Trial Junkies

by Robert Gregory Browne

  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  He had immediately withdrawn his financial support, and had expected Waverly's firm to drop the case.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.

  — 13 -

  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.

  When they broke for lunch that third day, Karen Waverly brought Hutch a note from Ronnie.

  Hutch and Gus were sitting on a hallway bench, eating vending machine sandwiches-purportedly roast beef-when she approached and said, "You probably don't want hear this, but my client wants a face-to-face."

  Hutch couldn't say he was all that surprised. He'd figured it would happen sooner or later, with Ronnie seeing him sitting there in the gallery every day.

  He stared at the folded slip of paper in Waverly's hand, then took it from her and opened it. There was only one word written across it in flat black ink:

  Please

  Suddenly overcome by both anger and regret, Hutch crumpled the note and tossed it to the floor.

  How dare Ronnie play with him like this.

  "You could get a hefty fine for that," Gus told him. "Littering on government property."

  "I can afford it."

  Gus seemed to sense the tension and got to his feet, saying, "See you inside."

  Then he shuffled off toward the courtroom.

  Hutch looked up at Waverly. "Was there something else you wanted?"

  "I ran a background check on you."

  "You did, did you?"

  "Now I understand why your friend was so shocked at the station house that first night. When I didn't know who you were."

  "If this is a pitch for money, you can go to hell."

  Waverly didn't flinch. "I wouldn't dream of asking you for money, Mr. Hutchinson. And neither would Ronnie. You made your feelings very clear after the arraignment."

  "Then what do you want?"

  "I'm just passing along a message," she said. "But I also wanted to tell you that I may've made a mistake."

  "About what?"

  "About what I said at the police station. When you asked me if I thought Ronnie was guilty."

  "I don't think there's any question about it at this point. Do you?"

  She shrugged, and Hutch got the sense that maybe she'd had a change of heart as well. The exact opposite of his. Which would mean she surely knew something he didn't, because the evidence he'd read about was pretty damning.

  "Well?" he said. "Do you?"

  "I can't say any more than that. But I really do think you need to see her. She's a bit of a mess right now."

  "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 f
or 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 -

  At 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 -

  The 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."