He was right. “And I imagine that you do a lot of your wheeling and dealing in places like this. Perhaps even convince your followers to take action for you.” I stepped close to him. “Or perhaps this is the type of place where you organized how to murder a group of lawyers.”
“Don’t get too close to me.” DiMarco held up one hand as a stop sign and stepped back. “Who have you been talking to?”
“A cop named Stan McMillian. He had a lot to say about you and it seems you have quite the thing for hunting lawyers.”
“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“Literally.”
He looked up and down the alley before he squinted at me. “What are you implying?”
“That you’ve had a hand in the deaths of these lawyers.”
“That’s quite a wild accusation, Mr. Valentine. I hope, for your sake, that you have evidence to back that claim up. Because if you don’t, and you take that complaint to the police, I’m not sure you’ll find many people willing to investigate it for you.”
“There’s been four criminal defense attorneys who have committed suicide over the past fifteen months that have a lot of connections to you.”
“You’re saying I pressured them into it?”
“I’m saying they didn’t kill themselves. Matthew Wilkerson and you were seen outside Waltz’s apartment on the day he died.”
He shook his head. “It’s—”
The door to the kitchen swung open and a staff member walked out with two trash bags. He froze the second he saw us staring at him. The staff member looked around, nodded to us, and then proceeded to throw the bags in the dumpster as quickly as he could. Once the bags were in the dumpster, he moved back inside and shut the door.
“I know Stan McMillian. He’s about as dirty as they come.” DiMarco raised his chin. “So, I’ll only warn you once. Stay away from me, stay away from my people, and stay away from my organizations. Stop digging into my business. Stop trying to tarnish my reputation with these claims.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you think I kill lawyers for fun, imagine what I could do if I was threatened.” He smiled and stepped closer to me. “Go on, Valentine. I dare you to test me.”
He brought his face within five inches of mine, huffed in and out, and then stepped past me, back through the door into the building.
I didn’t bother following him. I loosened my tie, pulled it from under my collar, and walked through the shadows, down the dark alley.
My job was done. Those under pressure are more likely to make a mistake, and I just applied an almighty amount of pressure to the main suspect.
Chapter 21
After my encounter with DiMarco, I returned to the office. It was dark out, but Casey was still there, two empty takeaway coffee containers on her desk, reviewing footage she’d obtained from nearby Larry Fittler’s house. She’d managed to sweet-talk one of the neighbors into sending their personal door camera footage to her, and it provided a remote view of Fittler’s door across the street. I couldn’t comprehend how she managed to get people to do things like that, but then, I didn’t have the same charm that she had.
“Anything?” I asked hopefully as I took off my dinner jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the entrance.
“Nothing. I’ve managed to get footage from two neighbors, two businesses, and one parking lot at the end of the street. I used a little sweetness, and the older men happily gave me access to the footage. Out of all the video, this is the best angle, it gives us the view of his front door from across the street, but there’s no movement at all,” she said. “There’s nothing. No strange people scoping the place out, nor any sign of DiMarco, Wilkerson, or Carpenter. There’s no sign of any suspicious cars, or any hint of what is about to occur. It’s another dead end.”
“Whoever is doing this, is very well prepared.” I sat down at my desk, the chair sinking under my weight. “There hasn’t been one witness, one piece of video footage, or one piece of evidence left behind at any of these deaths. How are they getting in and killing these lawyers without a struggle?”
I turned on the computer and checked my emails, scanning over numerous bills that needed to be paid. While reading the emails, I could sense that Casey was itching to say something.
“Go on. What is it?” I turned to her.
“It’s just…” She stood and walked around to the front of her desk, leaning against it while she thought out-loud. “Maybe we’ve got this wrong. There’s never been any sign of a struggle. There’s no fighting in any of the scenes. Maybe… maybe the killer is hypnotizing the lawyers? Maybe they’re doing it during the day and then the lawyer is convinced that they have to go home and kill themselves? I’ve seen a documentary on television about hypnotherapy, and people do strange things while under the spell. Maybe the killer doesn’t actually pull the trigger?”
“Good theory, I like that you’re thinking outside of the box, but hypnotherapy doesn’t work like that. The brain automatically breaks any trance whenever it’s threatened. It’s a survival instinct. But I like the idea. It’s outside the box, and that’s what we have to be thinking about.”
“Right.” Casey bit her lip. “So maybe the killer is threatening the lawyers? Forcing them to shoot themselves?”
“What would the killer threaten the lawyers with? All these lawyers see themselves as the most important person on the planet. There isn’t one thing that you could threaten them with that is more important than themselves. The only thing more important than their life is their
