Trial Junkies

— 2 -

Hutch had never been good at funerals.

The last one he had attended had been his parents' memorial service, two years after he left Chicago. They had died in a plane crash-a story that gained huge traction in the media-and his appearance there had created such a stir with the paparazzi that he vowed he would never attend another, no matter who might be lying in the casket.

This was back when the paparazzi were actually interested in him. Nowadays they looked at him as little more than a washed-up curiosity. A source of ridicule and scorn.

Not that he cared.

In the three days since he'd read about Jenny's death, he had been through the usual gamut of emotions-denial, anger, an almost unbearable sense of guilt and regret. He had printed out the photograph from the Post web page and carried it on the flight to Chicago, taking it from his shirt pocket every so often to look into Jenny's eyes.

Where were you, Ethan?

Why didn't you return my calls?

Would calling her have changed anything? Would she still be alive?

There was no way to know, but in his gut he felt as if he were somehow to blame for what had happened to her. A feeling that fed into his addictive tendencies with an unrelenting singularity of purpose.

But he hadn't taken a drink. Hadn't snorted any coke. Even when he desperately wanted to.

That was something, wasn't it?

Now, he stood in the loft of St. Angela's Cathedral in the heart of his home town, hiding those emotions behind the darkest pair of dark glasses he could find. He had no idea if anyone would recognize him-his celebrity wattage had dimmed considerably-but he saw no point in taking chances. The last thing he wanted was to turn Jenny's service into a circus. Better to keep his distance and pay his respects in private.

Down below, the church pews were starting to fill up with friends and family. He saw faces he knew and felt a sudden tug of nostalgia, remembering better days, when he and his friends had been so full of hope and promise.

But what drew his attention was the shrouded casket in front of the altar and the thought that Jenny lay inside, her body stitched up but apparently too gruesome to be put on display.

Which was just fine with Hutch. He didn't need to see her like that.

But at that moment, he felt consumed by hatred. Hatred for whoever had done this to her. The police had been remarkably discreet over the last few days, news reports speculating that they had a suspect, but no names had come forward. No faces. And Hutch wished he had that suspect in front of him right now, so that he could do to the beast what the beast had done to Jenny.

Retribution was what he wanted. Retribution for the woman he had loved.

And had thrown away.

Where were you, Ethan?

Why didn't you return my-

"You gonna hide up here all afternoon?"

Startled, Hutch turned and saw a familiar face. He hadn't heard her come up the stairs and was thrown slightly off-kilter, immediately slipping into his old standby-the movie star smile. It wasn't appropriate for the moment, but he had little else to fall back on, and it helped cover the rage that was percolating inside him.

"Nadine," he said. "How've you been?"

The years had been good to her, but there was a hardness in her expression he'd never seen in their college days. "Let's play catch up later. Why don't you come down and join the rest of us?"

Then she turned and started down the stairs, pausing briefly to glance back at him. She and Jenny had been best friends once and had always resembled each other-so much so that people often mistook them for sisters. She had those same intelligent eyes that bore into you as if you were a hostile witness caught in a lie.

Now they were colored by sorrow.

"Well?" she said.

His smile gone, Hutch merely nodded, then followed her down the stairs.