Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (11 page)

"Because I still can't believe it. I can't believe Ronnie would do something so drastic."

"Maybe you need to readjust your thinking."

Matt shook his head. "You haven't been around her in years. But I have. Seen her several times—even had a little thing with her after her divorce."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Didn't last long. I was on the tail end of my first marriage and things happened. But we both quickly realized it was a mistake. We're better friends than lovers." He paused. "But you get that close to someone, you start to know how her mind works. What she's capable of."

Hutch had to admit this was true. Despite the distance between he and Jenny he'd felt the same way about her.

"And I have to tell you," Matt continued, "I meant what I said outside the station house. Ronnie isn't capable of hurting
anyone
."

"I think her ex-husband would disagree."

"That was an anomaly. And her ex is a scumbag, so who knows how much of what he told the cops was the truth? Ronnie says it's mostly bullshit."

Hutch had been staring at his half-empty glass and looked up sharply. "You spoke to her about this?"

Matt nodded.

"When?"

Matt seemed uncomfortable under Hutch's gaze. "I went out to the jail a couple days back, but in the interests of full disclosure, I've gotta tell you we've been in contact ever since she was arrested."

Full disclosure? What was going on here?

It took Hutch all of about fifteen seconds to put it together.

"Jesus Christ," he said. "You guys have been tag teaming me from the start."

"She didn't do it, Hutch. I know in my gut she didn't do it. I only told you all this stuff because Ronnie wants you to know exactly where things stand."

"Oh, really?"  Hutch was incensed. "So I sat in that interview room, Ronnie crying about wanting somebody to believe in her—and there
you
were all the time. Talk about
bullshit
."

"No," Matt told him. "She meant what she said. Sure, she's got me—and Andy, too—but neither one of us has the resources she needs to—"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Is that
really
what this is about? Money?"  Hutch scraped his chair back and shot to his feet. "I mean, I had my suspicions, but—"

"Don't make it sound so goddamn crass."

"How the hell else does it sound?"

"Look," Matt said, "Waverly's bosses have her on a short leash. They're only riding this thing for the publicity and don't give a damn about Ronnie. They'll do the minimum required to look good for the cameras, but won't spend a dime on her defense." He sighed. "Ronnie was making fifteen bucks an hour, for chrissakes—half of which went to that idiot she hired to handle the custody case. I've chipped in a little, and so has Andy, but we both have pretty hefty debts—"

"—And I'm the millionaire movie star, right?"

"This is isn't just about money, Hutch. It's about support."

"Support? You want me to support a killer?"

"I'm telling you, she didn't
do
it. I saw the crime photos. The condition Jenny was in—there's no way Ronnie did that."

"That's just wishful thinking. They've got Jenny's blood on her sweatshirt, Matt. D-N-fucking-A evidence. How do you get around that?"

"That's one of the reasons we need an expert to—"

"They found her hair in Jenny's car," Hutch said. "The proof is irrefutable."

Matt's jaw tightened. "Don't believe everything you read."

"So you're telling me that's bullshit, too?"

"Yes and no. It's not what you think."

Hutch shook his head in disgust. "I'm not gonna stand here and listen to this."

Turning, he moved away from their table and headed for the door, angrily shoving it open, fishing for a cigarette as he stepped outside. He'd never needed a smoke so badly.

He barely had it to his lips when Matt filled the doorway behind him, saying, "It was
dog
hair, Hutch. They're gonna try to convict her with goddamn dog hair."

Hutch pulled the cigarette from his mouth and turned. "What?"

"They conveniently didn't leak that part. Tried to make it sound like they had something substantial. Get a city full of potential jurors thinking Ronnie's toast before she even walks into the courtroom."

"That's ridiculous," Hutch said.

"It worked on
you
, didn't it?"

"You're sure about this?"

Matt let the door swing shut behind him and moved toward Hutch. "Ronnie got the police report when they turned over discovery. I saw it myself. The hair they found in Jenny's car belonged to a
canis lupus familiaris
. A goddamn domesticated dog. That's the only thing they have that ties her directly to Jenny's car. They're gonna make the claim that because she was a dog groomer, the hairs must've come from her clothes."

"I've gotta admit that's pretty thin," Hutch said, "but they still have her sweatshirt. The blood."

But he himself had questioned the careless disposal of that sweatshirt, and had attributed it to Ronnie's panic.

Was he wrong to have judged her so quickly?

"What if it was planted by some overzealous cop?" Matt asked. "Ronnie says the hoodie looks like one she used to wear, but insists it can't be hers. And they found it in a trash can in the alley behind her house. Anyone could have dropped it there. That's why we need an expert. To confirm that there's no trace of
Ronnie's
DNA on the shirt. No sweat, no skin, nothing."

"Can't you get that from the prosecution's expert?"

"Waverly says she can try on cross, but putting our own guy on the stand only reinforces the message. Most jurors go into a case thinking like Nadine. If the police arrested the defendant, she must be guilty. So the prosecution always has an advantage. And the only way to counter that is to put our own expert on the stand."

Hutch said nothing, feeling as if he were on an emotional seesaw. Up, down, up, down—one minute he wanted to throttle Ronnie, the next he was leaning toward believing her.

She had been right about his initial instincts. The girl of their college days may have had her problems with Jenny, but violence was out of character. And the one thing Hutch was any good at was understanding character. His process as an actor required a certain amount of insight into what made people tick—insight he used when preparing for a role.

And these revelations, along with Matt's steadfast belief in Ronnie, had him back on the fence, wondering which side to choose.

A large part of him wanted to follow Matt's lead, but what if Matt was wrong?

Hutch suddenly felt as if he had been confronted with the biggest, most important decision of his life and he wasn't sure he could make it. And for the first time in months he considered going back inside that bar and ordering himself a Jameson's.  

Just one to take the edge off.

He put the cigarette back to lips and lit it, inhaling deeply.

"She needs your help, Hutch. But not just your money. She needs you to believe in her. More than any of us."

Hutch blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Why me?"

"That's just the way it is. The way it's always been."

"Then she went about it all wrong. You both did. I don't like being manipulated, Matt. I get enough of that in L.A."

"You turned against her so quickly, we didn't think we had a choice. She had to get your attention somehow."

"She got that when she slit Jenny's throat."

Matt closed his eyes as if he were trying to center himself, to keep from exploding, lashing out. Then he opened them again and said in a flat, even tone, "We'll be in court first thing Monday morning—me and Andy—sitting on the defense side of the aisle. I'll save a seat for you, if you're interested."

Then he stepped past Hutch and headed for the parking lot.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, as the bailiff called out "All rise," Hutch moved down the courtroom aisle, nodding to Gus, then scanned the crowd until he found Matt and Andy standing in the front row on the right side of the gallery.  

As promised, there was an empty space next to Matt.

Hutch filled it, and as they all waited for the judge to appear, he said, "I called Waverly last night. Told her she's got a blank check."

Matt swiveled his head. "You mean it?"

"First on the list is getting Ronnie out on bond."

Matt smiled and shook his hand. "You're doing a good thing, buddy. You won't regret this."

Hutch hoped to hell he was right.

— 20 —

M
ATT ISAACS HAD
seen quite a few trials over the course of his career, and Assistant District Attorney Edwin Abernathy was one of the better song and dance men he'd come across.

Anyone who has spent time on a jury—or watched a few trials on cable TV—knows that, more often than not, the verdict comes down to one simple thing:  

Presentation.

Sure, you've got the evidence, you've got the witnesses, but if things are really cooking, and the parties have prepared, you can sometimes see a well-choreographed performance that's as compelling as good theater. That performance is designed to sway the jury, and a finding of guilt or innocence often depends on the showmanship skills of the attorneys involved.

Abernathy wasn't a particularly handsome man, but he made up for it with a rich baritone, a hint of style and a carefully nuanced sincerity that seemed unforced and genuine.

Matt had missed Jury Selection, but he knew the moment Abernathy opened his mouth that Ronnie was in trouble.  

"Ladies and gentleman, I want to take a moment to introduce myself to you again. Jury selection was a long, tedious process, and I realize most of you only look at me as the guy who asked a lot of personal questions. Some of them pretty invasive."

He paused, offering them a smile.

"So let's start over. My name is Edwin Abernathy, and I've been a prosecuting attorney for fourteen years. Signed on with the DA's office straight out of law school and haven't regretted a moment of it."

Matt didn't doubt that was true. The guy was a senior deputy who had racked up a long string of convictions.

"My job," Abernathy continued, "is to represent the State of Illinois. When one of our citizens has been taken from us, has been brutally murdered—as in the case before you today—my only concern is bringing her murderer to justice."

He paused, letting that sink in. Then he turned, gazing at Ronnie.

"Now, when you look at the defendant, Ms. Veronica Baldacci, if you're anything like me, you see an attractive young woman who doesn't look all that dangerous. Truth is, she could be my next door neighbor. A wife, a mother, a daughter, somebody's best friend. She is, under the eyes of the law, an innocent woman. And that's exactly how I'd like you see her. Innocent until proven guilty."

Matt frowned. By saying this, Abernathy was stealing some of Waverly's thunder, since she had undoubtedly planned to cover similar ground in her opening statement. Abernathy was talking like a defense attorney right now and that, to Matt's mind, was genius.

"Innocent until proven guilty," the ADA repeated as he turned back to the jury. "I say this because I believe that anyone accused of a crime deserves her day in court. Deserves to have the evidence against her weighed and evaluated by a jury of her peers—which in this case is you."  

He paused again, looking thoughtful. Matt knew that every pause, every syllable that Abernathy uttered this morning had been carefully rehearsed.  

Unfortunately, it didn't seem that way.

"But it is also my sincere belief that when you've heard and seen that evidence, when you've listened to the testimony of the witnesses the State of Illinois intends to put on the stand, you'll realize, as I did, that what you have before you is a vindictive, scornful woman. A desperate mother who was so afraid of losing custody of her only child that she lashed out in anger against a woman she believed had betrayed her:  Ms. Jennifer Keating.
Jenny
to her friends and loved ones."

Matt glanced at Hutch now, who sat stiffly beside him, watching Abernathy. He didn't know what had changed Hutch's mind about Ronnie—and he wasn't about to question it. But he did worry that once Abernathy was done, Hutch might again withdraw his support.

That's how good this guy was.

Matt felt bad about the way they had manipulated Hutch. But his old friend was a complex, conflicted man, and they'd known it would take a certain amount of persuasion for him to see things the way they did.