Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (42 page)

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

Gathering himself, he took a deep breath, tried to ignore the throbbing in his head, and went back out into the hallway.

And that was when Ronnie started to scream.

— 60 —

W
HILE HUTCH WOULD
be the first to admit that he was no Bob De Niro, there were
times in his career that he had found himself in the zone.

The zone, as he defined it, was that moment when the cameras started rolling and the external world fell away around him. No distractions, no crew members, no hot lights strategically placed to make the visuals pop. He was so singularly focused that he began breathing the character's energy, getting lost in it.

And at that point, the choices made themselves.

When Hutch heard Ronnie scream, he immediately slipped into the zone. He flew across the hallway and ran up the stairs, no longer a victim to such trivialities as pain and fear and dizziness and nausea and a body that didn't want to cooperate. This wasn't a role he was playing, and the stakes here were much, much higher than the Nielsen numbers or a weekend's worth of box office bounty.

He took the stairs two at a time, bounding onto the fifth floor landing and into the hall, then made a straight line for the apartment door—the
right
apartment this time—Ronnie's terrified screams the fuel that drove him forward.

When he reached the room with the lights and the overhead camera, Frederick Langer was kneeling on the mattress, trying to smother Ronnie's cries as he raised the switchblade—about to plunge it into her naked, heaving chest.

Hutch shouted, "Langer!" then launched himself across the room.

Hutch tackled him, hard, driving him off the mattress, slamming him into the wall. One of the work lights toppled and began to stutter and spark as they bounced to the floor and rolled across the threadbare carpet.

For a moment they were a tangle of flailing limbs and desperate grunts, Hutch struggling to gain momentum. But he was still in that zone, still acutely focused, and he anticipated the creep's moves before Langer even made them. The switchblade arced toward his face, but Hutch deflected the blow with his forearm and brought his own knife down, burying it in Langer's left shoulder.

Langer howled and fell back, pain and rage in his black eyes. He dropped the switchblade and began to cry like a child, clawing at his shoulder, trying to get at the knife, which was still lodged there, as Hutch pulled himself free and staggered to his feet.

He looked at the man without pity and didn't hesitate. Swinging a foot back, he kicked Langer as hard as he could, square in the face. The glasses went flying and bones crunched as the creep's head snapped back and he crumpled to the floor and stopped moving.

Hutch didn't know if the guy was dead or alive and didn't give a damn.

Scooping up the switchblade, he scrambled back to Ronnie and began cutting away the tape that strapped her to the mattress. As he pulled her free, she lurched into his arms, sobbing, and he hugged her tight, smoothing her hair.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay..."

She trembled uncontrollably. "Christopher... He took Christopher..."

"I know... I know."

"Gus said he wanted to help us get out of town. But then he drove me here and left me with that sick fuck and took Chris with him." The tears were still flowing. "Oh, my God, Hutch. Oh, my God."

"We'll find him," Hutch said, remembering Gus's promise, hoping that he was a man of his word. "Help me with this mattress."

"What do you mean? Why?"

He pulled her to her feet. "There's something underneath it. A gift from Gus."

She eyed him skeptically, but didn't protest. They grabbed hold of the mattress and flipped it up against the wall—

—and laying face down on the carpet was a rectangular piece of white paper or cardboard.

Hutch grabbed it and turned it over, expecting to find a note of some kind.

Instead he saw a familiar photograph: the shot of Ronnie kissing him in the back of Andy's Mustang. The same shot that had been sold to
The Gab Bag
by one of her neighbors.

Ronnie wiped at her eyes and stared. "What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

Hutch was at a loss, thinking it had to be another of Gus's games.

But then it hit him.

One of Ronnie's neighbors.

One of Ronnie's neighbors had taken this shot.

Hutch knew what this meant. "Find your clothes," he said, digging into his pocket for his cell phone. "I'll try to get hold of Andy. We need a ride out of here."

"Hutch, what's going on? Where are we going?"

"To your neck of the woods," he told her. "Roscoe Village."

— 61 —

T
HERE WERE NO
paparazzi or tabloid reporters camped out in front of the Baldacci home. No news vans parked at the curb. The buzzards had already picked at the carcass, and satisfied that Ronnie Baldacci wasn't coming home, they'd moved on to the Next Big Story.

For now, at least.

The neighborhood was remarkably quiet, asleep for the night, and as Andy steered his Mustang around the corner, Hutch wasn't surprised to see Gus's blue Volvo parked in the driveway of a two-story bungalow across the street and to the left. Judging by the angle of the photograph, this had to be where the photographer lived.

Ronnie shuddered when she saw the car.

"Oh my God," she said. "He's here. He's waiting for us."

"I don't think so." Hutch slipped an arm around her, remembering what Gus had told him. That he would be long gone, off on another adventure.

Assuming the old psycho had told him the truth, that is.

"He just wanted to make sure we found the right house," Hutch said. "I'm guessing it's a rental?"

Ronnie nodded. "It has been for years. There's been a half dozen different families living there. Do you think Christopher's in there?"

"I hope so, but let's not—"

Before Hutch could finish, and before Andy could even pull the Mustang to a complete stop, Ronnie broke away, threw her door open, and was out of the car.

"Christopher!" she shouted. "Chris!"

Then she tore across the lawn and Hutch followed, his head once again throbbing as he ran after her.

What if he was wrong?

What if Gus
was
inside?

As she was about to reach the front steps, Hutch caught up to her and grabbed her arm, stopping her, whispering urgently, "Wait. Wait!"

"I need to get in there," she said, trying to break free. "Christopher's in there. I know he is."

Hutch didn't doubt her instincts, but if the boy
was
in there, was he alive? If Gus had done something to him, if Gus had hurt him or worse, Hutch didn't want her seeing him like that.

He tried to catch his breath. "Just wait here. I'll check it out."

"You can't expect me to—"

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Look at me, Ronnie. I'm serious. Let me go in first. If I find anything, I'll call you in."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it and nodded. She was trembling again, almost uncontrollably. Now Andy was coming toward them, and Hutch gestured to him, sending him a message with his gaze.

Andy immediately moved to Ronnie, putting a comforting arm around her. "Easy now, everything'll be fine."

He and Hutch exchanged looks, then Hutch noticed a pile of gardening tools laying in a nearby patch of dirt. Moving to them, he found a rabbiting spade and hefted it, then returned to the steps, nodded to his friends, and started up them.

He checked the door, found it unlocked, turned the knob.

A moment later he was inside the house.

— 62 —

T
WO THINGS HIT
him as he stepped inside.

First was the faint smell of chemicals permeating the air, but it wasn't the mix of disinfectant and polish you might expect in a house like this. He stood in a nicely appointed living room that looked as if it had been furnished and decorated in the 1940's. But that smell was acrid, pungent, and all Hutch could think about were the many crime documentaries he'd seen on cable TV—and the murderers who used lye or acid to dispose of a body.

The second thing that hit him was the music coming from the back part of the house. Frantic, xylophone heavy—old-fashioned
cartoon
music—which Hutch hoped was a good sign.

Proof that Christopher had been here?

Proof that he was
still
here?

Or was he the reason for the chemical smell?

The music came from beyond a doorway to Hutch's left. Tightening his grip on the spade, he stepped into yet another hallway.

No graffiti in here, just a faded floral patterned wallpaper. He saw the flickering light of a television coming from another open doorway at the end of the hall, and headed toward it, his heartbeat kicking up as he got closer.

But as he stepped inside a small bedroom, relief washed over him. The television played in a corner, the antics of Tom and Jerry throwing light on a bed across the room. And on that bed was Christopher, his tiny chest rising and falling, rising and falling, fast asleep.

Hutch relaxed, knowing now—knowing for certain—that Gus had been true to his word. Tossing the spade onto a chair, he moved to the bed and hefted Christopher into his arms, calling out to Ronnie and Andy as he stepped back into the hallway.

A moment later, Ronnie came running, crying out in relief when she saw Christopher, then pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight.

The boy came awake, staring groggily at her. "Mommy?"

"It's okay, baby, everything's okay now."

"Grandpa Gus said you went away."

A chill swept through Hutch and by the look on Ronnie's face, he could see that she was feeling it, too. "I'm not going anywhere, hon. Not if I can help it."

But Hutch knew this wasn't over yet. Despite her words, Ronnie still faced the real possibility of going away for a long, long time. Unless, that is, Gus continued to live up to his promise and somehow told them who had killed Jenny.

The answer had to be in this house.

But where?

Andy was the one who answered the question. As he stepped into the hallway behind Ronnie, he sniffed and said, "Smells like we got an old-school camera buff living here. Somebody has a darkroom."

And there it was.

Another reason for the photograph.

Gus
had been living here.
Gus
was the camera buff. And
Gus
taken the shot of Hutch and Ronnie.

What else could it be?

He had told Hutch flat-out that he liked to watch. And if he and Langer had been watching Ronnie, watching her mother's house, how many other photographs had the old guy taken?

And what story did they tell?

H
UTCH FOUND THE
darkroom on the second floor. The upstairs bathroom had been converted—foil covering the windows, bottles of photo chemicals lining the counter, wash trays, tongs, an enlarger in the corner. There was even a laptop computer and a scanner for digitizing the prints.

Gus was old-school, all right.

The room reeked of chemicals, and Hutch had to cover his nose as he stepped inside and flicked on the light. He hadn't wanted Christopher to see whatever was in here. And even though Ronnie was reluctant to confront her mother after their altercation in his apartment, he'd sent her and Andy across the street to wait for him.

But to be honest, Christopher was just an excuse. If Hutch really
was
about to find evidence pointing to Jenny's killer, he preferred to do it alone. She was never far from his mind—hadn't been for nearly a decade—and he wanted this moment to himself.

He had earned it, as Gus would say. His throbbing skull told him that much.

But as he looked around the room, disappointment began to weigh him down. He had hoped to find a string of photos pinned to the line above the wash trays—a message from Gus.

But it was empty.

He quickly checked through the vanity drawers and found nothing but more developing tools. But then his gaze was drawn again to the laptop. It sat there in the corner, next to the scanner and enlarger, its lid down. If Gus had digitized one of the photographs to send to
The Grab Bag
, could he have digitized them all?