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I mean, yes, in his career as a podcaster, he’d seen plenty of criminals walk free due to a lack of evidence or some other judicial problem, but if I were making that argument, so had Hunter Lockwood.
His family had been the victim of a killing that had gone unsolved.
But Hunter didn’t see the legal system as corrupt or inadequate—he’d dedicated his life to it. And while, in his eyes, some criminals got off, he worked every day to put others away. He played a huge part in the justice system, in holding people accountable for their crimes.
Further, Hunter was three inches shorter than the Vigilante and twenty pounds lighter. And to my knowledge, he had never displayed any violent tendencies.
Plus, Hunter would have nothing to gain by murdering people in the city. Along with his role as a prosecutor, Hunter Lockwood had the power and the influence to leverage his connections to bring criminals to justice. If he had any information relating to a crime where the perpetrator got away scot-free, he could work with law enforcement to bring about charges. He didn’t need to don a mask and prowl the streets of Chicago, slitting throats.
Nor would he risk everything to do it.
Neither would Sean.
Plus, the Vigilante had said it was nice to officially meet me. I had met Hunter Lockwood by that point, and Sean had been in my life for years. The only person fitting the Vigilante’s profile—who I had not officially met at that point—was my dad’s old cellmate and friend, Rodney Murphy.
He had a perceived injustice with the legal system, and he’d gotten out of prison right around the time the Windy City Vigilante took to the streets and made his infamous actions known.
“And, of course,” Rinaldi continued, “one of the most common traits we see in vigilantes is a tendency toward violence. They typically have a history of violent behavior, and vigilantism provides an outlet for that aggression.”
“You think it’s someone with a record then?”
She shrugged. “Depends on whether they ever got caught before. My guess is this guy has been escalating for years. You don’t lose your virginity to murder. You start out smaller. Maybe beatings or something like that. Chances are, this guy has been a violent person his entire life, and now, that violence has escalated.”
While I didn’t know Rodney’s full criminal history, I recalled my dad once telling me that Rodney got into a brutal fight with another inmate.
It would seemallthese boxes were checking.
“There is one terrible rumor circulating that needs to be squashed.” Her voice was soft and hesitant.
“What’s that?”
When she spoke, her words came out in a stuttered, stilted flow, and her eyes darted around the room as if worried someone might overhear.
“Whoever started the rumor is probably just someone working for the mayor’s opponent,” she reasoned. “The very idea that a mayor would orchestrate these vigilante attacks just so that he could come swooping in and rescue the city from a dangerous criminal on the loose is absolutely ludicrous.”
“The hell?”
“Like I said, ludicrous.”
It was absolutely ludicrous, not even worth talking about further. When she let out a barely audible sigh of exasperation as she shifted her weight, I could tell she didn’t give any weight to the preposterous accusation, but rather, she was annoyed, protective of the mayor, who was actively working to take this Vigilante down.
My mind circled back to the more tangible information we had been talking about.
“But to your knowledge, he’s only targeted people accused of heinous crimes,” I said.
“To our knowledge, yes, but…there’s no telling what he may do if he gets backed into a corner.”
CHAPTER32
Luna
When one was protected by a bodyguard, how would someone get her alone?
Answer: they’d create a diversion.
In this case, a man who tried to steal my purse, only to be taken down by my bodyguard, who shouted at me to get back inside my office building and lock the goddamned door.
I should have considered how strange it was—that a person would be stupid enough to target a woman who wasn’t alone—because as soon as I ran past the small space between my office building and the structure next door, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.
