Gus was still twinkling away. 'So don't keep me in suspense. What's on your mind?'
Hutch took a deep breath and told him. About what he'd thought during Waverly's opening statement. About the encounter with the creep in the restroom, and later that night, on the train. About the book and the photographs and that awful, goosebump-inducing mewling sound.
He told Gus about Matt's idea, a way to find out who this psycho was and run a background check on him. And to Hutch's surprise, Gus didn't blink. Didn't hesitate for a moment.
'Sounds to me like you've got the bug, boy. I warned you it would happen if you stuck around long enough.'
'What bug is that?'
'The junkie bug, that's what.'
'I told you, I'm here for the one trial. I'm just trying help a friend.'
Gus chuckled. 'You think Ms. Waverly's the first defense attorney to suggest the real killer might be sitting in the courtroom? You think I haven't spent a good amount of my time speculating about the guy sitting across from me, or the woman three rows over? Or the witness on the stand, claiming he saw the whole damn thing when I know good and well he's lying? Sure, you've got a personal stake in this particular event, but I can see that look in your eye. The excitement when you talk about this fella. You're an addictive personality, my friend, and you're as good as hooked.'
Hutch wasn't sure he was ready to cop to that just yet, but he didn't figure it would hurt his cause for Gus to think it.
'Maybe,' he said, 'but that doesn't answer my question. Will you help us out or not?'
The grin returned. 'Hell, I'd be crazy not to. I've had my doubts about the little twerp myself, and I've always loved a good mystery.'
Gus couldn't guarantee that his buddies would go along with it, but with the promise of a saved seat, he went back down to the security station to see what he could do. Hutch didn't know what Gus had told them-he doubted it was the truth-but the old guy came back still grinning, giving Hutch a hearty thumbs up.
Everything had been arranged for the lunch recess.
Now here they were, standing in the long post-lunch line to get back inside the building (after once again fighting off a platoon of reporters), the creep not four feet in front of them, dropping his wallet and keys into a tray and his book bag on the belt.
Gus caught the eye of the security man up front, gave him a subtle nod, then waited for their target to pass through the gate, which beeped loudly and unexpectedly.
'Step this way,' the guard said, then pulled the creep to the side and started passing a wand over him.
While the creep stood blinking behind those thick black glasses, another guard scooped up the tray with his wallet and keys, then disappeared behind the scanner.
A moment later it was done, and when Gus and Hutch passed through the gate and retrieved their own personal effects, Gus found a small slip of paper neatly folded inside his wallet, which he promptly handed to Hutch.
As they made their way to the elevator, Hutch unfolded it and saw a hastily scribbled note-name, date of birth, and a twelve digit ID number issued by the State of Illinois.
'You get what you need?' Gus asked.
Hutch nodded. 'And then some.'
A moment later he was on the phone to Matt.
— 31 -
Other than the post-lunch subterfuge at the security gate, the bulk of the day was uneventful.
Before Waverly's cross-examination of Detective Meyer could even begin that morning, there was a flurry of defense and prosecution motions, no doubt cooked up in the middle of the night by the two sleepless legal teams.
The jury was sent away as the parties had argued over things that Hutch didn't completely comprehend. Once the legalese started flying, he had turned inward, and judging by the looks on the faces of Andy and Monica, they'd done the same. Monica got up twice to use the ladies room and took her time returning.
Tom and Gus were the only ones who seemed to be following along, and Hutch had made a mental note not to ask them about it later. Legal maneuvers didn't do much for him. He was far more interested in the drama of confrontation, attorney against witness, and he wished they'd put that smarmy fuck Meyer back on the stand so Waverly could have a go at him.
He was reminded, not for the first time, that there was a vast difference between a real trial and what you see on TV.
Hutch spent much of this time studying the creep, who sat not twenty feet away, watching the trial with the rapt attention of a child mesmerized by his favorite cartoon show. As the lunch hour had grown closer, he realized he had butterflies in his stomach in anticipation of what he and Gus had planned.
He was relieved when it all went smoothly.
The afternoon session was more of the same-a fresh new flurry of legal motions, Waverly and Abernathy getting quite heated at times. And Hutch once again found himself sneaking glances at the creep, who now had a name:
Frederick Langer.
It sounded pretty innocuous, but at this very moment, Matt was chasing down as much information as he could find on Langer, and he and Hutch and the others had made plans to meet at the Lincoln Park apartment to discuss what Matt had discovered.
Hutch had no idea if their little attempt at playing detective would amount to much of anything, but his gut led him to believe that there was definitely something off about this guy, far beyond what he'd seen and heard on the L last night.
His suspicion was solidified when he realized that Langer's rapt attention had shifted from the proceedings-
— to Ronnie herself.
His gaze was fixed on her as she sat at the defense table, watching the attorneys argue vigorously before the judge.
Hutch recognized that look immediately. It was the same expression he'd seen on the faces of teenage girls as he walked the red carpet at a premiere, or the Emmys. A kind of impassioned worship that, while completely unfounded, was as powerful as a drug and potentially as dangerous-to the object of their affection, that is. Hutch had often wondered what would have happened to him if those screaming girls had ever been let loose.
And what, he wondered, was behind Langer's fascination with Ronnie?
Was he enthralled by the thought that this woman might very well be convicted of a crime he had committed? Or was he imagining her laying face-up in an alleyway, her broken body peppered with knife wounds?
Hutch had spoken only briefly with Ronnie that morning. Although it came with the territory, he was still a little angry and embarrassed by the way the press had played up their kiss.
But Ronnie wasn't fazed by it.
'They've already printed enough lies about me,' she'd told him. 'What's one more? I'm just happy to be free.'
'I'm not sure free is the right word. They're probably camped out in your front yard by now.'
'And the alley,' she'd said with a nod. 'Don't forget the alley. I got up to take a pee in the middle of the night and saw some bastard digging through my trash. When I shouted at him, he pointed a camera at my window and started flashing away.'
