That was where the sound was coming from.
Then all at once his vision cleared again and on the first screen he saw a familiar-looking stairway and a door with frosted glass just beyond it-the lobby door of an apartment building.
This apartment building.
On the second screen was an overhead shot of Ronnie lying naked on a dirty mattress, swaths of gaffer's tape strapping her to it, her eyes wide with terror, face streaked with tears.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ.
Hutch struggled to make sense of it, then, one by one, the sequence of events began to fall into place and he remembered it all. Climbing the stairwell, bursting into that room, his revolver raised, Frederick Langer standing over the bed-standing over Ronnie-with a switchblade in his hand.
But as Hutch had tried to fire, the gun had betrayed him.
And it was Gus who had given him that gun.
Gus, the kindly bailiff.
Gus, the aging commando.
Gus, the old man who didn't seem quite as old now, smiling at him as if he was aware that Hutch was finally putting it together.
"It was you all along," Hutch said. "You killed Jenny."
"No, son, I'm afraid I can't take credit for that particular accomplishment, as much as I might like to. I've done a lot of terrible things in my time, but Jenny Keating's not one of them. Hell, I didn't even know who she was until she wound up dead."
"Langer?"
Gus shook his head. "That boy couldn't tie his shoes without me telling him what to do. Besides, she's not his type."
Hutch glanced at the second computer screen, Ronnie's sobs rising from a set of speakers next to it. He thought about the disappointing text message he'd received in the car, and the photo showing that it wasn't Langer who had visited Treacher amp; Pine.
Had they been wrong about him all along? He was clearly a psychopath, and there was no doubt he'd been stalking Ronnie. But if Gus was telling the truth, then who had killed Jenny?
"I don't understand," he said. "If you had nothing to do with her death, why are you doing this? How do you even know Langer?"
"You might call him a student of mine."
"Student?"
"Protege, apprentice. Truth is, he's more a source of entertainment than anything else. Just like you, Veronica, and all your little friends. Langer doesn't look like much, but he knows when to do what he's told." Gus gestured to a stack of DVDs next to the monitors. "Thirteen girls in nine different states. Every one of them a delight."
Hutch stared at him blankly and this provoked another smile.
"I can see you don't quite get it yet. You still think I'm Gus the retired bailiff from courtroom two twenty-three. It's amazing how people are so quick to believe anything you tell them. You say it with enough authority and you'll get 'em every time."
"But the guards downstairs. They know you. They're friends of yours. They helped us identify Langer."
Gus chuckled. "Did they now? You saw them wave to an old man, then do their job and hand me my wallet after I went through the security line. Nothing more, nothing less. It's all about perception, Ethan. Like what goes on inside that courtroom."
Gus crossed to the monitors and picked up a backpack that was sitting on the floor beneath the table. He opened it, then grabbed the stack of DVDs and stuffed them inside.
"There was a time I'd do all the footwork myself. I must've had my fun with thirty or forty little gals before I called it a day. Prostitutes, office workers, students. You name it, I've probably done it, and had a helluva good time in the process." He paused. "But as you get older, you get tired, son. You may not lose the desire, but you lose the energy to do anything about it. And that's when you have to make a decision. You either quit having fun, or you find a new way to play the game."
Hutch thought he understood now. "You recruited Langer to do the killing for you."
Gus nodded. "He's not the first and he won't be the last. I always let him pick out the girls, because that doesn't matter much to me. He's the one who has a thing for gals like Veronica, and that waitress and all the others Matt told you about. I think they remind him of his sister, who used to sexually humiliate the poor boy." Another smile. "We started with her."
Hutch glanced at the monitors again, nausea sweeping through him at the sight of Ronnie lying there so helplessly.
"I don't get it," he said. "If Langer picked out Ronnie, then why is she still alive?"
"I told you he's a slow burner and I like to give him room. I'm in no hurry myself." He patted the backpack. "I've got my DVDs to tide me over. But by the time he was ready to do the deed, your ex-girlfriend wound up dead and Veronica got herself arrested for it. And I can't say we were anticipating that particular turn of events. Coincidence is cruel sometimes."
"So why not move on?"
"Trust me, we considered it. Even picked out that waitress you saw. But I have to admit the thought of seeing our little gal on trial for her life got me excited. I do like to watch. And when you and your friends came along, gettin' all riled up about Langer, making all your plans, talking about finding the real killer, well that was a show I just couldn't say no to. Better than any episode of TV I've ever seen. No offense." He gestured to Ronnie onscreen. "And now, here we are, ready to make our own little TV show, and I'm your new director."
"You sick son of a bitch."
Gus laughed. "Oh, that I am, son. That I am. But we haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
Good part? There was a good part?
Hutch couldn't imagine what qualified as good in this psycho's brain, but then a thought suddenly blossomed-an image he'd conjured up as he lay in bed tonight: Ronnie and Christopher standing hand in hand as they waited to board a train.
With sudden ferocity, dread coursed through his veins. Pure unadulterated horror. If Christopher was with Ronnie when Langer and Gus took her, where the hell was he now?
"I can see that mind of yours working, Ethan. Wondering what's about to happen. Are you gonna die? Is Veronica? And what about that boy of hers? What did bad old Gussie do with him?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Don't you worry, I've got him stashed somewhere nice and safe, and I'm thinking he might turn out to be my new protege. That boy is raw material, just waiting to be molded."
Hutch struggled against the bonds. "You motherfucker."
Gus chuckled again. "I confess I've been there, too, right before I killed the old bitch. But that was a long, long time ago and isn't particularly important to the here and now. I know you're thinking this is the end of the line, but that doesn't necessarily have to be so. I wouldn't be a sporting man if I didn't give you a chance to redeem yourself. That is, after all, what you've been after, isn't it?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Gus slung the backpack over his shoulder, then crossed the room and crouched in front of him. "This is your trial, Ethan. A chance for you to make things right. A chance for you to save Ronnie from certain death, save her boy from the likes of me, and prove her innocence all at the same time. So the stakes are high. But I gotta warn you, it isn't gonna be easy. And it all comes down to you, son. It all comes down to you."
The nausea swept through Hutch again. "What are you saying?"
Gus tapped the watch on his wrist. "You have three minutes. And keep in mind these are the most important three minutes of your entire career."
"To do what?"
"Well now, that's up to you, isn't it? You're gonna have to improvise. But you'd better make it an Emmy-winning performance, or your girlfriend is dead, and her little boy spends his life learning a new sport." He gestured to the monitors. "But, lucky you, you'll get to watch the best part in glorious color."