Trial Junkies

— 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."

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."

Ronnie was quiet for a long moment, just staring at him, the tears now rolling down her cheeks. She looked like a kid from one of those Feed the Children commercials.

"You're never gonna believe me, are you?"

"Not likely."

"What can I do to change your mind?"

"Not a whole lot."

Another pause. More tears.

"Just tell me this," she said. "What was your first instinct when they arrested me? What did you think?"

"Does it really matter?"

She reached for his arm. "Of course it does. Our first instincts are usually the best ones. You hired a lawyer for me, so you must have thought the police had made a mistake. That I could I never hurt Jenny. I could never hurt anyone."

Hutch remembered Matt saying those very words. But where was Matt now? He hadn't seen or heard from the guy since that night outside the police station.

He hadn't heard from any of them except Nadine, who promised she'd be taking time off work to watch the trial with him, as soon as the jury was selected.

Hutch pulled his arm free. "The thing of it is, any instincts I might have about you are ten years old. All I know is that you quit smoking, you still drink draft beer, you groom dogs for a living, and you haven't figured out what you want to be when you grow up. But what does that tell me? Not a goddamn thing."

"I didn't kill her, Hutch. I swear to you I didn't."

Hutch had to admit this was an Emmy-winning performance. "Trust me, I want to believe you, but it just isn't happening."

"What if I can prove it to you?"

He hesitated. "How?"

She looked for the watch on her wrist and realized it wasn't there. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," he said, wondering why it mattered. "I gave my phone to the guy at the desk-maybe quarter to six or so."

She nodded. "Good, then there's time."

"For what?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

Hutch balked. "Come on, Ronnie, why are we even bothering with this dance?"

"I mean it, Hutch. I want you know why it's impossible for me to have done what they're accusing me of. What you're accusing me of. I need you to see what's at stake for me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I want you to go to my mother's house."

Hutch sighed. "Come on, Ronnie…"

"You don't have to go inside. Just park out front and wait. But get there before seven o'clock."

"You can't just tell me what this is about?"

"No," she said. "You have to see for yourself. If you want to know who I am now and understand why I could never hurt anyone, then you have you do this. Please."

There was that word again.

He hated that word.

"I haven't seen your mother in court," he said. "Does she think you're guilty, too?"

Ronnie's eyes flashed in anger, but she caught herself before going off on him. "I told her to stay home. I don't want her seeing all this. She has enough to worry about."

"So why send me to her house?"

"I told you. You have to see for yourself."

Hutch shook his head. "What exactly do you expect to gain from this, Ronnie?"

"Maybe someone who believes in me. I just want someone to believe."

Someone with cash, no doubt. Despite the publicity, Waverly's firm might not be anxious to shell out much capital on what was ultimately a losing case, especially the kind of money it took to hire a private DNA expert. This was a pro bono charity job and Waverly's time alone was already enough of a financial hit.

Hutch, on the other hand, had money to burn. And in the unlikely event that Ronnie could get him back on her side, he might be willing to part with some of it.

He wanted to tell her to dream on, but his curiosity was piqued. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the reminder that she was once his friend kept niggling away at him like a paper cut.

Should he do as she'd asked? Call her bluff?

"All right," he said. "I'll go to your mother's house. But I doubt it'll do any good. Whatever you're up to, it won't change my mind."

She almost smiled then. Not quite, but he saw traces of one around the edges of her mouth. Wistful but relieved.

"Thank you, Hutch. I knew I could count on you."