Chapter Twenty-NineD'Angelo was almost certain he hadn't been followed. The police wouldn't have; they would've chased with sirens wailing and red lights flashing. But maybe the lawyer had tried. D'Angelo didn't think so, but he hadn't thought he would follow him into the hospital stairwell either. So he took a circuitous route back to his apartment just in case.
Inside, he hastily poured himself a glass of scotch and carried it with him to a window in his living room that commanded a view of the front of the building and beyond. He gulped the drink down and, while standing the entire time, peered out the window a full five minutes. He saw no sign of Paul or anyone else.
He lowered himself into a nearby easy chair and stared at the ceiling. Being followed wasn't his only concern. He was
