Trial Junkies

Hutch was five shots in when Matt finally convinced him to call it a night and go home. He had assumed the taste of the whisky would destroy every bit of willpower he possessed, but the truth was, all he really wanted was to get some sleep.

What he probably should have done was find the nearest AA meeting, but the desire to abuse himself had abandoned him somewhere around shot number three-point-five, and he didn't think he was in danger of a binge. Not tonight, at least.

What surprised him was that even when he got to his feet, he didn't feel drunk. He had assumed that so many months on the wagon would weaken his resistance. But it hadn't.

Or maybe he was deluding himself.

It was a little after ten when he stumbled past the night man, rode the elevator to his apartment, then fell across the still unmade bed, the faint but unmistakable scent of Ronnie's lavender cologne rising up at him from the sheets. He pictured her in his mind, rolling on top of him, her body slick with sweat as she moved her hips, pressing and pulling, pressing and pulling, bringing them both to the brink.

Then later, clinging to the side of the bed like a lost child.

He thought he had talked her out of running, but he couldn't really blame her for ignoring his advice. He couldn't blame her for much of anything, really. She was caught up in circumstances that were beyond her control and her impulse to flee was understandable.

Foolish, but understandable.

He imagined her scared and vulnerable, clutching little Christopher's hand as they boarded a plane or a train or a bus. Or maybe even a boat. She would need false identification, and he wondered if she had been working on it since the moment he'd posted her bond.

He didn't know when she would have made the arrangements, or who she would have made them with, but there was no reason he should. It could very well have been through someone she'd met in jail. An emailed photograph and a small transfer of funds would likely yield all the identification she needed.

Or maybe one of their friends had helped her.

Andy perhaps? He and Ronnie had taken enough car rides together over the last few days.

Or what about Matt, her closest friend and former lover?

When it came down to it, did it really matter? She was gone and Hutch missed having her in his bed, feeling her pressed up against him as he stroked her hair and tried to reassure her that everything would be fine. That he would somehow fix things.

What a joke that had turned out to be.

And a sad, sorry, unfunny one at that.

Hutch rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, thinking that maybe he was a little drunk after all. He had nearly drifted to sleep when his cell phone bleeped and he jerked awake, fumbling to retrieve it from his pants pocket.

He squinted at the screen but didn't recognize the number. Putting the phone to his ear, he murmured a groggy hello, and was surprised to hear Gus's voice on the line. 'You awake, kid? You sound like you're half asleep.'

'I just crawled into bed,' Hutch said.

'Rough day, I know, but you'd better crawl back out. You're gonna want to meet me as soon as possible.'

Gus was a good old guy, but the last thing Hutch wanted was company right now. He could barely keep his eyes open. 'Why?' he said wearily. 'What's going on?'

'Just ran into a friend of ours out here in the River District.'

'Friend of ours?'

'Come on, buddy boy-wake the hell up. I'm talking about Freddy Langer. He's standing outside that little waitress's apartment as we speak.'

Hutch sat up, his heart starting to pound. 'Where can I find you?'

'I thought you'd never ask.'

— 56 -

Gus's car was a twenty year-old faded blue Volvo sedan parked in the darkness between two street lights on North Wood, just around the corner from West Fulton. Both streets were dotted with warehouses.

Hutch had told the cab driver to drop him off a block away, then gave Gus a call, letting him know he was in the vicinity. Gus told him where to look and Hutch had walked until he found the car. He checked to make sure it was occupied, then gave Gus a quick wave and opened the passenger door.

The interior light came on, briefly illuminating the old man's weathered face and a night vision scope clutched in his right hand. It looked a lot like the one Hutch had used in an indie action-thriller he'd done called With No Remorse.

Gus glanced over briefly as Hutch climbed in and closed the door, then handed him the scope and pointed past the intersection toward Fulton. 'Check out the auto body shop. Coupla cars parked in the driveway in front of the roll-up. You'll see him standing there.'

Hutch hefted the scope. 'You just carry one of these around, do you?'

'Trunk of my car. Never know when it might come in handy.'

Hutch raised it to his eye, seeing a glowing field of green, and just as promised, he was able to make out a shadowy figure at the edge of a pool of street light.

'Is one of the cars his?'

'Nope. He's on foot.'

'So what's he up to?'

'You can't see it from this angle,' Gus said, 'but the little gal's apartment house is right across the street. He's been watching it for close to an hour now.'

Hutch squinted and adjusted the lens. 'You sure it's him?'

'Hell, yes. I followed him from the restaurant. He waited outside until she got off work, then walked her home.'

'From a distance, I take it.'

'Is there any other way for a guy like this?'

'I wouldn't know,' Hutch said. 'I'm not exactly an expert on creepazoid behavior.'

'Trust me, I've seen quite a few of these perverts over the years. They're all pretty much the same.'

Hutch kept the scope on Langer. 'I'm surprised the waitress walked home alone. Ronnie warned her the guy might be stalking her.'

'People make all kinds of compromises when they're trying to save a penny.'

'He's gonna kill her, isn't he? Just like the other women. Ronnie was a bust, so he's moved on. That's why he wasn't in court today.'

'Butcher her is more accurate. But not tonight. I'm guessing he's a slow burner. Takes his time watching them before he-'

Hutch's cell phone bleeped. Startled, he handed the scope back to Gus and fumbled for the phone.

It wasn't a call, but a text message coming in. He was about to dismiss it when he saw the name associated with it-Cynthia Coe. The receptionist from Jenny's law firm.

He checked the message:

Sorry this took so long. Here's the photo you wanted.

She was talking about the surveillance photo. The one of Langer sitting in the Treacher amp; Pine lobby-proof that he had been trying to get close to Jenny. Why she was sending it at this hour was anybody's guess, but Hutch wasn't about to quibble.

He touched the screen and the photo came into view, showing a somewhat murky image of a man with glasses sitting on one of the Treacher amp; Pine couches.