"That's right," Hutch said.
"You did a couple movies, too. That one with Bruce what's-his-name-you played the bad guy. The guy with the limp."
"That was me," Hutch said.
"So, you still acting?"
Apparently the man didn't follow the tabloids. Hutch shot Waverly a glance. "Some people seem to think so."
"Wait till I tell my wife I met you. We used to watch Code Two-Seven all the time. Still catch the reruns when we can. We're big fans of Jack Van Parkes. What's he up to these days?"
"Collecting social security would be my guess. Not that he needs it."
The guard chuckled. "No shit. Guy's been in show business what-fifty years?"
"Something like that."
"So what's he like? Nice guy?"
Hutch couldn't remember how many times he'd been asked this question, and he always answered with a lie. "One of the nicest I've ever met."
"I figured as much. He's got that look, you know? Even when he was younger. Got a friendly face like that Marcus Welby guy. You remember him?"
"I think he was a little before my time," Hutch said.
The deputy nodded thoughtfully. "Now you-you got that dangerous look. The kind the women always go for." He gave Waverly a wink. "Isn't that right, Karen?"
"Right as rain, Sam. He's a regular Hollywood bad boy. Can we go in now?"
The deputy nodded again, then reached under the edge of his desk. A bell rang somewhere beyond the glass, then the door clacked open and Waverly stepped toward it.
"Let's do this," she said.
As Hutch started to follow her, the deputy called out after him. "So is this what you do now?"
Hutch turned. "What's that?"
"Between acting jobs. You work for Karen?"
Hutch hesitated. "Yeah," he said. "Gotta pay the rent."
The deputy smiled. "Don't you worry, hot shot, you'll be back on top again. I can feel it. If it means anything to you, the wife is gonna be thrilled when I tell her. Who knows, I might even get a little action tonight."
The thought gave Hutch pause. Not an image he wanted inside his head.
"Good luck," he said, then followed Waverly through the doorway.
— 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?"