The Shooter

man in the clip began talking. “I’m a police officer in Buffalo Grove. My fiancé was sexually assaulted in the middle of the night, and Anthony Waltz let her attacker walk free. Anthony Waltz doesn’t give a crap about justice, about what’s right and wrong. He knew the DNA evidence used in court hadn’t been collected properly. He knew that if he allowed it to be used at the time meant they could call the trial into question later. He wanted—” Casey hit the pause button. “Jenny Carpenter’s fiancé?”
“We just might have a new suspect,” I said. “He’s a cop. He looks angry. And he’s got the ability to cover-up something like this.”
“Jonathon DiMarco was there as well. This is quite damning. Maybe they’re a team? Should we send this through to the police?”
“It’s not evidence. This means nothing.” I grunted. “We need something solid. We need something that we can pressure them with. Right now, they’ll laugh in our faces if we go after them. If DiMarco gets wind of us finding this, then he’ll close-up shop. He won’t talk. We need more evidence.”
“We’ve got the security footage from our new friend Robbie, right? Let’s get it loaded up and go back further. At least 6 hours before the earliest possible time of death. I want the street camera view. I want to know who was loitering across the street and for how long.” Casey pulled it up, checking the different files available on the drive. “The footage just starts at midnight. It must be on a 24-hour loop. But I bet the previous 24 hours is saved as a file on their system for at least a month. We need to get in contact with the security firm that manages the building and find out how to get that file.”
“You have a nice connection with our wanna-be investigator, Robbie.” I picked up the phone and handed it across the desk to her. “I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
“Deal,” she said, and grabbed the phone from me. “We’re close, Jack. We just need more evidence.”

Chapter 12


Casey called Robbie, our security guy, and he told us he could get the footage, but it would take a couple of days. She sweet-talked him, told him how important he was to helping our investigation, and let him know how much she appreciated the help. He stuttered, and I could almost hear him melt on the other end of the line. Talking to women clearly wasn’t his strong suit.
Robbie told us that he couldn’t access the footage from his desktop, but it was backed up on the main server. He would do what he could to access it. He called Casey back twenty-five minutes later and sounded disappointed when he said his boss wouldn’t give us anything. The boss of the security firm didn’t like the attention that an investigation could possibly bring to his business. Having a connection to a murdered lawyer was not good for its reputation, apparently.
But our Robbie was turning out to be a bit of a star. He was good with computers, and ran a couple of websites that held sensitive information, so he was familiar with accessing large servers. He told us that he could get access to the main server from the head office, but we’d have to wait five days until he was due there for a meeting. He explained that he could download the footage from the main server and then bring it back to the security office. We agreed to wait for Robbie.
If we could prove that DiMarco or Matthew Wilkerson entered the building the night Anthony Waltz died, then we had enough to pressure them with. It wasn’t the silver bullet, but it was a lead, at least.
At just after midday, we went to Waltz’s funeral at a small venue. Daley was right—there weren’t many people in attendance. Casey and I sat in my truck at the far edge of the parking lot, watching people come and go. I counted fifteen people in attendance. After the funeral had started, I wandered into the entrance, took a picture of the memorial book with the names in attendance, and then returned to the truck. Casey worked her magic and searched the names on the internet. Most were fellow lawyers, one was a previous girlfriend, and another was his second cousin. Apart from Daley, none seemed suspicious.
We returned to the office and spent the afternoon searching through the internet for a lead. I made a few calls to different PI contacts, but none had worked for Daley in the past. None had heard of a problem with Jeffery Stone’s or Clarke Hudson’s deaths either. Daley was turning into a dead-end.
We found some information on Jeffery Stone. He’d come out as gay in the weeks before his death. That wasn’t surprising to the people that knew him. He made an announcement via social media and all the messages were supportive, except for one of his ex-wives, who accused him of using her. He posted to social media on the day before his death, happily drinking a pink cocktail at a well-known gay bar in Wrigleyville. He’d beaten two sexual assault allegations, both against males, including one against a minor. Because the allegation came from a minor, the file was suppressed, meaning I couldn’t access any information about the accusations, and no one seemed to know anything about it.
All the information we uncovered on Clarke Hudson pointed to the fact that he was an all-round prick. He partied hard with young girls while his pregnant wife was at home, and had numerous sexual assault allegations against him, but nothing ever stuck. It was a running issue for the deceased lawyers, but there was no connection between any of the allegations.
Casey had come across an allegation of sexual assault against Anthony Waltz from a prostitute,