Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (8 page)

"Good," Hutch said, then got to his feet. He dumped what was left of his sandwich in a nearby trash bin, then started back toward the courtroom.

He was halfway down the hall when he stopped himself.

What was he doing?

Why was he being so obstinate?

Why
not
go see Ronnie?

It would give him a chance to tell her one-on-one exactly how he felt. To let her know how her actions had affected his life. All of their lives. How he would applaud when the guilty verdict came down, and would make sure to attend her execution. Sit right next to Jenny's old man and give him a high five when all was said and done. It wasn't quite the same as a bullet to the brain, but he'd gain some satisfaction from it. Small but significant.

Of course, the moment these thoughts came forward, the usual Hutchinson guilt kicked in. It was a trait he'd inherited from his mother, who had constantly second-guessed every decision she made.

But why feel guilty? He hadn't asked for any of this, had he?

It was all on Ronnie.

He turned around and saw Waverly still standing by the bench, watching him. As if she had known he'd reconsider.

"When and where?" he asked.

"After court today. Downstairs in the lockup."

"Tell her I might say some things she doesn't want to hear."

"I think she has a pretty good idea where you stand."

"Just tell her," Hutch said, then turned and walked toward the courtroom.

— 14 —

A
T 5:25 THAT
afternoon, Hutch said goodnight to Gus and met Waverly at the mezzanine elevators.

They had a car to themselves, and as they rode down to the basement, Waverly said, "A word of warning. They're only letting you in because they think you're assisting me with the defense. So please don't do anything to get me in trouble here."

Hutch wasn't quite sure how to take this. "What do you think I'm gonna do?"

"I don't know, Mr. Hutchinson. Hopefully, just listen. And talk. But you don't strike me as the most agreeable man in universe."

"Gee, I wonder why."

She studied him patiently. "Look, I know you've had a loss here. And I know you think Ronnie's to blame for that loss—"

"Which makes two losses, if we're counting."

She paused. "Right. The point is, all I'm asking is that you be on your best behavior and try to have an open mind."

"What does
that
mean?"

"I didn't want to say anything upstairs, but now that we have a little privacy, I just want you to know that the evidence against Ronnie is not as cut and dried as the nightly news makes it seem."

"I thought you didn't watch television?"

"I don't, but I've seen enough to know what they're saying about Ronnie, and I can tell you that most of it's wrong."

"Except for the part about her killing Jenny, right?"

Waverly sighed. "You're just being difficult for the sake of it, aren't you? What is it—some kind of actor thing?"

Hutch frowned. "Actor thing?"

"You've been playing the part of the grieving former boyfriend so long, God forbid you ever break character. No wonder I don't watch television."

Hutch reached over and punched the
STOP
button on the elevator panel and the car braked to a halt. Waverly's eyes widened slightly.

"You know, I'm doing you and Ronnie a favor here. She asked to see me and I agreed. I didn't have to do that."

"I know," she said.

"So if you're offended by the way I present myself, then I'm sorry, but this isn't an act. You don't think I'm agreeable? Fuck you. I'm here, aren't I? But if you want me to turn around, I'll be happy to do that, too."

She was quiet a moment. "How about if I just keep my mouth shut and let you talk to Ronnie?"

Hutch hit the button again and the car resumed its decent. "Sounds like a plan."

A moment later the elevator came to a stop, then the doors slid open and they stepped into a small room with a reception desk. A Sheriff's deputy was stationed there—an older guy with a thick wall of glass and a security door behind him.

Hutch could see the cell block beyond.

The deputy smiled and said hello to Waverly, then gestured to the registration book in front of him. "Sign in, please. And put your keys and cell phones in the tray."

They both did as they were told, the deputy eyeing Hutch carefully.

Hutch knew what was coming next.

The deputy's eyes brightened. "Hey, you're that guy, right? The one from Code Two-Seven?"

"That's right," Hutch said.

"You did a couple movies, too. That one with Bruce what's-his-name—you played the bad guy. The guy with the limp."

"That was me," Hutch said.

"So, you still acting?"

Apparently the man didn't follow the tabloids. Hutch shot Waverly a glance. "Some people seem to think so."

"Wait till I tell my wife I met you. We used to watch Code Two-Seven all the time. Still catch the reruns when we can. We're big fans of Jack Van Parkes. What's he up to these days?"

"Collecting social security would be my guess. Not that he needs it."

The guard chuckled. "No shit. Guy's been in show business what—fifty years?"

"Something like that."

"So what's he like? Nice guy?"

Hutch couldn't remember how many times he'd been asked this question, and he always answered with a lie. "One of the nicest I've ever met."

"I figured as much. He's got that look, you know? Even when he was younger. Got a friendly face like that Marcus Welby guy. You remember him?"

"I think he was a little before my time," Hutch said.

The deputy nodded thoughtfully. "Now you—you got that dangerous look. The kind the women always go for." He gave Waverly a wink. "Isn't that right, Karen?"

"Right as rain, Sam. He's a regular Hollywood bad boy. Can we go in now?"

The deputy nodded again, then reached under the edge of his desk. A bell rang somewhere beyond the glass, then the door clacked open and Waverly stepped toward it.

"Let's do this," she said.

As Hutch started to follow her, the deputy called out after him. "So is this what you do now?"

Hutch turned. "What's that?"

"Between acting jobs. You work for Karen?"

Hutch hesitated. "Yeah," he said. "Gotta pay the rent."

The deputy smiled. "Don't you worry, hot shot, you'll be back on top again. I can feel it. If it means anything to you, the wife is gonna be thrilled when I tell her. Who knows, I might even get a little action tonight."

The thought gave Hutch pause. Not an image he wanted inside his head.

"Good luck," he said, then followed Waverly through the doorway.

— 15 —

T
HE COURTHOUSE LOCK-UP
was small but efficient, nothing more than a couple rows of cells that were occupied by defendants waiting to be returned to jail after their day in court.

Ronnie was in cell number six, no longer wearing the business suit she wore during jury selection. Now it was an orange jumper with the letters
CCDOC
stenciled in black above her left breast.
Cook County Department of Corrections
.

The make up was gone, too, and she looked pale and drawn and a little smaller than usual. Beaten down. Defeated.

The last time Hutch had seen Ronnie like this was in their sophomore year, after she'd gone through a very bad break up. Some mysterious guy none of them had ever met, whom Matt had always suspected was an English professor named Wyler.

Only this wasn't about a break up, was it?

This was much, much worse.

Hutch instantly felt sorry for her—couldn't help himself—and had to wonder if hatred and sympathy were mutually exclusive. All the rage he'd built up over the last few months began to dissipate the moment he saw her pitiful, forlorn face, and he had to remind himself why he was here. What she had done.

After another deputy opened her cell and escorted them all to an interview room, Waverly made a face and turned to leave, claiming she'd forgotten the case file in her car.

"Better make it fast," the deputy told her. "Bus leaves in fifteen."

Waverly assured him she would hurry, then nodded to Hutch and Ronnie and exited.

After the guard left, closing the door behind him, Ronnie said softly, "Thank you for coming, Hutch."

He perched himself on the edge of the interview table, trying to figure out how he felt. Now that they were face-to-face, his big plan to tell her how much he despised her seemed childish and pointless.

"To be honest," he said. "I'm not sure why I did."

She nodded. "Karen told me what you said to the reporters. Pretty strong words."

"Can you blame me?"

"Not with all the lies they've been spreading."

Here it comes, he thought. She was about to make this easy for him. "And which lies are those?"

She started pacing. "The hairs. The sweatshirt. The phone calls."

"So you're saying that's all bullshit?"

"I didn't kill her, Hutch. I swear to God. Why would I even
want
to?"

It was a question he'd been pondering for months now. Why? Why had she done it? Had her brain somehow begun to misfire, making her view Jenny as some kind of threat to her?

Hutch sighed. "Look, Ronnie, I have no idea what motivates you, but one thing I
do
know is that I didn't come here to listen to this. You might as well face it, they've got you nailed. You did it, everyone knows it, and this trial is just a formality. You're about to be convicted of murder."

"But I didn't murder anyone!" She stopped pacing and spun on him as she said it, her eyes full of heat and desperation. "Jenny was a
friend
of mine. Why would I... You
have
to listen to me, Hutch.
Somebody
has to listen to me."

"That's what Waverly's for."

"Oh, fuck her. All she cares about is the PR. She never uses the word hopeless, but I can see it every time she looks at me. I feel like a goddamn cancer patient."

Hutch shrugged. "The vibe I've been getting is that she's starting to think you're innocent."

"It doesn't matter what she
thinks
, it's what she can prove. She says the investigation was a complete joke. That the police went for the easy target because of those phone calls—which I did
not
make."

"Then who made them?"

"How the hell do I know? Somebody out to get me. And just about anyone could've planted that shirt. Do you think if I actually killed her I'd be stupid enough to put incriminating evidence in my own trash?"

"So... what? You're saying you were set up?"

"What else could it be?"

"By who?"

"I don't know—the cops, maybe? The guy who arrested me was a first-class prick."

"That doesn't make any sense," Hutch said. "Didn't those phone calls came
before
the murder?"

"Yes, but... I don't know—maybe they fudged that, too, somehow. The cops have been under a lot pressure to solve this case. Jenny's dad has a ton of influence in this town and I'll bet he's been hounding their asses from the get-go."

Hutch eyed her skeptically. "Does Waverly have any evidence of this?"

Ronnie looked at the floor. "No," she said. "I don't know... She mentioned something about getting our own DNA expert, but that costs a lot of money and it might not convince the jury. Which means I'm screwed."

There were tears in her eyes now, but Hutch was unmoved. The rage had begun to creep up on him again as he imagined Jenny lying in that vacant lot in Dearborn Park, her throat slit, her body bloodied by a dozen or more knife wounds.

Knife wounds that Ronnie had inflicted.

Set up? He doubted it.

Part of him wanted to grab her right now and get this whole thing over with. To stop these ridiculous denials and spare the state the time and expense of putting her on trial.

He tried to calm himself. "So, in other words," he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice, "you've got nothing. Just some bullshit defense tactic to keep the jury guessing."