Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (6 page)

Ditching his cigarette, he waited for the two men to approach, but they both moved straight toward Ronnie instead.

“Veronica Baldacci?” the bigger one said.

“Yes. What is it?”

“We've had a helluva time tracking you down.”

Ronnie looked worried. “Is something wrong? Is it my family?”

“Your family's fine," he said. "In fact your mother's the one who told us where to find you.”

“I don't understand.”

His partner brought out a set of cuffs. “We need you to come with us.”

Ronnie's eyes went wide. "
What?
"

He moved toward her, spun her around and started cuffing her. “You're under arrest, Ms. Baldacci.”

Hutch couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"For what?" Ronnie said. "What did I do?"

The next words that came out of the cop's mouth didn't quite register at first. And when they did, Hutch felt as if he had been physically assaulted. Kicked in the gut.

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

PART TWO

Trial and Error

— 9 —

T
HE TRIAL OF
Veronica Baldacci started nearly four months later, on a day that would go down as one of the hottest in Chicago's history.

Hutch was assaulted by the stifling heat the moment he climbed out of the cab in front of the courthouse. Within seconds, even his sweat was sweating, and he couldn't wait to get through those lobby doors and into an air conditioned courtroom.

There was a crowd of TV and newspaper reporters waiting outside. Ever since Ronnie's arrest, the story had become the Next Big Deal, and the moment they found out that a bonafide down on his luck movie star had once been college housemates with both the victim
and
the accused, the vultures suddenly got interested again, looking to pick Hutch's carcass clean.

When his manager Corey suggested that this was a perfect way for Hutch to elicit sympathy and rehabilitate his career, Hutch had nearly put him through a wall.

He wasn't about to trade on Jenny's memory like that.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he'd said. It had taken everything he had to keep from leaping out of his chair and diving across the table. "I mean, seriously—are you
fucking
kidding me?"

Corey wore L.A. like a badge of honor—perfect haircut, expensive suits, sunglasses molded to his face, bluetooth receiver clipped to his ear. They were lunching at
Emilio's
, in Beverly Hills, and sat on the patio. They had chosen a table close to the street so Corey could check out the aspiring actresses who wandered by on a regular basis, hoping to get noticed. He seemed to notice quite a few.

"Look, Ethan, you need this. With the pilot taking a nose dive, you got about as much chance of snagging a part as my sister's Lamaze instructor. So you'd better wise up, my friend, and exploit the shit out of this."

Hutch had fired him on the spot. Stood up right there, tossed his napkin on the table and left.

He had no interest in boosting his profile or snagging
any
parts, now or in the immediate future. So Corey was an appendage he didn't need.

Not with the trial coming.

Now here it finally was, and Hutch wasn't three feet out the cab door when the vultures descended. He stayed calm, but he knew he had to move quickly, or it would be impossible to get inside the courthouse.

Charting a course for the lobby doors, he bore down and moved forward like a dolphin set upon by a pod of killer whales.

"Ethan. Ethan!" one of the reporters called. "Is it true you were sleeping with Ms. Keating?"

"Ethan!" another shouted over the first. "How long have you known Veronica Baldacci?"

Hutch ignored them and stayed on course, hurrying up the courthouse steps as they moved alongside, in back, and in front of him, pointing their cameras and extending their microphones.

"Ethan! Are you here in support of Ms. Baldacci?"

This was the question that finally made Hutch lose his rhythm, just as he was reaching the lobby doors.

How the hell could anyone ask him that?

As the doors opened in front of him, he turned, not sure which reporter had fired the missile, but determined to set him straight.

The crowd got quiet with anticipation and he said, "I want to make one thing very clear. I am
not
here to support Veronica Baldacci. As far as I'm concerned, the bitch should be roasted alive for what she's done. And that's the
last
I'll have to say on the subject."

A flurry of follow-up questions came at him, but Hutch ignored them and went into the building, reveling in the feel of the cool, refrigerated air.

But he was still burning up inside.

Are you here in support of Ms. Baldacci
?

Fuck you, Hutch thought.

Fuck. You.

— 10 —

W
HEN THE DEFENDANT
made her first appearance in court, nearly four months ago, the judge asked her if she was willing to waive her right to a speedy trial.

Under state and federal statutes, once a suspect was arrested, the court had a hundred and twenty days to put her in front of a judge and jury. The idea being that they didn't want a prisoner rotting in jail for a decade before anyone remembered she was there.

If the defendant waived that right, and was free on bail, a few weeks or even months were tacked on to the deadline to accommodate the court's schedule and give the prosecution and defense additional time to prepare for trial.

This could work to the advantage of both parties.

But because Ronnie had been charged with a capital offense, bail was set at two million dollars, and there was little chance she'd be able to raise the ten percent bond to set her free. So not only had she offered the judge a resounding "Not Guilty" at her arraignment, she had demanded that she get her day in court as soon as the law permitted.

Today was that day.

Hutch knew all of this because he'd been at that arraignment. Sat in the back of the courtroom as she gave her plea.

That night outside The Monkey House he had stood there speechless as the police had recited Ronnie's Miranda rights and escorted her to the cruiser, Ronnie glancing back at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if to say,
get me out of this—please.
 

And that had been Hutch's first instinct. To help her.

He couldn't fathom why they'd be charging her with Jenny's murder. At the time, it just didn't make any sense to him. He had immediately run inside to tell the others, then they all jumped into their cars and headed down to central booking, where Hutch had every intention of bailing Ronnie out.

But when they got there, they had been turned away, told that the police would be holding her until her arraignment three days later. Nobody was allowed to see or speak to her, except for her lawyer.

But
what
lawyer?

Hutch doubted she had one on retainer.

Still in a state of denial, he had decided he'd find her a good one. But then Nadine and Tom Brandt pulled him aside in the station house lobby and Nadine said, "You sure you want to do that?"

Hutch had frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"We were talking about this on the ride over. And let's face it, like Matt told us, the cops have had somebody in mind for this for several days now. They wouldn't have arrested her if they didn't think she was guilty."

"We're talking about Ronnie, remember?
Our
Ronnie."

"She hasn't been our Ronnie for years. And if you don't think she's capable of this, don't forget that story she told us back in college. About how she sent her mother to the emergency room."

"With a kitchen knife," Tom said.

Hutch remembered the story and shook his head. "She was defending herself. Brought the knife up when her mother went to slap her. She was doing the dishes at the time."

"That's
her
side of it," Nadine said. "Maybe her mother has a different story."

Tom nodded. "Let's look at this logically. By her own admission Ronnie has a history of violence, she and Jenny never really got along, and Ronnie herself said they'd been in contact recently."

Hutch balked. "One night. At a play."

"Maybe it's been more than that."

"Even if that's true, why would she kill Jenny? What's the motive?"

Nadine thought it over, shrugged. "Envy, maybe?"

"Envy?"

"Jenny was everyone's golden girl, and look at Ronnie. She's a dog groomer, for godsakes."

"So? You're a real estate developer, Tom's a professor, I'm a washed-up actor. What's the difference? We're all servicing
somebody
."

Nadine studied him impatiently. "That isn't how Ronnie sees it, okay? She was envious of Jenny. First with you—"

"
Me
?"

"Don't pretend you don't know she always had a crush on you. But that's just part of it. She looked at Jenny and saw the life she wanted but would never get."

"So she kills her?"

"Maybe she cracked. Maybe she's had issues for years and they all just came to the surface when she saw Jenny at the Godwyn."

Hutch couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're serious about this."

"All I know is about a month before the murder, she called me out of the blue and started rambling on about Jenny. Sounded a little obsessive and borderline incoherent."

"Or maybe she was just drunk," Hutch said. "Believe me, I know the territory."

"Maybe. But as much as I hate to say it, the first name that popped into my head when I found out about the stabbing, was Ronnie's."

"It all fits together if you ask me," Tom said.

Hutch shifted his gaze between the two of them. "Are you even listening to yourselves? We
all
envied Jenny, we've
all
done some crazy shit, and by your logic, any one of
us
could have killed her."

Tom nodded, looking solemn. "Except Ronnie's the one they arrested."

— 11 —

W
HEN IT FINALLY
came down to it, Hutch hadn't listened to his friends. Call it a massive character flaw, but he always wanted to think the best of people, even when he was bitching and moaning about them.

Even when they'd been arrested for killing the woman he loved.

Matt, Andy and Monica hadn't heard the conversation with Nadine and Tom, and Hutch didn't bother sharing it with them. Andy looked completely stunned and Matt kept shaking his head over and over, saying, "This can't be right. Ronnie wouldn't hurt a fly."

"If we don't get her a lawyer," Andy said, "they'll stick her with a public defender. And if that happens, you might as well throw away the key right now."

Hutch had agreed. "I'll take care of it."

So he had called his lawyer right there from the station house lobby, got a referral for a top flight criminal defense firm, and asked them to send someone over.

The associate who showed up was a tall, athletic blonde named Karen Waverly, who seemed slightly annoyed that her evening had been interrupted.

"Which one of you is Ethan Hutchinson?" she asked.

Nadine laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding?" Waverly was all business.

"You don't watch TV? Go to the movies?"

"I prefer books," she said, then scanned their faces. "Is this supposed to be top secret or are you going to tell me which one of you—"

"
I
called you," Hutch said, stepping forward, his hand outstretched. "Ethan Hutchinson."

She shook the hand. "All right, Mr. Hutchinson, just so you know, there's not a whole lot I can do tonight. I'm going to go in there, and with any luck they'll let me sit in on the interview."