The Shooter

mental note to ask the residents of the other penthouses about it when they came down for work. Mr. Waltz usually leaves after 5am, he goes to his office gym, I think. But two days ago, he didn’t. He didn’t come down. But Mr. Jameson did. He’s in penthouse four. Well, he was pissed off. Excuse the language.”
He looked at Casey and she smiled back with fake sincerity. “Thanks, Robbie, but it’s fine. Go on.”
“Well, Mr. Jameson came down into my office around 5:55 am, which is not his usual time. But apparently, he hadn’t been able to get to sleep after the disturbance and trust me, he’s not the sort of guy who needs to miss sleep. He said he heard two gunshots. He was sure they were on his floor. He loves his guns, so I didn’t want to argue with him. Anyway, he complained, and it made me think that perhaps I’d better go to the penthouse floor and see if everyone was alright.” Robbie stopped, looked at his notes, then up at Casey. He took a slow, deep breath and continued. “I checked the other apartments, and they were fine, but then I tried to buzz Mr. Waltz. I knew he’d be up. And he likes me. You know, in his line of work, I think maybe he finds it a comfort knowing I’m always around if needed. And my stepfather was a lawyer, so we bonded over that. They knew each other. My father was also a defense attorney. He—”
“So, what did you do after you tried to buzz him?” Casey interjected before Robbie became sidetracked.
“Well, I couldn’t reach Mr. Waltz, so I decided to go in and check things out. I knocked on the door but there was no response, and I was sure he hadn’t left. I can see the videos, you see.” He pointed to the monitors and the live stream of the security cameras. “So, I was concerned about him. I knocked again and then decided to use the master key to his apartment. It was a hunch. I thought something was wrong. And that’s when… well, that’s when I found him. I didn’t touch him at all. It was horrible. I could see that he was dead, so I just called the cops right away. But it was, you know, awful. He was just lying there. And there was so much blood everywhere. Honestly, I wanted to throw up. But I didn’t,” he added, puffing his chest out. “I know Mr. Waltz is a criminal attorney so he must deal with a lot of violent people, and I didn’t want to compromise anything. Just in case, you know?”
“You did well, Robbie.” I moved behind him to look at the cameras and patted him on the shoulder. “Do you know if anyone ever came around here looking for Mr. Waltz?”
“Waltz had a reputation for being a major leaguer in the world of attorneys,” Daley said, standing near the open door. “His clients were not just hiring him for misdemeanors like jay-walking; he was constantly dealing with felony criminals with questionable morals and large bank accounts to help them justify their sins—the foulest of the putrid, liquefied ooze. And in his world, big money meant big danger.”
Robbie thought for a moment then nodded. “Jonathon DiMarco was here last week, and he had a yelling match with Waltz in the foyer.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that he was arguing with Waltz. DiMarco hated sexual assault cases the most, and that was Waltz’s last high-profile case.” Daley added. “I don’t think he’d be a suspect though.”
Casey moved closer to Robbie, the cramped space wearing on her. “Did you see anyone come and go from the building the night before his death?”
“So, you don’t think it was suicide?”
“We’re looking for a trigger. Anything that could’ve set him off,” Daley interjected, not wanting to give too much away. “Perhaps he met with someone before he shot himself?”
Robbie swung his chair around to face the monitors. “Here’s the thing: my job isn’t to watch every entrance to this place every second of my shift. I move between the front door, watching the security cameras, and checking to make sure the rear entrance has been locked. And Mr. Waltz flat out refused to have any cameras installed on his floor. Another reason Mr. Jameson was so angry. Sometimes Waltz brings—um, paid—clients home. To put him at ease, so to speak. The building manager tried to insist on the cameras, but Waltz wouldn’t have it. He said he paid millions for the apartment so he should have the choice.” Robbie gave Casey a serious look and then faced back to the computer monitors. “My job is only to do an hourly sweep. I’m really here to be on call more than anything, if anybody needs me. I check the cameras and deal with any problems. We have a doorman during the day, and I’m here at night.”
“Is there footage from the rear entrance?” I asked.
“We try to encourage people not to use the rear entrance, but it connects to the fire escape stairwell. A lot of the residents like to be more discreet when they have, you know, visitors. Especially on an evening after a few drinks.”
“We’ll need to see the security footage, Robbie.” I said. “Both entrances.”
“There’s a problem there. The security camera on the rear entrance has been out for the past five weeks.” Robbie started typing on his computer, and then tapped one of the blank monitor screens in front of him. “I reported it to the building manager, but he’s a lazy son of a gun. He kept saying he’d get around to getting the maintenance company to fix it. I just don’t think he likes to spend money.”
“Well, isn’t that just peachy?” Casey complained, as she saw the opportunity for a quick, clean case disappear.
“Robbie, anything you’ve