I found the address, a five-story apartment building on Ashland near Irving Park Road. The street had a taco restaurant, a shoe store, two hairdressing salons, and an eyeglass store. A parking structure stood on the corner down the block.
The name J. Sylvester was next to a button. I looked at it, but didn’t press it. I stepped back and looked up the building for a moment, wondering which window was his, or if his window even looked down on the sidewalk. Then I walked back to my car across the street.
I hadn’t actually been told to make contact with Dominick. Just to find him. So I called Monica and left a quick message. She called me back five minutes later: “I have to check with Phil. Let me call you as soon as I get him. Is that all right?”
“Fine,” I told her. “I haven’t seen him yet. I’m just waiting outside the building.”
It was a little past 5 p.m. People were starting to go home. I texted Rachel that we had yesterday’s lasagna in the refrigerator in case I was late. She texted back: If you’re too late you’ll be having soup.
Fifteen minutes later I got a call from Monica. “Phil says he’ll take care of it. You can go home.”
“Personally?” Phillip Chapin, management agent to the stars, didn’t seem like a guy who’d be visiting a neighborhood like this.
“I—I guess.” She sounded doubtful herself. “That’s what he said. Thanks for your work. That was fast.”
“He’s not trying to hide very hard,” I said. “That makes it easier. Luck helps a lot too.”
“Well, you came highly recommended from AG, so that makes a difference too. Call me tomorrow and we’ll finish everything up.”
“I will.” We hung up.
I started the car and started to pull out. Then I turned the engine off. I really ought to wait and see if Dominick really lived here, right? That’s what a conscientious P.I. would do. Or a stubborn one. Whatever. I couldn’t charge them for this, since Monica had officially told me I was done with the case, at least for now. But I didn’t feel like I’d done my job yet.
So I waited.
Time passed. I was glad I’d used the bathroom at Longview Academy, and that I had a few stale granola bars in the glove compartment. More people headed to the train or boarded buses or biked or scootered down the street. I kept the radio low on my favorite classic rock station and wondered what Rachel was doing. And what she was wearing.
At 7:05 I was about to give up when the front door opened. I quickly checked the picture on my phone to confirm that it really was Dominick Slipko—or at least someone who looked a lot like him. Close enough to be worth following.
I got out of the car and crossed the street as quickly and inconspicuously as I could. Dominick was half a block ahead of me, but not walking very fast, not looking back as if he was worried about being followed. I managed to send a quick text to Rachel without too many misspellings as I kept my eyes on him.
He crossed at the corner, and I managed to beat the light. Now I was only a few yards behind him, but I stopped and paid close attention to a shoe store window as he hesitated in front of the door to the parking structure. He went in, and I watched through the window as the elevator came as he got in.
Inside the vestibule I watched as the elevator rose. It stopped on the third floor, then started back down. I hoped Dominick wasn’t getting a car. I knew I couldn’t rush up three flights of stairs, so I waited and took the elevator up. Probably I’d lost him, but I had to at least make the attempt.
At level three I stepped out and looked around. I was surrounded by cars, naturally, but didn’t see any people. Lights in the ceiling cast long shadows across the concrete, and a chilly wind swept through the wide gaps in the walls. I walked slowly, close to the cars, trying to stay low without looking like I was doing a turtle impression.
I heard voices. I turned a corner and saw two men arguing in front of a big Lexus. One was Dominick. The other was a guy with gray hair, wearing a long tan coat, his back to me. But I recognized his voice. Josh Heider. The lawyer from A.J.’s agency.
I ducked down behind the hood of a minivan and tried to listen in, but I couldn’t make out the words. They were arguing. Dominick was shouting. Heider kept his voice lower, but he seemed just as angry. I reached for my phone to get some video—
And then a gunshot cracked the air.
Heider fell back, his arms flailing, and hit the concrete with a thud. I saw Dominick holding a pistol, his face red. He fired again, and again, and the lawyer’s body twitched with each shot.
I had my phone but I was more concerned with making myself invisible behind the minivan to worry about trying to get a video. After the third shot Dominick took a few steps forward to look at the lawyer on the ground, and then suddenly seemed to remember that anyone could drive up and see him. He jammed his pistol into his belt and ran.
I knelt on the concrete until my heart stopped pounding, then forced myself to straighten up and walk over to the body. I knew who it was, but I had to make sure.
Heider’s sightless eyes looked up at me as blood seeped across his shirt.
Oh hell.
“But you didn’t call the police?” Rachel looked ready to strangle me.
“Monica explicitly said they wanted everything kept confidential.” I said, gulping some whiskey and coughing. “You were there.”
“I’m pretty sure that didn’t include the murder of their top lawyer.” She took the bottle away from me. I rarely drink hard liquor, but witnessing a murder tends to shake up my nerves.
“I called her.” I shoved the glass away. “From the car, down the street. By that time the cops were already there. Someone else obviously found the body—”
“But you saw the murder! You know who did it.”
“Twenty-four hours.” I took a deep breath. “That’s what I told her. I stay quiet for 24 hours and if the cops don’t have him by then, I will go tell them everything.”
That stopped her. For a moment. “And they said yes?”
“She told me they’d be in touch.”
Rachel groaned. “It’s a good thing I managed to get you on my health insurance. Maybe you’ll like being a telemarketer or something.”
“With you by my side I’ll be happy doing anything.”
She snorted. “Shut up and eat your cold lasagna.”
Monica Welles called me at 7:25 the next morning. Fortunately I was out of the shower. “Can you come meet A.J. at her apartment? Without telling anyone?” She sounded ragged, as if she hadn’t slept last night.
“Uh, sure. Give me the address.” I reached for my notebook next to my side of the bed. “This morning?”
“As soon as you can. Remember, don’t tell anyone at the firm.”
“Got it.” This sounded ominous.
“What’s that?” Rachel came out of the bathroom. “Cops outside to arrest you?”
“A.J. wants to meet with me. Without telling anyone else. Just Monica.”
“Good. I’m coming.” She opened her underwear drawer.
“Don’t you have work? I mean—great.” I reached for my boxers.
“I don’t have any clients until 11. We’ll take both cars if I have to leave before you. Or if you have to go out and fight a monster somewhere.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” I looked for my socks.
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