Trial Junkies

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 -

Two 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?

Hutch 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?

Stepping over to the computer, Hutch lifted the lid and heard the hard drive whirr to life. The screen brightened and a screensaver filled it-a line of scrolling white text against a blue background that read:

The simplest explanation is usually the right one…

Gus's message. No doubt about it.

Hutch touched a key and the screensaver went away, showing a slideshow application, a single photograph centered on the screen:

— Ronnie standing in her mother's driveway, holding Christopher high in her arms, both laughing uproariously.

Hutch tapped the touch pad and navigated to the next photo:

— Ronnie, Christopher and Lola in the front yard, Christopher clinging to his grandmother's legs, Lola eyeing her daughter with her usual disapproving scowl.

And the next photo:

— Lola and Christopher on the porch, Ronnie on the walkway, talking on the phone.

And the next, this one a night shot:

— A dark figure leaving the Baldacci house, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. The same sweatshirt Abernathy had held up in court. The one they'd found covered in blood.

Hutch paused. Didn't like what he was seeing. He waited a moment, then tapped the touchpad and moved on to the next photo, which showed a change of view, this one a grainy night shot through a car windshield:

— Two women standing in a vacant lot, lit only by a nearby streetlight. Too far away to be identified. One wearing a business suit, the other in jeans. And that sweatshirt.

Hutch's gut clinched up. So here it was.