Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (12 page)

Matt wouldn't have bothered if it weren't so important to Ronnie. Not just for the money—as Hutch had rightfully suspected—but because Hutch was the one person whose support was most important to her. This, despite the fact that she hadn't seen nor heard from him in years.

Matt found this perplexing, but then women had always been one of the great mysteries of his life. Hence the two divorces. But he knew that a dozen Matts and Andys wouldn't amount to a single Hutch in Ronnie's eyes. Especially when he thought back on what had ended his own brief affair with her.

What Andy would call a major boner killer.

It was an embarrassing moment for both of them, and enough to make them realize the futility of what they were doing. And as much as he had enjoyed being with Ronnie, had enjoyed her ferocity in bed (the woman had moves he'd never dreamed of), he knew it had a been a mistake.

Having another man's name hurled at you in the throes of passion—Hutch's name, to be precise—tends to make you see things a little more clearly. Even so, Matt
did
care about Ronnie. Enough to let her go despite the loneliness of those days just prior to his divorce—and enough to believe in her now, even when the rest of the world didn't.

A cynic might think that
Ronnie
was manipulating
Matt,
but he refused to allow himself to go there. It was true that she had her share of problems—as they all did—but she wasn't a conniver any more than she was a murderer, despite what the Assistant District Attorney had to say about her.

And he certainly wasn't holding back.

"Contrary to appearances," Abernathy continued, "as the evidence will show, the defendant, Veronica Baldacci, is a brutal killer who stalked and harassed Ms. Keating for nearly a month, before luring her from her car and attacking her in a fit of rage. The evidence will show that the defendant, Veronica Baldacci, stabbed her victim fourteen times in the chest and thighs before slitting her throat and leaving her to bleed to death in a vacant lot."

He paused to let this sink in, and Matt knew that the image of a broken, bloodied body was forming in the minds of everyone in that courtroom. For some, that image included Ronnie, standing over Jenny with a knife in her hand.

"That's what this trial is all about," Abernathy said. "Evidence, motive and the ability for you, as jurors, to see past any preconceived notions you might have about what a murderer looks like. The defendant may well seem innocent on the surface, but I think that by the time you begin your deliberations, you'll all agree with the State of Illinois that she's guilty of murder in the first degree."

With a final glance at Ronnie, Abernathy stepped away from the podium and went back to his table.

Matt looked at the jurors, a diverse mix of Chicagoans, and he knew that the ADA had scored some major points—all in a few simple words.  

That simplicity was the beauty of Abernathy's opening. He had primed the pump without giving anything away, and it would take all of Waverly's skill as a defense attorney to reverse his momentum.

She looked eager to try.

When Judge O'Donnell—a stern-faced man with heavy jowls—gave her the nod, she shot to her feet. "Thank you, Your Honor." Then she turned to the jury and said, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

Several of jurors nodded as others murmured "hello" in response.

"I'd introduce myself to you again," she said, "but I don't think that's necessary, do you? Who I am is not important, because this trial—this miscarriage of justice—is not about me."

Bam
, Matt thought. A line drive right out of the box. He glanced at Abernathy, but the prosecutor seemed unfazed.

Waverly waited a moment, then said, "
Defendant.
You heard Mr. Abernathy use that term a number of times during his opening statement in reference to my client, Veronica Baldacci. The
defendant.
"

She paused, squeezing Ronnie's shoulder.

"But, you see, I have a problem with that word. Because labeling the accused the
defendant
implies that she has something to defend. Yet under the eyes of the law, the accused is not required to defend herself at all. The accused is not required to do or prove
anything
. The burden of proof lies solely with the prosecution."

She paused again, scanning their faces. "Think about that. The State of Illinois must
prove
that the accused is guilty of a crime. Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt."

She moved away from the defense table now, stepping up to the podium.

"Mr. Abernathy talks of scorn and vindictive behavior, of harassment and stalking and desperation, but his words are nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Attempts to cloud your perception of Ms. Baldacci before you've even had a chance to hear the truth. But the truth is, ladies and gentlemen, that none of the evidence the state intends to parade in front of you actually
proves
that Veronica Baldacci committed a crime. As Mr. Abernathy himself told you, Ronnie Baldacci is indeed innocent until
proven
guilty, and what you will see and hear over the next few days does not meet that burden of proof. Not even close."

Matt and Andy exchanged a grin, and now Hutch turned to them and whispered, "She's good," as if to reinforce what they were already feeling.

"But I won't lie to you," Waverly continued. "Some of what you'll hear will certainly
seem
damning. The so-called DNA evidence. The phone calls. But as we all know from recent events in the news, DNA evidence can often be tainted. DNA evidence is only as reliable as the people who handle it—some of whom are desperate to close a case. To find a killer."

Waverly turned now, gesturing to Ronnie.

"But as Mr. Abernathy himself said, Ronnie Baldacci does not look like a killer. And why is that? Because Ronnie Baldacci is
not
a killer. Ronnie Baldacci is nothing more than a good woman struggling to raise a child, doing the best she can to make it in this world. The police came after her because she was an easy target. Because her presence in Jennifer Keating's life—tangential as it was—made it easier for them to close yet another case in a city where so many murders go unsolved."

She stared intently at the jurors now.

"As you'll soon discover, this is a classic rush to judgment. The kind of move only the most cynical and lazy law enforcement officers make. And because of that cynicism, because of that laziness, Jennifer Keating's
real
killer remains at large."

She gestured to the gallery.

"For all we know, he could be sitting in this courtroom today, or watching on TV, or reading about it online or in the papers. And he knows the one thing that I know. What the police and prosecutor should have known, and what every one of you will
soon
know once Mr. Abernathy has finished presenting his case." She paused, staring intently at the jurors. "That Veronica Baldacci is
not
guilty."

As Waverly returned to her seat, Matt smiled inwardly. It was a brilliant strategy. If you convict Ronnie Baldacci, the
real
killer will go free. A powerful deterrent to anyone with an itchy trigger finger.

Whether or not the jury would buy this strategy was difficult to say, however, and as Matt studied their faces, he got nothing from them.

Judge O'Donnell said, "Thank you, Ms. Waverly," then turned to the prosecutor. "Mr. Abernathy, please call your first witness."

Abernathy nodded and got to his feet. "Your Honor, the state calls Detective Jason Meyer to the stand."

And so it begins, Matt thought.

— 21 —

T
HEY KEPT THE
cop on the stand for nearly three hours before breaking for lunch.

Detective Meyer had that subtle swagger that so many of these guys carry like a well-worn accessory. His every expression, his every mannerism, sent an underlying message to the courtroom—
I've seen it all and I know the truth.
 

Hutch had studied a number of cops over the years. Had met a few in his drunk and disorderly days, had done a couple ride-alongs while preparing for roles, and he recognized that familiar attitude of superiority. Had noticed it the first time he saw Meyer, outside The Monkey House
,
as Meyer slapped the cuffs on Ronnie, saying the words that had been like a punch to the gut.

We're charging you for the murder of Jennifer Keating.

Meyer was big and hard-bodied, about six-three or so, with broad swimmer's shoulders. Not a guy you wanted to square off against. Physically or mentally. Not that he struck Hutch as a mental giant, but he seemed to carry a tenaciousness of spirit that didn't give him room to back off, no matter what the circumstances. And if you got too smart for your own good, he'd simply stare you down until you shut the fuck up.

After quickly running through Meyer's credentials, Abernathy got straight to the heart of the matter. "Detective, please tell us how you first became involved in this case."

As Meyer spoke, his tone was infused with a solemn authority. He was the grown-up here and the courtroom was full of clueless children who needed to sit back and listen. "We got a call-out at approximately eleven p.m.," he said. "A DB in Dearborn Park, discovered by an apartment owner walking his dog."

"DB?"

"Dead body."

The prosecutor nodded. "Go on."

"So my partner Charlie Mack and I headed out that way and found the victim in the middle of a vacant lot on Clark street. She had multiple stab wounds and a severe throat laceration."

"And you were able to identify her as Jennifer Keating?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Her car was parked at the curb and her purse and driver's license were inside."

"And once you determined this, what did you do next?"

"Detective Mack waited for the crime scene techs to arrive while I briefed the responding officers and we started canvassing the neighborhood, looking for any possible witnesses to the crime."

"And did you find any?"

"Just one. A Ms. Rita Culberson, who told me she was awakened at approximately 10:40 p.m. by what she thought was a scream. She lives in an apartment with a window that faces the lot."

"Did she see anything?"

"No, but her statement gave us an approximate time of death and helped us work out a timeline."

Hutch knew he should be paying attention here—Meyer was a critical witness, after all—but he found himself quickly tuning the guy out. Kept thinking about something Waverly had said during her opening statement.

For all we know, he could be sitting in this courtroom today.

Meaning the killer, of course. The
real
killer.

It had taken Hutch a while to come around to the idea that Ronnie had been unjustly accused. He'd still had some lingering doubt when he walked into the courtroom this morning, especially after the ADA had done his thing. But Waverly's performance had been magnificent, managing to sum up in only a few words what had taken Hutch weeks to realize: that, just as Ronnie had suggested, he should trust his initial instincts. That the wrong person was on trial here.

He could admit to himself now that he'd gone a little crazy over Jenny's death. The funeral had set him on edge and in the days following the arrest he had allowed himself to fall prey to the prosecution's propaganda.

He didn't much like himself for it. Ronnie had deserved better from him. And he hoped that in the days to come he could somehow make up for it.

But if Ronnie wasn't the killer, who was?

It was a question that gnawed at Hutch. Who would want Jenny dead?

For all we know, he could be sitting in this courtroom today.

Instead of listening to Meyer recite the facts as he saw them, Hutch let his mind and eyes wander, glancing around the gallery, sizing up the various spectators.

There was the man in the far right corner on the prosecution's side, a button-down type who, for all Hutch knew, may have known Jenny quite well. May have worked with her at the law firm. May even have shared a drink or two with her, dreaming about getting her into bed.

May even have succeeded.

Or been rejected.

Then there was the seedy looking guy in the third row right, with the two-day stubble and the frayed collar. He seemed to be killing time between sessions of his own trial, and Hutch had no idea why he was here or what his relationship to Jenny might be. Was he a friend of hers? A former client? Was he yet another trial junkie? How exactly did he fit in?