Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (236 page)

"Assuming they ever catch him."

Hutch's eyebrows went up. "I thought they had a suspect?"

She shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. They're working on some leads, but I figure something like this, it's gotta be some kind of serial killer. And if Jenny was a random victim, how the hell will they ever find him?"

"Please don't say that. You don't know how badly I need them to catch this guy."

Ronnie's eyes teared up again and she gave him another hug. "Oh, Hutch, you poor thing. Don't even listen to me, okay? Nobody else does."

"Then who do I listen to? Matt? Is he still with the Post?"

"Last I heard, although they're cutting staff like crazy."

Hutch pulled away from her. "Is he coming by tonight?"

She nodded. "They're parking the car. I rode over with him and Andy."

"That must've been an interesting trip."

She grinned. "Did you feel your ears burning?"

"No. Should I have?"

"Let's just say your name came up once or twice."

"But in a good way, right?"

Her grin widened. "You really want me to lie?"

Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted her to tell him that he was still well loved by all his old friends, because thinking that might make him believe that coming here hadn't been a mistake. "So how many times was the term 'jerk off' used?"

"We're talking about Matt and Andy, so use your imagination." She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "God, it's good to see you. Come on, let's go grab our old table before the young'ns do."

"Young'ns?"

She gestured. "I don't know if you noticed, but we're senior citizens around here."

She grinned again, then moved through the crowd, pulling him along with her. He got a few surprised stares along the way, but he ignored them and let Ronnie drag him to the back of the bar where the old table was miraculously empty.

Then he saw the RESERVED sign and realized someone had called ahead.

"Thank God for Nadine," Ronnie said, then slid onto a chair and patted the one next to her. "Don't think you're getting away from me for the rest of the night."

Hutch wasn't sure he wanted to. He was relieved to discover that Ronnie and he had slipped quite easily into their old personas, the camaraderie between them familiar and comfortable. If he hadn't been obsessing over Jenny, he might have noticed how attractive she'd grown over the last few years.

Maybe he did anyway.

But before he could sit down they were suddenly assaulted by two fast-moving figures, the first of which—Andy McKenna—slid onto the chair that Hutch was about to occupy. "Sorry, dude, this is
my
spot."

Ronnie tried to shove him away. "Jesus, Andy, do you always have to be so rude?"

"You don't want to sit next to me?"

"I'd rather sit next to somebody civilized, thank you."

Andy looked at Hutch. "You see how it is? Without the movie star looks, all I get is the cold shoulder."

What Hutch saw was that nothing had changed. Andy McKenna, God love him, was just as boorish as he'd always been. The only reason anyone had ever tolerated him was because he was Matt's best friend, and everyone loved Matt.

Speaking of whom, Matt himself scraped a chair back and sat across from Andy, telling him to "Quit being a douche, all right?" Then he looked at Hutch and nodded his head toward the chair next to him. "Have a seat, stranger. It's good to see you."

In light of his conversation with Ronnie, Hutch wasn't sure how sincere the words were, but he told himself to take them at face value. They shook hands and he sat down. "How've you guys been?"

Andy shrugged. "How do you think? I'm stuck in a cubicle all day. Ain't like I'm rolling around in the sheets with a hottie-of-the-month like Gina Wakefield."

Hutch had expected comments like this. The sheets in question had been on a Paramount sound stage, surrounded by a lighting crew, a continuity girl, a DP and an obsessive-compulsive director who had no idea what he was doing. Oh, and most of the shots had involved a body double named Bridget whose voice was so high and whiny it was like a knife to the skull. But Hutch didn't bother to point that out.

Ronnie frowned. "Jeez, Andy, can't you dial it back for just a few minutes?"

"Buy me a drink, hot stuff, and I'll do whatever you want." Then he turned to Hutch, a sullen look on his face. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Hutchinson."

Here we go. "Oh? Why's that?"

"I sent you a script about a year back, and you never said a word. If it sucks, it sucks, but you could at least give me the courtesy of picking up the phone and telling me."

Matt said, "Give it a rest, Shakespeare. This little soirée isn't about you."

"No, no," Hutch said, "that's okay." He looked at Andy. "Thing is, this is news to me. Where did you send it?"

"To your agent, with a nice little note telling her I'm a friend of yours."

Hutch frowned. "Do you realize how many emails my agent gets every week from so-called friends of mine? I have a two-minute conversation with a car wash attendant and we're suddenly long lost buddies."

"So?"

"So I never got it. And knowing my agent, it went straight into her trash folder."

"What the hell kind of agent is that?"

"The kind who's trying to protect him," Ronnie said, "from morons like you."

Andy shot her a look and Hutch asked, "So do you still want me to read this thing?"

Andy's eyes brightened. "Hell, yeah."

Hutch hadn't known the guy was a closet writer, and was skeptical that the script would be any good. Ninety percent of the screenplays that managed to get
past
his agent were complete dreck. But it wouldn't kill him to take a look. "I'm thinking I might stick around for a couple days, so if you can get it to me before I leave…"

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

Andy stood up. "Hell, I'll go get it right now."

"Oh, for chrissakes," Matt said, "give the guy a break. You can email it to him later."

"I'm like six blocks from here. I'll pop it on a thumb drive and be back before you finish your first drink."

There was a sudden desperate eagerness to Andy's demeanor that made it impossible to discourage him. Hutch had seen it a million times before—people on the outside looking for a way in. And despite his agent's love of the trash folder, he figured everyone deserved a shot. Even Andy.

"Have at it," he said. "I'm here for the duration."

Andy clapped a hand on his shoulder, a transformed man. "Thanks, Hutch. You're a pal." Then he was threading his way through the crowd and out the door.

"He seems pretty chipper for a guy who just came from a funeral," Ronnie said.

Matt shrugged. "Everyone has their own way of coping."

"Or he's just an egocentric jackass."

"There's that, too," Matt said, then turned to Hutch. "You do realize you just made my life a living hell."

"Why's that?"

"Because no matter how this turns out, I'm never gonna hear the end of it."

CHAPTER SEVEN

ANDY WAS LESS than a minute gone when a chorus of voices called out to them.

Three familiar faces emerged from the crowd—Monica Clawson and Tom Brandt, with Nadine Overman pulling up the rear.

Hutch rose from his chair and the next few seconds were filled by hugs and kisses and shaking hands. He felt a sudden warmth envelope him, his trepidation about coming here melting away with each new embrace. They all seemed genuinely glad to see him, and he felt the same.

Back in college there had been others who had fallen in and out of their little tribe—boyfriends, girlfriends, hangers-on—but the core members were here tonight, and it reminded Hutch how much he missed those days. He didn't want to be one of those maudlin jerks who dwelled too much on the past, but tonight was different. Tonight he could allow himself to wallow a little without feeling foolish.

When they were finally done greeting one another, chairs scraped back and everyone sat down.

"Where was McKenna rushing off to?" Tom asked.

"Chasing a dream," Matt murmured. "He's got a script he wants Hutch to read."

"That's intriguing," Monica said. "Any idea what it's about?"

"Not a clue. Today was the first I've heard about it."

Ronnie said, "It's a thriller of some kind. Something to do with a woman trying to fight off a stalker."

They all turned, Matt asking the obvious question. "And you know this
how
?"

"From Jenny."

"
Jenny?
" Hutch said.

"I ran into her about a month ago. At a play at the Godwyn Theater. We got to talking about you, Hutch, and she mentioned that Andy had called her, wanted her to read a script he'd written, see if she'd be willing to pass it on to you."

Hutch's surprise deepened. "Why Jenny?"

"He thought she might still be in touch with you."

"Or he was just using you as an excuse to call her," Matt said. "Try to see where her head was at."

Hutch frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't know? Andy's had a thing for Jenny for as long as he's known her, but you kept getting in the way. And after you left, she got involved with that guy from Brooklyn—and they were together, what?"

"Over three years," Nadine said.

"Then she hooked up with that assistant D.A., and once
that
went south, Andy probably thought it was time to finally grow some balls and make his move."

Monica snorted. "As
if.
No offense, but I don't see him being Jenny material."

"I tried to tell him that," Matt said. "That she was way out his league. But you know Andy. He's always looking for some new way to humiliate himself."

This cracked everyone up, but Hutch couldn't bring himself to join in. Andy could be an overbearing snot, no doubt about it, but that was no reason to laugh at him behind his back.

Besides, there was no "league" when it came to Jenny. Yes, she was beautiful and smart and classy and successful, but she didn't have a superficial bone in her body. She'd be the last person in the world to discriminate against someone because of some intangible social or personal barrier. And in their attempt to make fun of Andy, they were disrespecting Jenny, as well.

But maybe Hutch was being overly sensitive about all this. He was just coming off of a nearly two-year stint as the butt of everyone's jokes. Two years full of knowing stares, quiet snickering and snide remarks. There was no doubt in his mind that some of the people here—and even Andy himself—had been part of it. But that didn't mean Hutch had to join in when someone else was the target.

He had inflicted enough cruelties in his life.

When they were done laughing, a harried-looking waitress finally approached their table. They all ordered the same drinks they had back in college: a pitcher of draft beer for Matt, Ronnie and Tom, a rum and Coke for Nadine, and a kamikaze for Monica.

The only one who deviated was Hutch.

As promised, he ordered a root beer.

When the waitress was gone, he said, "Okay, enough about Andy." He turned to Matt. "You're the man with all the police connections. What can you tell us about the investigation into Jenny's murder?"

Nadine groaned. "Oh, God, must we? I've done enough crying for one day. Can't we talk about the
good
times?"

"I just want to know how it's progressing."

Matt sobered. "It's not my story."

"Why not?" Monica asked. She had leaned back in her chair as if to accentuate her breasts, which every male in the group had long ago agreed were quite spectacular.

She had worked her way through college as a webcam stripper, baring those breasts on a private video website to anyone with enough cash to subscribe. She had never made any apologies for what she did, but to keep things civil, she'd asked her employers to block the IP addresses of the school and the house they all lived in, so that none of the guys could join in—much to their chagrin.