“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
