The Shooter

a bit too much for him. We all knew he was gay, for decades, but he had a wife, or a number of wives, over the years. I was glad that he finally came out. But, having said that, I was as surprised as anyone when he shot himself.” He squinted as he looked at me. “The question is—what does that have to do with me?”
“There’s a fourth lawyer who has handled a case that matches the same pattern. Joan Islington’s case.”
He leaned back in his chair; mouth open, shocked to hear the name. “Sexual assault cases where the accused got off?”
I nodded.
“So, you think I’m about to off myself. Do my last dance. Choose my last song. Just because of an old case where the system found there wasn’t enough information to charge someone with rape? I hate to break it to you, but I’ve had a lot worse cases than that. I didn’t hurt that woman. All I did was my job. I’m not about to let that case break me.” He stood and walked over to his bookshelf, leaning against it. He clasped his hands in front of him and paused for a reflective moment. “And unfortunately, I’ve seen a lot more terrible situations than that.”
“I’m sure you have.”
“And I’ve gotten rapists off before. Abusers. Pedophiles. I’d like to say I feel bad about it, but I don’t. I really don’t. I’m serving my profession. I’ve gotten people off who I know are guilty, but there wasn’t enough evidence to convict them. I’m not going to kill myself over it. I mean, I barely lose sleep over those types of cases. Just more money in my back pocket. The richest men can afford the best lawyers, and the best lawyers can afford to sell their soul. With that perspective, I’m at no risk of offing myself.”
“I don’t think you’ll have a choice.”
He turned to stare at me and tilted his head to the left. “What are you saying? That Anthony Waltz was murdered? Jeffery Stone? Clarke Hudson? Is that what you’re investigating? A serial killer?”
“I’m not saying that, yet. I’m doing what I’m paid to do and that’s investigate Anthony Waltz’s death. That investigation has led me here,” I said. “At this point, I’d like you to be careful, but what I need from you is to tell me if you see anyone following you, or anything unusual. Anything that may lead me to a killer.”
“Ridiculous.” He scoffed, waved his hand at me, and moved back to his desk. “You haven’t got a clue, have you? You’re clutching at straws and trying to create work for yourself. I can see through your little game—you’re trying to get me to pay you protection money, aren’t you? This is a scam.”
“I don’t want a cent of your money.”
“Everyone wants money. I can see through your little scam and let me tell you now that I won’t fall for it. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I’m warning you that trouble may be coming for you.”
“Trouble follows me everywhere I go. Just yesterday, there was a protest outside my office about sexual assault cases. They were yelling at me as soon as I stepped out of my cab, saying that I was doing the devil’s work. Those jobless, mindless woke folk were so angry. I told them to go and get a job and live in the real world.”
“Let me guess—Jonathon DiMarco organized the protest.”
“You’re right.” He replied. “That was all Jonathon DiMarco’s doing. He was there, front and center, yelling at me. He organized the protest, and they went crazy and attacked me. The guy hates me. Well, he hates anyone that defends the justice system.” Fittler sat back down, running his hands along the edge of the table. “But the system needs people like me. We’re a part of the wheel. Without us, the whole system falls apart. People like Jonathon DiMarco don’t see that. They see us as being worse than the criminals. Their lack of understanding is astounding.”
“Was anyone violent yesterday?”
“DiMarco has punched me before, but not yesterday, there were too many witnesses and he’s too smart for that.” He rubbed his jaw. “DiMarco is a big guy, and he can throw one mighty punch. After he hit me, I went to the police and they said they couldn’t do anything about it. There were no witnesses and no video evidence. DiMarco met me in a location where he knew there wouldn’t be any cameras and punched me in the jaw. I thought my jaw was broken, but I was fine after a few days.” He made a clicking sound with his jaw. “Are you telling me that DiMarco is a suspect in your investigation?”
“He’s a person of interest.”
“But why would he do that? Why would he kill lawyers?”
“Because he believes that defense lawyers are tearing the system apart. He wants to deliver karma to those he thinks have wronged the system.”
Fittler paused for a long moment, staring into nothingness. He bit his bottom lip and then turned to look back at me. “Alright, say I believe you. Say I believe that you’re investigating a possible murder. Are you saying that you’re going after Jonathon DiMarco? Because good luck to you if you do. He’s connected. Very well connected. He’s buddies with all the heads in the police department, the Mayor, and just about every powerful person in the city. Even if you had evidence, his friends would make that evidence disappear.”
“I don’t run from danger.”
“No.” He grunted. “You look like the type of guy that searches for a bit of danger.”
Fittler stood again, the nerves getting to him. He walked back to the bookshelf and leaned against it, arms folded. “When DiMarco was protesting last week, he was talking about two people in particular. Two victims of sexual assault that