The Shooter

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “When?”

  “Whenever these things happened.” Her teeth ground together, and her tone was devilish. “My fiancé had nothing to do with it. He has always been by my side. I don’t care when it happened. Matthew was next to me.”

  I didn’t know what to say in response, and by the looks of Casey, she was also too shocked to respond.

  Jenny stood abruptly. The chair wobbled behind her. “Leave us alone.”

  Casey looked at me. My phone buzzed. I ignored the call a third time.

  “We’re going to investigate this case.” I stood as well. “We don’t want to hurt you, and we understand that you’ve been through enough.”

  Jenny’s mouth twitched at the sides. She looked like she could explode into a rage at any second.

  “Leave us all alone.” Jenny growled in a deeper voice than I expected. She turned and marched to the door before turning back to us. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  The door slammed as she walked out. The tension she left in the office lingered for a few moments, both Casey and I were unsure of what to say next.

  After a minute, once we were sure Jenny was gone, Casey turned to me, eyebrows raised. “She’s got an angry streak.”

  I nodded. I didn’t expect that. Not at all.

  My phone buzzed again. It was a message.

  I turned the phone over and I had a number of missed calls and a message from Detective Williams:

  I’ve got something. Something big.

  Chapter 17

  In the Angry Friar, I waited at the far end of the bar, watching the television in the distance. Jeopardy was on. An old guy continually yelled out incorrect responses with conviction, missing even the most obvious of answers. I ignored his attempts as my mind was on Jenny Carpenter. She was only a small woman, but none of the murders required strength. The men were all shot through the throat. It made sense that the bullet had entered lower. She couldn’t have reached their foreheads to shoot them in the head. She could’ve used her innocent girl routine, and gained their trust, and then turned on them. But I still couldn’t explain the other lawyers. Anthony Waltz, yes, but I couldn’t come up with a theory about why she would’ve attacked Jeffery Stone or Clarke Hudson. She had no connection to them.

  The door to the bar opened, sunlight flooding into the deliberately dim room, and I turned to face the light. Detective Williams walked in, scratching his nose. The door swung shut behind him and the lighting returned to a more respectful murkiness.

  “Smells like this place hasn’t had fresh air through it since last night, Jack. This place still smells like vodka shots.” Williams approached me, then placed his hand on my shoulder and sat next to me. “I’m going to admit something that I don’t usually admit.”

  “That you’re going bald?” I quipped.

  He stared at me for a long moment. “I still have hair.” He self-consciously patted down some of his thinning hair and then ordered a Miller Lite. “What I was going to say was that I might admit that you’re right. That’s something I never thought I’d admit.” He continued to pat down his hair. “Why’d you have to make this about my hair? Going bald is a sign of higher testosterone, you know?”

  “What was the big news?” I questioned.

  He shook his head, and continued to pat down his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Your hair looks great. And you’re tall enough that most people wouldn’t even see the top of your head.”

  He grunted and thanked the bartender for the beer, and then turned back to me. “I’ll start with the small stuff that I’ve found, and then I’ll get to the big news. I’ll build you into it. I wouldn’t want to give you a heart attack.” Williams made an attempt to jovially insult me, but it missed the mark. We were both the same age, and I was in a lot better shape. Still, I humored him with a smile.

  “My heart is doing ok, Williams. What’ve you got?”

  “I’ve done some digging into those case files. Quietly, of course. And everything you said was right—all three of those deaths were via gunshot and the second bullet was found in the wall nearby. None of the families, nor any of the friends, reported seeing these people as suicidal in the past. Not one of these suicides was expected. Every single one of the people’s suicides you mentioned came as a shock to everyone.”

  I drew a deep breath. Usually, I liked to rub the cops’ nose in it, but I didn’t want to be right this time. Being right meant that there was a serial killer picking off victims with ease and without retribution. I turned back to my beer and swirled the half-filled glass.

  “So, we’re onto something,” I said. “And this looks dangerous.”

  “The killer seems to be targeting intelligent people, so I think you’re safe.”

  I smiled genuinely this time. That insult was better. “What else do you have?”

  “Jonathon DiMarco was known to have threatened each of these lawyers in the weeks before their deaths. All the information is online.” Williams leaned closer to me. “DiMarco runs a website called Death to All Lawyers, D-TAL, where he talks about the failings of our legal system. A week before each of the suicides, he threatens the particular lawyer with ‘karma.’ In the eyes of the law, that’s coincidental, but it adds weight to your theory.”

  I didn’t want to be right about DiMarco either. “Does the PD have much on DiMarco?”

  “Rumor is that Internal Affairs had a file on DiMarco for a long time, but I don’t think DiMarco is your man. I think he’s more the inciter of violence rather than the perpetrator. DiMarco is too smart to get his hands dirty like that. He doesn’t want to do the hard yards, but I think he’s pulling the strings.” He paused for a moment, and drew a long breath. He took a sip of his beer before he turned back to me. “I think that DiMarco has taught other people how to perform these murders and incited them to do so. I can’t see him killing these lawyers himself. It’s too much of a risk. I see him either paying someone, or manipulating someone into doing the work for him.”

  “You’re saying he’s teaching people how to commit acts of murder and mask them as suicide?”

  “I’m saying that some of his supporters are almost cult-like.” He sipped his drink again. “They could’ve done anything for him. If he says ‘jump,’ then his supporters say, ‘how many lawyers do you want me to kill.’ And building on that theory, I looked into his followers. Who was the most dedicated? Who was the most cult-like? Who could be a candidate?”

  “And?”

  He took another long sip of his Miller Lite and looked around the bar again. There were no listening ears around. “And there was one name that stood out. There was one name that was the most dedicated to DiMarco and his cause.”

  I waited, but he didn’t continue. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “I’m building the suspense.” He smiled, and then he waited a few more moments. “The person who made the most comments, and had the most aggression, was Jenny Carpenter.”

  “Damn it,” I groaned.

  “Jenny Carpenter commented on just about every post that Jonathon DiMarco is associated with. She’s the victim of Waltz’s last case. It was a clear case. There was evidence, there was a witness, and there was video footage that placed David Chesterfield at the scene. This should’ve been an easy case for the courts. But Chesterfield hired Anthony Waltz, and Waltz had just about every piece of evidence thrown out because rules weren’t followed during the warrant searches.”

  “I know Jenny Carpenter. She’s on my list, but the theory doesn’t work. There’s a major hole in it.” I shook my head. “The theory works for Anthony Waltz’s murder, perhaps she was so incensed that she took him out, but it doesn’t explain why the other lawyers were killed—Clarke Hudson and Jeffery Stone. Why would she kill the other lawyers before she lost her court case?”

  “Because this has happened before.”

  “What?” I turned to him. “When?”

  “When she was a child, ten years old, she was assaulted by her gymnasti
cs coach. And guess what? The guy gets a good lawyer and walks away scot-free. Not enough evidence to convict the coach, the court is told. It’s he said-she said. The coach is still teaching, rumors are still abounding about his behavior, and Jenny had no justice for what happened to her.”

  “That poor woman,” I replied. “This happened to her as a ten-year-old kid, and then fifteen years later the same thing happens? That’s heartbreaking. No wonder she looks so broken.”

  “If she’s a serial killer, Jack, then I wouldn’t be feeling sorry for her.”

  I paused for a long moment while the bartender wiped the counter in front of us. It was a token effort, no amount of wiping the bar would wash away the stickiness—a high powered hose would be needed for that—but the bartender wanted to give the appearance of doing the work. Once he’d finished and stepped away, I turned back to Williams. “That’s a strong motive for Jenny Carpenter. What are you going to do next?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Are you kidding? After what you’ve just told me, you’re not going to do anything?”

  “I can’t do anything, Jack. You know that. My hands are tied. My career is on the line if I start to pressure a guy like DiMarco.” Williams finished his Miller Lite. “If DiMarco has encouraged Jenny Carpenter to commit these crimes, then I need proof. Give me some proof and then maybe, just maybe, I can reopen Waltz’s case and start the investigation before another lawyer dies.”

  “So, you’re going to leave the responsibility of finding a killer to me? You’re going to walk away from what you’re paid to do?”

  “Yes, Jack. That’s the way it works. And you’d better work quickly. Killers like this are known to escalate the speed of which they do it.” He stood. “And they’re known to target anyone that tries to stop them.”

  Chapter 18

  Robbie McAdams was waiting for me in the foyer of the Five-Five Apartment building. He’d managed to transfer the video footage from head office and he called to let us know that he could now access it. Dressed in an oversized waterproof coat with the collar up, he was leaning against the wall, earphones in, staring at the glow on his phone screen. His head was nodding slightly, in agreement to whatever he was watching.

  “What are you watching, Robbie?” I asked as I approached him.

  He raised his head and took out one earphone. “Something on YouTube.”

  “Something about comics?”

  “No,” he shook his head, and I waited for him to continue. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. “I love listening to empowering videos. My life… well, a lot of my life hasn’t been easy, so I find someone that has been through the same sort of thing that I’ve been through and I get inspired by their stories. There’s some really good guys on YouTube. Inspiring stuff.”

  “Motivational speakers?”

  “Something like that.” He locked the phone screen before I could take a glance at it. He looked around the foyer before turning towards the stairwell. “Follow me. The boss doesn’t like having you around the building, and he said not to give you any more information. He said if you were a cop, he’d demand a warrant. I could lose my job if he knew you were here again. So, you can look at the footage, but you can’t touch. Ok?”

  “Got it, big guy.” I agreed. I wondered what Robbie had told his security firm to cause such a drastic change in tune from our last visit. I guessed it was something over enthusiastic.

  Robbie led me down the fire stairs and across the underground parking lot to the small security office. He removed a chunk of keys from his coat pocket, which looked heavy enough to work out with, before he chose one key and opened the door. The office smelled worse than last time. The stale stench of a young man’s body odor was like a wall of thick air.

  “Spent a bit of time in here lately?” I questioned as I stepped inside.

  He looked up at me in a quizzical fashion. “I guess.”

  He paused for a moment, then sat down on the office chair and wheeled himself to the position behind the five surveillance monitors. He turned the computer on and began to type the password. He typed with both index fingers only, the task taking a painfully slow amount of time. After he finished what he was typing, he stopped and slowly reread the information back to himself. I waited near the open door, leaning against the frame, while he kept typing.

  “Done much drawing over the past few days?”

  “Not much drawing but I’ve been reading a lot of comics in here. The boss has been giving me grief about not watching the security footage enough, so he wants me in this room more. I’m not sure why. Apart from what happened to Mr. Waltz, nothing ever happens in this building. I watch some people come and go, people greet each other in the lobby, and then I watch the rich old guys with their hired girls walk across the foyer before they walk into the stairwell. But I think one of the residents complained about the gunshots and my boss wants to assure them that they’re safe. He promised them that I would be here more. But it’s boring. It’s so, so boring. All I do is sit here, read comic books and draw some sketches. What a job, eh? What a life.”

  “You could always look for another job.” I leaned out the door, trying to grab a breath of fresh air. “Find something to do with comics? It’s important to follow your passion.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. I’ve been trying to get published for years, but it’s hard, man. Really hard. I’ve been working on my main character for so long, and I’m sure he’s the guy that will make it big for me. He’s my ticket out of here.” He pointed towards one of the sketches on the wall. “I’m sure he’s going to be the character that inspires people.”

  I walked towards the sketch, almost sorry that I asked. It didn’t take much to distract Robbie. The pencil drawing was of a strong muscular man, who I’m sure Robbie saw himself as, holding a sword, defending a small child against an attack from a group of large birds. It was a good drawing, he certainly had skills, but the hero looked like every other superhero I’d seen.

  “He got a name?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking DOA or Vengeance.”

  “Vengeance? Sounds ominous.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged and pointed to another one of his sketches on the wall. “That’s one of the first ones. I drew him for the first time sitting in this office. I’ve had a lot of time to think about his character.” Robbie continued to tap slowly on the keyboard. “Maybe one day I’ll get a break. Maybe one day someone will pick up my drawing and I’ll be done with this boring security job. It’s the only way to keep myself sane.”

  “Do you have any other skills?”

  “I know how to design websites. I’ve built and designed a few sites, but nothing has taken off.”

  “Anything interesting?” I asked.

  “Nothing that would interest you, I don’t think. Most of the sites are small ones with niche audiences. They don’t make much money, just a few dollars a month, but it’s amazing what people get attached to. Some people are passionate about some very strange things.”

  “I bet.”

  “And some people really don’t know how dangerous the internet can be. There’s one older guy that I work with who has asked me to store some very incriminating videos of him. I did it, but man, if those videos ever got out, he’s done for.”

  “I think I know what you mean,” I laughed, but Robbie didn’t. Perhaps I interpreted his hint wrong. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I removed it and looked at the number. It was Detective Williams calling again. I ignored it and sent the call to voicemail.

  “We should get down to business, Robbie. Let’s see that footage,” I said. “I’m looking for any women that were hanging around the building the night before Waltz died. I’m particularly looking for a small blonde woman. When we reviewed the footage earlier, we weren’t looking for a woman, so I’m hoping we can see something. And I need footage of the night before the shooting. This might help us understand what happened.”

  “Like I said,” Robbie co
ntinued typing on the keyboard. “The boss doesn’t want you touching anything, so you shouldn’t even be here, but I want to help you. I want to do work like this one day. I figured this is good experience for me. If I can’t be a comic book artist, then I’d love to do what you do. It’d be so interesting. A lot better than this boring job, anyway.”

  “It’s not all fun and games, Robbie. I’ve got to do some things I don’t like. And you never know, if you can help us out, maybe I can show you the ropes in my private investigation firm.” I decided to give him some encouragement. I needed Robbie’s help, and if he wanted to spend a few weeks around the office, I couldn’t see any harm in that. “Maybe that’ll give you a head-start on your career. Get some real experience on your resume.”

  “Really?” He beamed. “I’d love that. I’d love to get a start in investigations. And anyway, it’d be good inspiration for my next comic book. Maybe I could even find new inspiration for my next character.”

  “There’s plenty of characters out there, Robbie. You only have to look out the front door to find some. But before we talk about that, you’ve got to help me first.” I stepped closer to the monitors. They were grimy, and covered in splatters of dirt. It looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. “Why the change in tune from your boss? You said last time that he’d be happy to help us.”

  “He doesn’t want to be held accountable for a lawsuit. He said that there’s a few lawyers in the building and they’re always looking for a reason to sue people. You know what these lawyers are like—they’re vultures and they’ll bleed you dry if given the chance.”

  “Not all lawyers are like that,” I quipped. “Some of them even have a soul.”

  “Sure,” Robbie scoffed. “Do you really think someone killed Anthony Waltz?”

  “We’re not sure yet, Robbie, but it’s looking that way. We’re getting close to some evidence. That’s why we need to see the footage from the back door.”