He made the call. He talked for a few moments, and I assumed DiMarco’s wife was on the other end of the line. Daley ended the call and looked out the window. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and loosened his collar. Within a minute of ending the call, Daley’s phone rang again. He checked the number and answered his cell. He agreed with the person on the other end of the line.
“That was Jonathon DiMarco. He agreed to meet with me. He’ll be at the location in one hour.”
And now I had a play to make.
Chapter 27
I didn’t have much of a plan.
That was the way I approached much of my life. I was all in, or all out, making things up as I went along. Plans, tactics, and strategies were for astute people, people who liked control. I needed the opposite—I needed things to be out of control to be at my best.
People like Jonathon DiMarco liked to plan. He liked to know what was going to happen next, where he was going to be, and who he was going to talk to. His life seemed rehearsed, well-thought out, and prepared. To force him to make a mistake, to force him to blunder, I needed to back him into a corner, and apply an almighty amount of pressure.
Under my instruction, Daley had convinced DiMarco to meet at a small parking lot, just off the Stevenson Expressway. I knew the location well. There were no cameras, no witnesses, and no chance that I could’ve been seen. It was dark, secluded, and there was only one narrow road in and out. I’d met contacts there before—it was next to the river, there was a bridge overhead, an unused boat ramp nearby, and thick bushes lined the embankment. There were graffiti tags on every concrete structure, faded cans of beer in the bushes, and burn marks on the entrance ramp from small fires lit by rebellious teenagers.
I arrived deliberately late, rolling my truck into a position where it blocked the road. Jonathon DiMarco heard my truck roll up to the spot next to the entrance. I was ten feet from his vehicle, but there was no way out for him. He was standing beside his car, cigarette in hand, puffing a large cloud of smoke, when I stepped out of my truck. I could see the fear in his eyes the second he saw me.
“I do like drama, but this is a bit much, even for me.” DiMarco flicked his cigarette away. “What are you doing here? I was expecting Kenneth Daley, not some private investigator thug. I wanted information on those dirty lawyers.”
In a burst of rage, I charged towards DiMarco. He threw his hands up in defense, but it was no use. I gripped his collar and slammed him into the door of his car.
“You think you can come after Casey?!” I growled, bringing my face an inch away from his. “You think you can do that to me!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes jumped up in surprise. If he was acting, he was good at it. It was an Oscar worthy performance. “Casey? That pretty girl that was at my house?”
“Where were you at 10pm yesterday?”
“I was at the function, remember? You were there with me. There are fifty people that can verify that I didn’t leave until after midnight.” He pushed his chin into his chest, trying to hold my forearm back. “Why would I go after your friend? I would never hit a woman.”
I stared at his eyes. They didn’t flinch. I believed him when he said that he wouldn’t hit a woman. DiMarco was old school. He could be corrupt, cunning, and dishonest, but he still held onto old-school honor. It was a code, a moral plan that he wouldn’t break for anyone. I released my grip on his collar, and took the pressure off his throat. He fell forward, putting his hands on his knees, and sucked in a number of deep breaths. I stepped back from him.
I hated to admit it, but I’d targeted the wrong guy for Casey’s attack. I ran my hand through my hair, contemplating what this meant. A truck hummed past on the nearby road, as the darkness started to take hold of the evening.
“I guess Daley’s not coming?” He spat on the ground. “And there’s no information about the dead lawyers?”
“No.”
“And the girl? Casey?” DiMarco began to stand up again, and rubbed his hand along his throat. “Is she ok?”
“She’s recovering in hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I really am. I hope they didn’t damage that beautiful face. The world needs beauty now more than ever. But I had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t harm her. Are you sure that it wasn’t a random guy? She’s a beautiful girl and would gather a lot of attention from strangers.”
I’d spent most of my life reading people and their reactions. DiMarco was arrogant, no doubt about it, but he was also shocked by the news of Casey’s attack. He wasn’t involved with Casey, but I hadn’t taken him off the killer list yet.
“Someone jumped Casey in the parking lot close to our office. They didn’t try to sexually assault her or take her bag. It was a targeted attack because of the case that we’re investigating.”
“Anthony Waltz’s death. I guess you’ve pushed someone’s buttons.” He nodded. “But like I said, I’m sorry that happened to her.” He patted down his shirt, and spat on the ground again. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”
“When was the last time you saw Larry Fittler?” I stepped back towards him.
“Does it matter? The guy is dead. Decided to turn the gun on himself. That was karma.
