Robert Browne - Trial Junkies

When a flurry of passengers had come and gone, the train lurched into motion again. Hutch took a peek at Langer and relaxed a bit. The guy was still caught up in his textbook, as oblivious as ever.

For now, at least.

Ronnie said, "Waverly tells me Raymond the rat is probably gonna testify tomorrow."

"Who?"

"My old boss at the Cuttery."

Hutch furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"In the month before Jenny was killed I took a lot of time off. Couple hours here and there around lunch, and it's all on my time cards. They're gonna try to show it corresponds with the calls from the Dumont, which is only about six blocks from the shop."

Hutch stared at her, incredulous. "And you didn't feel the need to mention this? That doesn't look good, Ronnie."

"I know, I know. But all I was doing was running errands, getting stuff together for the custody case. I swear to you, Hutch, I didn't go anywhere near the Dumont and I didn't-"

"I believe you, okay? That's not what I'm saying. But if Langer is our guy and he was timing those calls to your schedule, it makes me think this wasn't just some misguided attempt to help you, but a calculated maneuver. He's not doing this to protect you, but to screw with you."

"So maybe he is. What difference does it make?"

"Think about it. What if he's the one who planted that hoodie and not the cops? And what if he's keeping the knife somewhere, ready to throw it into the mix? A last minute discovery that seals the coffin?"

Ronnie suddenly looked sick. "My god, I hadn't even thought about that."

"We need to nail this guy, Ronnie. And we need to do it fast."

She nodded, absently, and they rode in silence for a moment. Hutch peeked up the aisle again, but Langer still hadn't moved.

His ability to focus was uncanny.

Then Ronnie said, "Nadine will probably testify tomorrow, too."

"We all knew that was coming. What do you think she'll say?"

"I know what she'll say. That I called her up after I ran into Jenny at the theater and ranted about how Jenny was a two-faced bitch and I knew they both had always hated me." She sighed. "But I was drunk, Hutch. Stupid drunk. I think you know what that's like."

He did indeed-along with half the population. And hopefully that would work in Ronnie's favor.

"I called her the very next day and apologized," she said. "Profusely. Offered to take her and Jenny out to lunch to make amends-even though I was flat broke. I called Jenny, too. The one call I actually did make to her office. But do you think Nadine'll testify to any of that ?"

Hutch thought about his visit to her apartment. "Waverly might have to coax it out of her."

"Assuming she even tells the truth."

"Come on, Ronnie. She may have her problems with you, but she's not vindictive."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Problems? She thinks I'm guilty ."

Her voice had risen in pitch and volume and Hutch touched her knee, trying to calm her. "Easy," he said, glancing toward Langer. "Let's not forget who we're riding with."

She lowered her voice. "Sorry… I'm sorry. I just get so crazy about this stuff. One minute I'm laughing, the next I'm screaming at the sun."

"It's called being human. And this isn't exactly an ordinary situation."

They were silent again, Ronnie struggling to regain her composure. Then she took hold of his hand and squeezed it, that wistful smile returning. "He would have liked you, you know."

"Who?"

"My brother. He would've been happy you're looking out for me. Protecting me. I feel like I've been alone for such a long time."

"What about your mother? Your son?"

"Christopher's a godsend, but my Mom and I have never been the same since my brother died. My dad left because of it. And I sometimes think she wishes it was me who pulled the plug instead. Not that I haven't thought about it."

"Stop that," Hutch said.

Ronnie smiled. "Dysfunction Junction. That's where I've been living for the last fifteen years."

Before Hutch could respond, a voice on the intercom announced the next stop and the train braked to a slow halt. Langer shut his textbook, got to his feet, then waited until the doors slid open and headed outside without a backward glance.

A moment later they followed.

Hutch had seen his share of spy movies in his time, had even starred in one-a direct-to-DVD stinker filmed in Romania called The Counterfeit Coffin. But neither he nor Ronnie were experts in even the most rudimentary surveillance techniques, a point well proven by their recklessness on the train.

Instead of turning this into a group project, executed by a bunch of laymen-an idea that Ronnie had rightfully mocked as bad TV-Hutch probably should have hired a professional. Someone with real expertise. Someone less visible. Someone who hadn't spent his days parked in a courtroom chair directly across the aisle from the very man they were trying to surveil.

If he had, maybe he wouldn't have come so close to getting himself killed.

But the truth was, Hutch's ego-his vanity-had gotten the better of him. He wanted to be the star, the hero. He wanted to prove his instincts right and save the damsel in distress. He wanted to be the one to tag Jenny's killer, if only to make up for his failure to be there for her when she was alive.

Besides, if he had gone with a professional, who would he have hired?

He didn't know any surveillance specialists or private investigators or retired cops here in Chicago. The ones he'd befriended in Los Angeles considered him a drunken loser. And the kind of man who was willing to take money for a questionable exercise like this one, was probably not the kind of man you should trust. Or depend on.

There was always Waverly, of course, who could undoubtedly make some calls. But she would have asked all kinds of questions-and what would Hutch have told her? How would he have convinced her that Langer was their man?

So here they were. He and Ronnie. Several blocks from the train station, foolishly following a possible psycho killer down a busy sidewalk, thinking they could pass themselves off as an anonymous couple out for an after dinner stroll.

Problem was, Langer didn't stroll. He moved quickly and with purpose, his book bag bouncing against his hip, an urgency in his gait that suggested he was late for an important appointment.

A job, maybe?

Hutch and Ronnie were walking at an accelerated pace past a row of outdoor cafes, the clink of dinnerware and the murmur of conversation punctuated by occasional peels of laughter. Langer was less than forty yards ahead of them-a man on a mission-and all Hutch could think was-

Don't turn around

Don't turn around

Don't turn around

— Then Langer came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of one of the cafes.

Hutch and Ronnie nearly collided as they, too, came to a stop. They quickly turned toward the crowded restaurant next to them and pretended to peruse a menu mounted on a post near the entrance.

Using Hutch as a shield, Ronnie chanced a glance in Langer's direction and said, "What the hell is he up to? He's just standing there."

"Please tell me he isn't looking at us."

"No, he's staring at the people eating dinner on the patio. Like he's catatonic or something. What a nut job."

"I think we've already established that fact."

"Wait now, wait-he's going inside."

"You think he works there?"

"I highly doubt it," she said. "Would you hire that freak?"

With Langer out of view, they started to walk again, moving slowly toward the next cafe, which was adjacent to the one Langer had entered. They stopped to study the menu, Hutch once again providing cover for Ronnie.