Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (20 page)

"Some of them might like it," Andy said.

They both shot him a look, then Hutch said, "Sounds like that cop from the OJ case. The one who lied about using the 'N' word and pleaded the fifth when they asked him if he planted evidence."

Ronnie nodded. "Exactly. Waverly's theory is that he let his bigotry dictate his actions. And she thinks I'm right about Jenny."

"Meaning what?"

"That her death has all the earmarks of a random rage killing. Some lunatic who shares Meyer's sentiments toward women, but carried it to the nth degree."

Hutch and Andy exchanged a glance and Andy gave him a subtle shake of the head. He hadn't told her about Frederick Langer. A bit surprising considering his usual lack of tact.

Hutch said, "That's part of the reason I invited everyone over tonight. I could be wrong, but I think  Jenny's killer might—"

The phone rang, cutting him off.

"Might what?" Ronnie asked.

Hutch got to his feet. "Let me get that. We'll talk about this when everyone's here. It all comes down to Matt now."

"
What
comes down to Matt? What are you talking about?"

Hutch crossed to the ringing telephone—which was mounted on the wall next to his front door—and grabbed the receiver. "Hey, Maurice."

"My boy, you've got about a boatload of food and bunch more visitors down here waiting to grace your presence."

"Send 'em up," he said. "And tell the delivery guy one of the meatball sandwiches is for you."

"Really?"

"You think I'd leave you out? Party hearty, my friend."

He hung up and turned and saw that Ronnie was on her feet and coming toward him. "Are you gonna tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Maybe nothing," he said. "Depends on what Matt was able dig up."

She got a look in her eyes that wasn't quite characteristic of the Ronnie he knew. None of the desperation she'd shown in her jail cell, but a trace of anger mixed with frustration. "That doesn't answer my question.
What's
going on?"

All Hutch had was a feeling. A hunch. But at that moment, what he was about to tell her felt so right that he didn't pause, didn't hesitate.

He said, "I'm pretty sure I've found your lunatic."

— 33 —

B
Y THE END
of the evening,
it was Ronnie who tried to put the kibosh on the whole thing.

Matt, Tom and Monica had arrived in a hail of hugs and hellos as Hutch tipped the delivery man.

Gus had come too, at Hutch's invitation, and after a brief moment of awkwardness, the old guy settled in with the group as if he were thirty years younger and had shared a semester or two with each and every one of them.

Matt had a manila folder tucked under one arm, which he discreetly placed under his chair as they grabbed seats at the dining table and began doling out food.

It was a scene reminiscent of those long ago days on Miller Street and Hutch once again felt the warmth of nostalgia wash over him as he and his friends laughed and shared memories and ate pizza and sandwiches and drank the chilled bottles of Double Diamond that Tom had picked up at a local liquor store.

Hutch stuck to his usual root beer.

The absence of Jenny and Nadine was, of course, just one of the many elephants in the room, but nobody mentioned them. Not in the beginning, at least. Just as they didn't mention their reason for gathering that night.

That first hour was instead devoted to the magic of friendship, a notion that Hutch had somehow managed to lose track of, but was happy to have found again.

Monica began to pester him, asking him what it was like hanging out and working with some of the big names in Hollywood. He had met most of the usual suspects at one time or another—Pitt, Jolie, Clooney, Damon, Johansson, Hathaway—but the truth was, even at the peak of his fame he ran in different circles and knew as little about them as Monica did. Maybe less.

"The thing you've gotta understand is that Hollywood isn't the bubble it used to be. So I may run into somebody at a party once in awhile, but most the time I keep to myself."

"Yeah," Monica gushed, "but at least you've met them. I think I'd pee my pants if I ever did."

Andy smirked. "I'd buy
tickets
to see that."

Ronnie frowned. "Don't be such a perv."

"Gotta stay in character, babe. Don't want to disappoint the fans."

Not one to be left out, and possibly sensing Hutch's discomfort with the current subject, Gus began to tell them stories from his many years as a bailiff, including one about a serial rapist who had fallen out of his intended victim's window as he tried to break in, then went to trial in a full body cast, over the defense attorney's strenuous objections.

"She claimed there was no way he could get a fair trial like that, but the judge wouldn't budge. They wheeled the son of a bitch into the courtroom on a gurney and made him listen to the testimony with one of his legs pointing straight into the air like a plaster-cast erection." He started to chuckle. "Believe me, I had a helluva time holding it together
that
week."

Everyone laughed. They were gathered in the living room by then, occupying the sofa, the chairs, the floor, Tom pounding the palm of his hand on the rug where he sat, saying, "That's brilliant. That's just brilliant..."

And while it felt good to be laughing, it wasn't long before they sobered up and the conversation worked its way around to why they were all here.

Matt retrieved his manila folder and now laid it on the coffee table as they waited to hear what he had to say. "I have to admit I was a bit skeptical when Hutch came to me last night." He looked at Ronnie. "I assume he told you what he saw?"

"And heard," Hutch said. "Don't forget that part."

He could still hear that odd, joyful mewling sound in the back of his mind. It made him shiver.

Ronnie had seemed a bit subdued ever since he'd told her about Langer, but she nodded to Matt. "Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it."

Monica agreed. "I knew there was something wrong with that guy the minute Hutch pointed him out."

"Yeah, well Hutch was pretty wired up last night," Matt said. "And I can't say I blame him, but my first thought was, what are the chances that this freak really had something to do with Jenny's murder? God knows there are a lot of screwed up people in this world, but having a death fetish doesn't necessarily translate, you know?"

Tom nodded. "Not everyone with an obsession for astronomy wants to hop aboard the space shuttle."

"Exactly. But I went along because I could see it was important to Hutch, and thanks to Gus here, we've got a name to put with the face."

Gus gave them a little bow as Matt reached to the coffee table now and flipped open the folder. Inside was a short stack of papers, the first of which was a
People Finder
printout.

"His name is Frederick Langer, twenty-eight years old, with an address on Radcliff Avenue in Wicker Park, according to his state ID application—which was the first red flag."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

Matt set the page aside to reveal another printout showing a photograph of a street, the focus of which was a vacant lot. "I Google-mapped the address and did a street view. Turns out there's nothing there. At least there wasn't when Google did its run. So I took a drive out there to make sure, and nothing's changed."

"Maybe it's a mistake," Andy said. "Maybe he transposed the numbers on his  application."

"Even if he did, it still doesn't play out. I tried switching them around and found a gas station, a laundromat and a CPD substation."

"So he lied," Hutch said.

Matt nodded. "From the looks of it. But that's not the only red flag I encountered."

"Oh?"

"There are two more that I think are pretty telling. First, Langer applied for his state ID card about four months before Ronnie was arrested, and it wasn't a renewal. There's no record of any previous applications."

"He must be new to the state," Tom said.

"That's what I thought. So the next question I had was, where did he come from? But when I did a database search—and it was a pretty exhaustive one—the second red flag hit me smack in the face. There are several Frederick Langers, but the only one with this guy's birthdate was born in Savannah, Georgia."

"I don't get it," Monica said. "How is that a red flag?"

Matt looked at her. "On its own, it isn't. But the search also brought up a death certificate. He died when he was six months old."

It took a moment, then Tom said, "So the name's a fake. He stole the child's identity."

"Bingo," Matt told him, and they all looked at one another in slack-jawed surprise, Hutch now knowing that he was right to trust his gut.

"I've seen this before," Gus said in disgust, after a long sip of his Double Diamond. "This kinda nonsense grinds my beans. Guy pays a few dollars to get a birth certificate, then uses it to generate new forms of ID, like a social security number, credit cards, driver's license. Anyone checks him out, he's completely legit."

"As long as they don't look
too
hard," Andy said.

"Problem is, nobody does."

Monica was perplexed. "But why the fake address? What's the point in that?"

"An extra layer of protection," Gus told her. "If anyone comes calling—like a debt collector, or the boys with badges—they trace him straight to a vacant lot."

They all thought about that, then Tom turned to Matt. "So what's the third red flag?"

Matt flipped to the next sheet of paper, a photocopy of a credit statement. "Gus is right about the credit cards. Our guy has racked up quite a few purchases over the last few months." He gestured to the page. "These are from his second month here."

Tom frowned, looking at the photocopy. "This is confidential information. How did you get it?"

"
Ve haf our vays
..." Matt said, with a German accent.

"Meaning bribery was involved."

"Or sexual favors," Andy said. "In the right light, with the right amount of booze in you, our boy Matty here is nearly impossible to resist."

Gus's eyebrows went up. "You speaking from experience?"

They laughed again, then Monica said to Matt. "What happened to all your big talk about reporters and ethics?"

"It's an ideal, not a rule. Anyway, if you look at the purchases on this sheet, you'll find one of the biggest red flags of all."

Hutch reached to the table and grabbed the photocopy, carefully reading the list.

Bockwinkel's

Food 4 Less

Food 4 Less

Bockwinkel's

Food 4 Less

(He was sensing a pattern here...)

Target

Rite-Aid

Food 4 Less

Food 4 Less

Bockwinkel's

Hutch stopped cold when he saw the next item on the list. Felt something wet and slimy slither up his spine, laying eggs along the way. And all at once he knew that his suspicions about Langer were no longer just a hunch, but inching ever closer to a cold, dead certainty.

The others must have seen this reflected in his expression, because more than of one them said, "What is it? What does it say?" The loudest and most urgent voice came from Ronnie, who had been largely silent until now.

What he saw on the page would seem innocuous to anyone not watching the trial or privy to the discovery files. To them, it might even be comical. But to those in the know—to Hutch and to most of the people in this room—it was nothing short of a bombshell.

"It looks like a tuition payment," he told them. "Our boy spent some time getting an education. Which in itself isn't that big of a deal. It's the school in question that raises the flag."

Andy frowned. "Jesus, Hutch, spit it out already."

Hutch tore his gaze from the photocopy and looked at them. "It's a two thousand dollar payment to the Wyndham Academy of Pet Grooming."

— 34 —

"P
ET GROOMING?" GUS
said with a frown.

Hutch nodded. "Unless this is some kind of donation, Langer went to pet grooming school."

Gus turned to Ronnie. "I don't follow. Is that where you work?"