The Shooter

by Peter O'Mahoney

  By the time I had made it to the fifth bar on my list, I was growing tired of the same stories. It was the same narrative over and over and over again—middle-aged men slaving in the rat race, working in a firm that was committed to making money, facing the fact that life was passing them by. It was mid-life crisis territory for most of these guys. Faced with the idea of mortality, faced with the idea that they weren’t immortal, a lot of the lawyers were questioning why they did what they did, and whether it was all worth it.

  The same question had crossed my mind once. The thought of death didn’t scare me, but the thought that I might be letting my best years pass me by was frightening. As I got older, I began to realize that life doesn’t go on forever. My energy levels were starting to slow. My hair was starting to gray. It took longer to recover from physical activity. And I realized that I’d never be younger than I was today.

  “You a lawyer?” One guy asked at the bar. He was tall, skinny, and looked like he hadn’t slept a solid eight hours for most of his fifty years on the planet.

  I nodded my response.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Who are you working for?”

  “I usually work out of Manhattan,” I lied. “West and Wilson Criminal Law Firm.”

  “Big firm.” He nodded. I’d deliberately chosen a firm with more than fifty lawyers on the books. “What are you doing out here? Working a case?”

  “Scoping the place out. I had to meet a client, so I thought I’d see what happens out here. I’m only in town for a few days, but this seems like a good place to set up shop. I love the city of Chicago, and everyone’s so friendly. It’s like the mid-west and Manhattan were put into a shaker and this is the result.”

  “Hey, don’t you New Yorkers think about stepping foot on our turf.” He jested. His eyes stared at his whiskey. “But I mean, if you wanted to volunteer to do some of my workload, go right ahead.”

  “They say that hard work never killed anyone, but I say, ‘Why take the chance?’”

  He smiled but didn’t laugh. He looked like he hadn’t laughed much in the last few years.

  “Could be some work out here,” I said in a hushed tone. He was two stools down at the bar. I picked up my drink and moved to the stool next to him. “A few high-profile lawyers have disappeared over the last year and a half out here. Those big names need replacing. So, what’s going on there? Something in the water?”

  “Yeah. It’s happened to a few guys.” His voice was solemn. “It’s a bit of a disease at the moment. It was a cold winter this year, I think that has something to do with it. It makes it harder to deal with the downsides of being a defense lawyer. It was a big artic blast this year. Bone-chilling. When it’s so cold that you can’t even catch the bus, that can break someone already close to the edge. Anthony Waltz was the latest.”

  “Did you know Waltz?”

  “I did.” His glum facial expression didn’t change. “I defend people charged with sexual assault, just like he did. We had some crossover with work. And I get it, you know? Sometimes, you feel like you’re doing the wrong thing. Sure, the guy pays you, and you’re obligated to do your job as part of the system, but there are times when you know the client is guilty. You know it in your heart, but you have to do your job. The system falls apart if defense lawyers don’t do their work. The system needs us to defend the guilty, whether we like it or not. That’s the oath we take.”

  “And if you’re good at your job then sometimes the guilty walk free.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “I have a daughter with my first wife. Barely get to see her, only five nights a month, but she’s still my flesh and blood. How would I feel if someone assaulted her? How would I feel if that person walked away free from punishment?”

  “That’d be hard.” I matched his tone, his posture, and his body language, creating a rapport between us. “That’d be really tough.”

  “If that happened to my daughter, I’d feel like a failure. I’d feel like I’d failed as a man.” He shook his head. “But to watch the justice system rape these victims again, well, man, I don’t know how I’d take that. I’d be angry, as well. Really angry.”

  “Waltz didn’t have any kids.”

  “I know, but it’s still got to play on your mind. We’ve all got that one case that sticks in your head, that one where we can’t forget the pictures of the assault, that one where we can’t break free of the images. There’s always one case that’s burned into your memory and you just can’t shake it anymore. Looking at the photos of assault can’t be good for anyone’s mental health and we do it week in, week out. You feel like you’re immune, but the truth is there’s a limit to how much you can take.”

  I nodded and sipped my Basil Hayden bourbon. It was a sweet bourbon, an easy drink for the early evening. “Any trouble I should be aware of, if I decide to move out here?”

  My new friend sipped his martini. “Apart from me?”

  “Apart from you.” I smiled and humored him.

  “Terrance Marco Jr.” He turned to me and offered his hand. “Of Spencer, Ford, and Marco.”

  “Jack West,” I lied and shook his hand. His handshake was weak. I hated that. “Are you any relation to Jonathon DiMarco?”

  “You’ve heard about Jonathon DiMarco all the way over there in Manhattan?” Terrance raised his eyebrows.

  “Any time someone is that vocal about hating defense lawyers, it tends to get around. He’s said some nasty stuff about our profession,” I responded. “And that man has vocal cords big enough to shout his message across the country.”

  “That’s true.” He sighed. “My last name is spelled without a ‘Di,’ not like that scumbag. Jonathon DiMarco is no relation to me. I would hate it if he was. Could you imagine sharing some DNA with that guy? It’d be disgusting.”

  “Is he that bad?”

  “Are you kidding? The guy wants us all dead. He’s always protesting, always yelling, always telling the city how bad defense lawyers are. He even runs a website called D-TAL: Death to All Lawyers. He’s more aggressive than a linebacker on fourth down.” He sighed. “He’s a former police captain but the rumors are that he was corrupt. He resigned before they could prove anything. I think he runs the protests so that he can listen to his own voice. Every defense lawyer in Chicago knows to steer clear of him. He’s always yelling at us lawyers, telling us we do the devil’s work. You’d think that with his intelligence and experience, he’d understand that we’re an essential part of the justice system. He was a former police captain, for crying out loud. Of all people, he should understand how the system works.”

  “His complaints are about when the system doesn’t work.”

  “Nothing’s perfect. No system is going to work exactly how you want it to.” There was fire in his eyes. “That DiMarco scumbag probably danced when he heard about Anthony Waltz. In fact, if you told me that he shot Waltz, I wouldn’t have been surprised. One night, I ran into him in a bar, and he even told me that he could shoot me and cover it up, if he wanted. He said he had connections that could make it happen. He said that nobody would even know.”

  “He said that to you?”

  “Directly to my face. I went to the cops, but he denied threatening me.” My new friend finished his martini. “When DiMarco said that to me, I saw the cold look of death in his eyes. He wanted to shoot me. No doubt about it. And I have no doubt that he could’ve made it happen. He could’ve made it look like someone else. He’s connected to the right people.”

  “Connected? How?”

  “He knows a lot of the right cops, if you know what I mean. He resigned before they could prove he was corrupt, but he still has the support of the police union. They love him. He’s out there saying what they’re not allowed to say. He’s their voice.” My new friend stood to leave, but first he leaned close to me. “And between you and me, if he had killed Waltz, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops wrote it up as a suicide.”

  Chapter 16

  There was a
real estate development firm on the same floor of the Clark St. building that housed my new office. They seemed to only talk in clichés. ‘It has potential, it’s a renovator’s delight, it would suit buyers who wish to make their own mark.’ I hated talk like that. I’d much rather someone give it to me straight. Talk like that rubbed me the wrong way every single time. As I waited in the coffee shop on the first floor of the building, I was unable to avoid the self-important man talking on his cell. His voice was a megaphone, echoing throughout the shop, bouncing around the walls until his voice fell onto my ears. Sell, sell, sell, buy, buy, buy. Money was the only thing he wanted from the world, and greed was the only thing he had to offer it. By the time I made it into the office, I was ready to throttle anyone that looked at me the wrong way.

  Casey was already at her desk, coffee next to her, busily typing away on her computer. “Howdy, sir.”

  “Howdy?”

  “Howdy, y’all.” Her fake accent had a twang strong enough to be in a 1920s Hollywood movie. “This was the accent I used yesterday in the bars. A true southern gal, who’d worked her way up the ranks to be a partner in her law firm. Scoping out the big city.” She smiled broadly. “And let me tell you, mister, those lawyers didn’t stop talking. They told me everything.”

  “And let me guess,” I said. “All the lawyers that talked to you were male.”

  “Hold up there, partner. Don’t blame a girl for using her assets to her ad-van-t-age.”

  I chuckled. “Alright. Drop the accent, and tell me what you found out last night.”

  “It’s always about work with you, Jack.” She stopped using the atrocious accent. “Every lawyer I talked to last night hit on me, whether they had a wedding ring on or not. One guy even took his wedding ring off halfway through our conversation, and by the smooth way he did it, I’d say it wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a trick like that.”

  “Any of them strike your fancy?”

  “Ew. No. They were all too old for me, and too obsessed with money. They all thought they could impress me. One guy even showed me a collection of his sports cars. How could a guy even think that a collection of sports cars would impress a successful woman?” She shook her head. “Anyway, they all pretended to be sad about Anthony Waltz, although I couldn’t imagine that they really were. I didn’t find out any new information on Waltz, Stone, or Hudson. It was just the same all around—no one was surprised it happened, and they all raised a glass to fallen colleagues when I mentioned their names.”

  “How about DiMarco? Find anything out about our lovely bunny killer?”

  “Some of the men I talked to last night knew Jonathon DiMarco on a personal level. They’d had run-ins with him in the past. One lawyer was even stalked by DiMarco for a period of a few weeks. He put a complaint in to the police, but, surprise, surprise, the cops didn’t do a thing. DiMarco seems to have a free rein to do whatever he wants. He stalks people, threatens them, physically abuses them, and he has no repercussions.”

  “He’s a former police captain—they don’t want to go after their own.”

  “Exactly. But here’s the interesting thing…” She tapped her finger on the desk. “One of them represented a member of DiMarco’s family only a year ago in a civil trial.”

  “In the assault case he told us about?”

  “No.”

  I squinted. “Then what was the case?”

  “He told me that it was confidential, and he couldn’t disclose it.”

  “I don’t feel like that’s the end of your story.”

  “Being a southern girl sure does get you a lot of favors.” She winked. “My new lawyer friend said it was off the books, and I couldn’t repeat it, but I used my sweet-talking skills to get him to open up. The man had already had a few drinks, and he was trying to charm me with his wealth of self-importance. I told him that the only thing that would charm me was information about DiMarco.”

  “And?”

  “DiMarco’s twenty-five-year-old daughter was assaulted five years ago. The perpetrator was arrested, charged, and taken to trial.”

  “Really?” This was new information to me. “And I’ll guess what happened next—the perpetrator had a high-priced defense lawyer and didn’t see a day in prison.”

  “Exactly! He later took the case to a civil trial for damages, but that was thrown out as well.” Casey snapped her fingers. “He resigned as police captain after his daughter was attacked. He couldn’t take the pressure. And guess when this website started? Five years ago. It’s been his personal mission to go after suspect defense lawyers since.”

  “You’re good, Casey. Very good.”

  “I know.” She smiled, and then put on the southern accent. “But it was mostly my dear girl, Ms. Angela D-arling.”

  I laughed. “Well, I didn’t use an accent, but I found out the same type of information—DiMarco is connected, and one lawyer even suggested that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Waltz was murdered, and it was made to look like a suicide.”

  “All roads are leading to DiMarco. Next move?”

  “We’ve got to put the pressure on him,” I said. “If he thinks he’s under pressure, then he might make a mistake. That’s what we’ve got to push for. Did you get a hold of Wilkerson yesterday?”

  “I called his workplace, I called his home, and I called his mobile. No response. I figure I might drive out there today and see if I can talk to him, face to face. Might even go with the southern girl routine.” She giggled to herself. “What about Daley? What do we tell him?”

  “We manage his expectations, but we don’t disclose all the details. We could be dealing with a serial killer. That threat on human life trumps any client demands. We can’t let our client dictate how we transfer this information. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and give him some hints, and see how he reacts.” I started to scribble some notes on a pad. “DiMarco is giving a keynote speech at a criminology conference in two days’ time. He’s due to talk about what he sees as the failings within the justice system. I’ll confront him there. The added elements of the crowd, and his peers, will pressure him. If he’s the killer, then he’s going to either flee or start killing people quicker. He’ll be forced into a corner and he’s going to make a mistake.

  A knock at the office door took my attention away from the notes. People didn’t just wander into our office. We were deliberately tucked away, deliberately hard to reach. Casey stood and answered the door.

  “Jenny Carpenter.” I could hear the surprise in Casey’s voice. “Please, come in.”

  I stood up as the petite blonde woman walked into our office. Casey pulled out a chair for her to sit down in front of my desk and then wheeled her office chair across to sit beside her. Jenny’s hair was messy, her skin was pale, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. Her clothes were wrinkled, but she’d put on a spray of perfume.

  Jenny didn’t make eye contact as she sat down, looking at the floor the whole time, and didn’t greet us. I could sense she was building up the courage to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

  “I know that you’ve called him.” She broke the silence. “And I want you to stop calling him.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “My fiancé, Matthew Wilkerson.”

  “I called him.” Casey’s tone was gentle. “It was me.”

  “Why did you do that?” Jenny turned to look at Casey.

  “Because I wanted to talk to him,” Casey replied. “I wanted to know where he was the night that Anthony Waltz died. I wanted to know what he was going to say. If we continue with this investigation, then internal affairs might ask him a number of questions. I’d prefer that he talked to me first rather than having that information sprung on him.”

  “Why do you even care?” Jenny looked like she could burst into tears at any moment. “You’re not the police. You’re not the FBI. CIA. Internal affairs. You’re none of it. You shouldn’t be investigating this. Why are you harassing us? We’ve been through enough. First, tha
t dirty man raped me, then he walks out of court, and then this? It just keeps going. When does all this stop? It’s too much. I want to move on. I want to forget all of this. Stop it. Stop chasing us. Let us put this horrible episode behind us and move on with our lives.”

  “I understand.” Casey was gentle in her approach. “I apologize if I’ve hurt you at all. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize if I hurt you. That was never my intention.”

  My mobile phone buzzed on my desk. I ignored it.

  “Anthony Waltz died, and someone has asked us to look into the case.” My tone was also gentle, but firm. “We’re doing our job. If Anthony Waltz was murdered, then it’s a crime. We have to follow the evidence.”

  “I don’t care about your job. I don’t care about who employed you. I just want to let it go. It’s bad enough that I had to relive all this through that horrible trial, only to lose, but now you want me to relive it all again? Why? Why are you doing this to me?” Jenny’s eyes began to well up with tears. “I don’t want anything more to do with this. I’ve been through enough.”

  My phone rang again. I ignored it a second time.

  “We’re just asking questions. That’s all. We don’t have the power to arrest anyone,” Casey said. “It’s just questions. Nothing more than that. I would like to talk to your fiancé for a few moments. If he would talk to us, then we’ll stop chasing him.”

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Jenny snapped. Her jaw clenched and her fists tightened into balls as they slapped the arm of her chair. It caught Casey and me by surprise. There was anger in her voice. Furious anger. “He didn’t have anything to do with Waltz. He was with me the whole time.”