Daley took a moment, clenched his fist, and then looked out the window. I could almost see the problems work through his head.
“And that means that I was right, doesn’t it? Someone is doing this. Someone wants you to stop investigating this case. And this proves that Waltz didn’t kill himself.” He bit his lip. “And if the killer has figured out that you’re investigating them, they’d want to know who employed you to do so…” The thought shocked him, and he turned around to look out the back window of the vehicle, his eyes searching up and down the street. “Which means they’re close to finding out I paid you to do it. Are you being followed? Is that why you’re here? To warn me?”
“As the person who employed me, you’re a target.”
The breath caught in his throat and he turned back to me. “That’s a problem, Jack.”
“It’s a problem for all of us,” I agreed. “The man attacked Casey from behind and she didn’t get a look at him. We’re close to finding the killer, and they know we’re close.”
“What about Larry Fittler? I heard about him this morning. Is he… was he connected to this?”
“We think so.”
His fist gripped again. He punched the door lightly. “Larry Fittler wasn’t a good man. He double-crossed so many people that I was sure he did it for fun. He had more enemies than a country at war. But he was still a colleague. He was still another lawyer. He was still someone I knew well. If he was killed, like you say, then… then there’s a serial killer out there. And I’m… well, I’m on their list, aren’t I? This is my field. I defend sexual assault cases.” He turned to look at me. “Do you think I need protection?”
“For now, yes.”
“I’ve got some people I can call.” He looked out the window. “Have you told the police? Or at least hinted that there might be a serial killer out there?”
“I’ve talked to my contacts in the PD.”
“And what are the police doing about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” There was desperation in Daley’s voice. “Have you presented the evidence to them? There’s a serial killer out there, Jack. That’s police business. This is bigger than our investigation into Waltz’s death. This is a matter for the cops now.”
“They’re not going to do anything without solid evidence. All they currently have is a group of defense lawyers who officially have committed suicide. Larry Fittler’s death will also be written up as a suicide. All the evidence we have is circumstantial. We can’t prove anything, yet.”
I stared at Daley for a long moment. I was testing him, leaving the silence in the air, building the pressure. Even the bravest of souls can break under the hefty weight of silence. If he was involved in any way, I’d see it now. But staring at Daley, sweat starting to build on his brow, knee nervously bouncing up and down, all I saw was fear.
“And who do you think it is?” he whispered. “Who do you think is killing these guys?”
“Jonathon DiMarco.” My voice was firm.
“What? DiMarco? That crazy son-of-a-gun? Are you sure?”
I nodded again.
“What makes you think it’s him?”
“All roads are leading to him. If he makes a comment about a defense lawyer on his website, Death to All Lawyers, then within a week, the lawyer has shot himself in the throat. Clarke Hudson, Jeffery Stone, Anthony Waltz, and now, Larry Fittler, have all died with a gunshot wound to the throat. A second bullet was found in the wall at each crime scene. Jonathon DiMarco is a dangerous man with the connections to have these crime scenes reported however he likes.”
“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
