Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (14 page)

"That was a few months back. But it was just a phone call. I was trying to see if she knew how to get hold of Hutch."

"You sure it wasn't more than that?"

Andy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Matt said. "It's not important."

"Well you sure as hell meant
something
by it. So why don't you illuminate us?"

Matt suddenly looked uncomfortable. "It was just a stupid joke. I know you always had a thing for her, so..."

Andy's face reddened. "So... what? Now all of a sudden
I'm
a suspect?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then why even bother bringing it up?"

Matt seemed at a loss for words, but Andy was all too happy to supply them.

"I get it," he said. "Sweet little Ronnie can't be the bad guy, but that Andy, he's got killer written all over him, right? Jesus Christ, Matt, I thought we were friends."

Remembering his own suspicions—and not feeling good about it—Hutch held his hands up. "Take it easy, man, nobody thinks you're—"

"Excuse me, I gotta take a leak."

Andy gestured and Monica slipped out of the booth. Everyone was silent as he stepped past her and headed across the room toward a sign marked
RESTROOMS
. Hutch could tell by his walk that he was too pissed off for words.

And who could blame him?

Hutch looked at Matt. "Aren't you gonna go apologize?"

Matt shrugged. "For what? I never said I thought he killed her. That's just Andy getting his back up like he always does. He'll get over it."

"You're his best friend, man."

"Believe me, I'm well aware that. It's a burden I've lived with for years."

"Fine," Hutch said. "
I'll
go talk to him."

Tom got out of his way and he climbed out and crossed the room to a short hallway, heading for a door marked
GENTLEMEN
. When he got inside, Andy was at the urinal, doing his business.

Hutch said, "You okay, man?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just standing here thinking about who my next victim'll be."

"Look," Hutch said, "Matt wasn't accusing you of anything."

"Whatever." He zipped up, flushed, then moved to the sink and started rinsing his hands. "But I want it on record that I'm not the only jerk sitting at that table."

"Duly noted."

They were silent as Andy reached for a paper towel, then Hutch said, "By the way, I've been meaning to tell you, I read your script when I was back in L.A."

Andy turned. "I've been wondering about that. Figured you didn't like it."

"Actually, it's pretty damn good. I sent it to a friend of mine, a Swedish director who does crime thrillers, looking to break into the American market. I figured it was right up his alley."

Andy's face lit up. "Seriously? Are you fucking with me?"

"He's got some juice, so if he likes what he sees you may get lucky."

"That's fantastic!
Jesus
."

"You got talent, man. A lot more than I ever will. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

Andy suddenly went quiet. It may have been a trick of the light, but it looked as if he had tears in his eyes. Then he quickly finished drying his hands and held one out, saying, "Thanks, man, I really appreciate this."

Hutch shook it. "I just call 'em like I see 'em." He paused as a thought occurred. "You have anything against writing for television?"

"Uh... no. Why would I?"

"If you want, I can pass the script along to some of the show runners I know, see if it can generate some TV work."

Andy stood there looking shell shocked.

"Just be warned," Hutch said. "This business is full of asshats who'll use and abuse you without a second thought."

"Ha," Andy barked. "That's true of every job I've ever had."

"Point taken. Now get the hell out of here before people start talking."

His friend smiled and thanked him again, then headed outside as Hutch stepped over to the urinal and unzipped. He'd had two root beers during lunch and felt as if he were about to burst.

He stood there ruminating on the simple pleasure of taking a much needed pee, when a toilet flushed and the booth door flew open. A young guy with a crewcut and thick, black-rimmed glasses emerged, stepping toward the sink. Hutch remembered him from the courthouse, one of the trial junkies who regularly sat in on Ronnie's trial. The pasty-looking guy he'd pegged as the creepy next door neighbor.

He had a large hardback book tucked under his arm, which he shoved into his book bag and set on the counter as he washed his hands with more soap than he needed. He spent a good half minute or so, scrubbing them thoroughly, as Hutch zipped and flushed and waited to use the sink.

The guy glanced in the mirror, and for a moment, their gazes met. And in that moment, Hutch felt a sudden sense of dread run through him. Outside of a few agents he'd known, this guy had the deadest eyes he'd ever seen. Black and shark-like, magnified by those thick, coke-bottle lenses.

He quickly looked away, and a moment later the guy was finished and gone.

It was only then that Hutch realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Y
OU'RE RIGHT," TOM
said, "He
does
look like a creep, but what are you thinking?"

Hutch was back in the booth now and it seemed that Matt and Andy had kissed and made up. Maybe the good news had done the trick.

The man with the black glasses was sitting alone at a table across the room, nursing a Pepsi and half a club sandwich as he lost himself in the pages of his book.

Hutch shrugged. "I'm not really thinking anything. Just making an observation."

"Maybe we should be putting him on our list of suspects," Monica said. "Along with Andy, of course."

Matt winced and Andy flicked a middle finger at her. "Nice try, thunder tits, but I'm bulletproof right now."

"You point that thing at me, McKenna, you better know how to use it."

"You had your chance back in college. You shoulda let me join one of your little web chats."

She cupped her breasts and jiggled them at him. "Dream on, buster."

It was a move Monica was famous for and everyone laughed. Hutch was glad to see that the old college camaraderie had returned, something he doubted the guy with the black glasses had ever experienced. Which, in a way, made Hutch feel sorry for him.

But then he'd always had a bit of a soft spot for people he saw eating alone. He knew it happened every day—hell, he'd done it enough himself—but there was a kind of inherent loneliness in the act that couldn't be denied.

That said, the creep didn't seem to be having a problem with it. Looked quite content with his book for company.

Hutch thought about those dead shark eyes and somewhere in the back of his mind he did exactly what Monica had suggested. Put him on the list with the Businessman, the Battle-Axe, Two-day Stubble, and just about everyone else who sat in that gallery every day.

He was thinking about this when he realized that the others had moved on with the conversation, and were now talking about Nadine, who remained the only hold out. The one person in the group who still thought Ronnie was guilty.

"So where is she?" he asked. "She promised me she'd be in the courtroom once the trial started."

"Busy getting rich," Tom said. "Some big real estate development she's been working on for months. Plus, she couldn't watch the trial even if she wanted to."

Andy frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she's a witness for the prosecution."

— 24 —

"W
ITNESS?" HUTCH
said. "What the hell did she witness?"

Tom picked at the crumbs on his plate. "You remember that call she told us about? The one from Ronnie?"

It took Hutch a moment to retrieve the memory. Then he saw himself huddled with Tom and Nadine in the police station lobby, Nadine telling them about Ronnie's nearly incoherent phone call the day after she ran into Jenny at the Godwyn Theater.

"They want her to testify about
that
?"

Tom nodded. "I guess they think it's relevant. A way of demonstrating Ronnie's frame of mind."

"Frame of mind? The way Nadine described it, it sounded more like a classic drunk-dialing mishap than anything significant. How did they even find out about it?"

"How else?" Tom said. "Nadine contacted the detective in charge."

Matt shook his head in disgust. "What the hell is wrong with her?"

"She and Jenny were still pretty close," Tom said. "Not like the old days, but I think Jenny was doing some legal work on that big real estate deal. Nadine puts up a good front, but she was pretty busted up by the murder."

Monica huffed. "Like that's exclusive territory."

"Look," Hutch said, feeling the mood shifting. "Let's not forget that Nadine's a friend, too, and she's gonna believe what she wants to believe. I'm not the only one here who knows what that feels like."

Tom and Monica nodded.

"But I'll see if I can get hold of her tonight. Try to talk some sense into her."

"Appeal to her insecurity," Andy said. "She never did like being the odd man out."

Hutch doubted such an appeal would make much difference. During all those years at college, Nadine had always been very protective of Jenny, played big sister to her—even though Jenny was six months older. When Ronnie and Jenny got into it back then, Nadine would always side with her best friend. So it wasn't much of a surprise that the tradition had carried through to the present.

Hutch knew that once Nadine took the stand she'd be talking about the volatile history her two friends had shared. But there wasn't really anything to it. Occasional eruptions that had never amounted to much. Nothing more than what they'd just witnessed between Matt and Andy.

Like most friends, Ronnie and Jenny had fought sometimes. Maybe a little more than usual, but Hutch had never sensed any real animosity between them. And when he and Jenny were alone together, she had never once complained about it.

To Hutch's mind, Nadine was letting grief distort her memory, and he'd have to do his best to get her thinking straight. Just as Matt had done with him.

"You think she'll come around?" Monica asked.

Hutch didn't have an answer.

T
HE SECOND HALF
of the day was more of the same. Abernathy and Meyer picking up pretty much where they left off, letting everyone know what an efficient and hard-working cop Meyer was.

The next three and a half hours were a flurry of testimony, objections and sidebars—not as dramatic as what you'd see on a television crime show, but just as compelling in its own way.

Anyone used to watching those shows would be amazed that a single witness could be on the stand for such a long time. Yet, for Hutch, those three hours rocketed by, playing like some of the most fascinating theater he had ever seen. Maybe he felt this way because there was so much at stake, but whenever he looked at the jurors, he saw that he wasn't alone.  

It was impossible to know, however, how much of what Meyer had to say rang true to these people. Was his arrogance as obvious to them as it was to Hutch?

It was a trait that he hoped Waverly would exploit during cross-examination—which he didn't expect to happen anytime soon, since Abernathy seemed reluctant to relinquish the stage.

Watching them, Hutch got the notion that they'd done this dance many times before, and their timing was impeccable.

"All right," the ADA said to Meyer as the end of the day approached. "Let's circle back to the defendant. You've said that despite the phone records and the statement of Ms. Keating's secretary, you weren't immediately convinced that Ms. Baldacci was the perpetrator."

"That's right," Meyer said.

"Why is that?"

He shrugged. "Because at that particular point in the investigation, Detective Mack and I felt she was merely a person of interest. One among many."

"Oh? So there where others you suspected?"

Meyer nodded. "Of course. We always try to put out as wide a net as possible, and the victim had a large circle of friends and business associates."

"Who else were you looking at?"

"Ex-boyfriends and family members for the most part. The nature of the assault seemed to suggest that this was a rage killing. That the perpetrator held some sort of personal animosity toward—"

"Objection," Waverly said. "I'd like to remind the court that such characterizations are beyond the scope of the defendant's expertise. He isn't a forensic psychologist."