reference for his next job. No way. Not after leaving like that. You’ve got to show some respect.”
My attention turned to the pictures. There was a man with a sword in most of the pencil drawings. I’d noticed that the first time. The man was strong, had rippling muscles, and was wearing a black t-shirt.
But the first time I looked at the pictures, I didn’t realize who the man was fighting. I just thought they were birds. I thought it was strange at the time, but it meant nothing to me.
The Shooter Page 16
