“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.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN 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.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN 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.”
“Luck?” Andy said. “Don’t they have to let you? You’re her lawyer.”
“Not officially, not yet. If she doesn’t outright ask for representation, they may play games to keep me out of there. And if that happens, we can only hope she keeps her mouth shut. They’ll use every trick they have to pull a confession out of her.”
“Unless she didn’t do it,” Hutch said.
Waverly paused, giving him a tight smile. “There’s always that possibility, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try anyway. I’ve seen more than one innocent person confess to a crime they didn’t commit.”
“That’s nuts,” Andy said. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Some people don’t hold up well under the strain of interrogation. After a while they’ll say pretty much anything just to get the cops to leave them alone.”
“Just tell us this,” Nadine said. “Would the police have arrested Ronnie if they didn’t have some kind of evidence against her?”
Matt swiveled his head and shot Nadine a look.
“If all they had was a potential suspect,” Waverly told her, “they might call her in for an informal interview. But the fact that they arrested her usually indicates that they feel they have a pretty strong case. And if they can secure that confession, your friend’s future doesn’t look promising.”
Hutch studied her a moment. “You think she’s guilty.”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. My job is to represent a defendant to the best of my ability and that’s what I intend to do.”
“I get that,” Hutch said, “but you do think she’s guilty.”
“I can’t make a determination of guilt or innocence without the facts in front of me, and it’s a question I never ask a criminal defendant. But if you want my gut feeling about this or any other case that goes to trial, let’s just say the police don’t usually get it wrong.”
Hutch glanced at Nadine and Tom, and for the first time, wondered if they were right about Ronnie.
Could she really have done this?
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS THE LAST of his sweat finally dried up and he went through the courthouse security scanner, Hutch kept thinking about that night and the few days that followed.
Waverly had explained that even if she could get in to see Ronnie, attorney-client privilege would prevent her from telling them anything, so they might as well go home. She had Hutch’s cell phone number and would have her office contact him about any financial arrangements. And if Ronnie authorized it, Waverly could discuss the case with him after that.
When they all got outside, Matt had immediately spun on Nadine, saying, “What the hell was that all about? You think Ronnie did this?”
“It was just a question,” she said. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
But Matt clearly wasn’t happy with this response and the next thing Hutch knew there was a full scale argument going, right there on the station house steps, the group split down the middle over the question of guilt or innocence.
Monica sided with Nadine and Tom, while Matt and Andy were both outraged that they could even think one of their friends was a stone cold killer.
“Jenny and Ronnie may have had their problems,” Matt said, “but Ronnie would never hurt anyone. It just isn’t in her nature.”
When Nadine reminded them about the incident with Ronnie’s mom, they had reacted with the same skepticism Hutch had shown earlier. An accident, nothing more.
Matt turned to Hutch. “So where do you come down on this? Are you falling for this bullshit?”
Hutch, now firmly on the fence, wasn’t sure how to answer him. He wanted to believe in his friend, but the truth was, he hadn’t seen her in ten years. A lot could happen to a person in that amount of time.
He was certainly a testament to that.
Much to Matt’s disgust, Hutch had remained noncommittal. And in the days just prior to arraignment, the police department and prosecutor’s office started privately leaking information while publicly denying it.
“A little bit of pretrial jury persuasion,” Waverly had called it.
And it was persuasive.
Hairs found at the crime scene. A black INCUBUS sweatshirt with Jenny’s blood on it found in Ronnie’s trash. A flurry of phone calls from Ronnie to Jenny just prior to the murder.
If you wanted to taint a jury, this was just the kind of evidence to do it with. And while it might seem like a stretch that Ronnie would be stupid enough to leave incriminating evidence in her own trash, Hutch thought she was just scattered and impulsive enough to do exactly that. People do the damnedest things in the face of panic.
By the time of the arraignment, he was no longer on the fence. The evidence against her was simply too overwhelming, and he was now convinced that Nadine and Tom and Monica had indeed been right. That, as painful as it might be to admit, Ronnie really had done this.
She had stabbed Jenny to death.
Brutally.
Without mercy.
He didn’t want to believe that his friend was a killer—the mere thought of it filled him with remorse—but what choice did he really have? What was the point in refusing to see the truth, as heartbreaking as it might be?
And as this realization set in, as he accepted that truth, Hutch once again felt rage growing inside him.
Three days later, he had sat in the arraignment, staring heatedly at the back of Ronnie’s head, wanting more than anything to press the barrel of a gun against it and pull the trigger. The thought that he had shown this woman sympathy, had actually stood there chatting with her the night Jenny’s funeral—had even found himself attracted to her—made him sick to his stomach.
He had immediately withdrawn his financial support, and had expected Waverly’s firm to drop the case. But with the growing publicity, they must have smelled opportunity, and continued representing Ronnie pro bono.
Hutch had gone back to his life in L.A., only to see the pilot he’d shot shit-canned by the network. He did a couple of minor guest shots on CSI and Criminal Minds, auditioned for a three-episode arc on The Mentalist that never materialized, and spent the rest of the time waiting.
Waiting for this day to come.
So now here he was, nodding thanks to the security screeners and working his way down the crowded hallway to courtroom 128, where jury selection was about to begin.
State vs. Veronica Baldacci.
Murder One.
The bitch should be roasted alive for what she’s done.
The moment Hutch saw her sitting at the defense table, all dolled up for the proceedings, he thought of Jenny and how much he had loved her.
And he once again wanted blood.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WASN’T UNTIL the third day of jury selection that Ronnie asked to see him.
The process had been long and boring and Hutch had almost bailed a few times, but convinced himself to stick it out. He wanted to see everything there was to see here. Watch as every member of the jury pool was questioned by the prosecutor, by Waverly, and even the judge.
He made a game of it, starting his own mental scorecard, trying to figure out who would secure a permanent seat in the box.
The guy with tattoo on his neck?
Not a chance.
The old lady who kept blowing her nose in the middle of the prosecutor’s questions?
Nope.
What about the professional “dancer” with the platinum blonde hair who claimed to have a PhD in psychology?
Not likely.
There were, however, a couple of potential jurors Hutch thought were perfect for the defense—a woman of about thirty, with a subtle motherly vibe,
and a sixtyish father of three who kept looking at Ronnie as if his heart was breaking. They both struck Hutch as no-brainers, and he hoped the prosecutor—a burly guy named Abernathy—would quickly bump them.
But to his surprise, Waverly did it first. For cause.
And the “dancer” got the nod from both parties.
So much for Hutch’s instincts.
Earlier that morning he had looked around the courtroom and saw that he wasn’t the only one here for the duration. Next to the usual reporters and family and friends, the place was full of what were commonly known as court watchers or trial junkies. People with nothing better to do, hooked on the promise of courtroom drama. Most of them middle-aged or older. Retirees, drop-outs, medical cases.
Hutch figured he was kind of a retiree himself. Had money in the bank, a place to live, and a desire to do nothing but sit here and see Jenny get her justice.
“I guess that makes me something of a trial junkie, too,” he told one of the regulars, who had introduced himself as Gus. About sixty-five and built like an ex-marine, he was once a bailiff in this very courthouse.
Gus shook his head. “You been here—what? Two, three days now? Some of these people been coming here every day for years. Treat it like a job.”
“Never mind, then,” Hutch said. “It’s just the one trial for me.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ve heard that before. You just be careful you don’t get hooked.”
Hutch almost smiled. Replace one addiction with another, he thought.
Maybe it would help him stop smoking.
The trial junkies came and went as the jury selection droned on. Another regular was a much younger man than usual, maybe twenty-five or so, who kept to himself. A pasty-looking guy, with thick black-rimmed glasses and a crewcut, who always had a book bag slung over his shoulder and spent his time during breaks buried in the pages of a book.
If Hutch were casting a movie, he’d immediately hire this guy to play the weird neighbor or the creepy stalker. But in truth, he was probably just another lonely soul, looking to fill his time with other people’s problems.
Mortal Crimes 1 Page 158
