Robert Browne: Trial Junkies

Hutch waggled the cigarette at her. "If you're gonna bust my balls, I may need to light up another one of these."

"Sorry," she said, "but I don't think you quite get how much we all missed you. You were always the one, Hutch. The one member of the group that everyone gravitated toward. We tried to carry on after you left, but it felt like the engine was missing. So everyone pretty much abandoned the vehicle."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"But it wasn't supposed to happen to us, you know? And I think it sucks that it takes one of us getting stabbed to…"

She left the words hanging, suddenly distracted, her gaze focusing on a spot behind him.

Hutch turned and saw two dark sedans and a police cruiser coming around the corner at a good clip, and to his surprise, they pulled to a stop in front The Monkey House. Doors flew open and several cops emerged, two plainclothes detectives moving purposefully toward the bar entrance.

They were about to reach the door when one of them swiveled his head in Hutch's direction, then grabbed his partner's sleeve to keep him from going inside, gesturing to where Hutch and Ronnie were standing.

Hutch assumed he had been recognized. He had played quite a few detectives over the years and it wasn't unusual for cops to stop and say hello.

Ditching his cigarette, he waited for the two men to approach, but they both moved straight toward Ronnie instead.

“Veronica Baldacci?” the bigger one said.

“Yes. What is it?”

“We've had a helluva time tracking you down.”

Ronnie looked worried. “Is something wrong? Is it my family?”

“Your family's fine," he said. "In fact your mother's the one who told us where to find you.”

“I don't understand.”

His partner brought out a set of cuffs. “We need you to come with us.”

Ronnie's eyes went wide. " What? "

He moved toward her, spun her around and started cuffing her. “You're under arrest, Ms. Baldacci.”

Hutch couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"For what?" Ronnie said. "What did I do?"

The next words that came out of the cop's mouth didn't quite register at first. And when they did, Hutch felt as if he had been physically assaulted. Kicked in the gut.

"We're charging you for the murder of Jennifer Keating."

The trial of Veronica Baldacci started nearly four months later, on a day that would go down as one of the hottest in Chicago's history.

Hutch was assaulted by the stifling heat the moment he climbed out of the cab in front of the courthouse. Within seconds, even his sweat was sweating, and he couldn't wait to get through those lobby doors and into an air conditioned courtroom.

There was a crowd of TV and newspaper reporters waiting outside. Ever since Ronnie's arrest, the story had become the Next Big Deal, and the moment they found out that a bonafide down on his luck movie star had once been college housemates with both the victim and the accused, the vultures suddenly got interested again, looking to pick Hutch's carcass clean.

When his manager Corey suggested that this was a perfect way for Hutch to elicit sympathy and rehabilitate his career, Hutch had nearly put him through a wall.

He wasn't about to trade on Jenny's memory like that.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he'd said. It had taken everything he had to keep from leaping out of his chair and diving across the table. "I mean, seriously-are you fucking kidding me?"

Corey wore L.A. like a badge of honor-perfect haircut, expensive suits, sunglasses molded to his face, bluetooth receiver clipped to his ear. They were lunching at Emilio's , in Beverly Hills, and sat on the patio. They had chosen a table close to the street so Corey could check out the aspiring actresses who wandered by on a regular basis, hoping to get noticed. He seemed to notice quite a few.

"Look, Ethan, you need this. With the pilot taking a nose dive, you got about as much chance of snagging a part as my sister's Lamaze instructor. So you'd better wise up, my friend, and exploit the shit out of this."

Hutch had fired him on the spot. Stood up right there, tossed his napkin on the table and left.

He had no interest in boosting his profile or snagging any parts, now or in the immediate future. So Corey was an appendage he didn't need.

Not with the trial coming.

Now here it finally was, and Hutch wasn't three feet out the cab door when the vultures descended. He stayed calm, but he knew he had to move quickly, or it would be impossible to get inside the courthouse.

Charting a course for the lobby doors, he bore down and moved forward like a dolphin set upon by a pod of killer whales.

"Ethan. Ethan!" one of the reporters called. "Is it true you were sleeping with Ms. Keating?"

"Ethan!" another shouted over the first. "How long have you known Veronica Baldacci?"

Hutch ignored them and stayed on course, hurrying up the courthouse steps as they moved alongside, in back, and in front of him, pointing their cameras and extending their microphones.

"Ethan! Are you here in support of Ms. Baldacci?"

This was the question that finally made Hutch lose his rhythm, just as he was reaching the lobby doors.

How the hell could anyone ask him that?

As the doors opened in front of him, he turned, not sure which reporter had fired the missile, but determined to set him straight.

The crowd got quiet with anticipation and he said, "I want to make one thing very clear. I am not here to support Veronica Baldacci. As far as I'm concerned, the bitch should be roasted alive for what she's done. And that's the last I'll have to say on the subject."

A flurry of follow-up questions came at him, but Hutch ignored them and went into the building, reveling in the feel of the cool, refrigerated air.

But he was still burning up inside.

Are you here in support of Ms. Baldacci ?

Fuck you, Hutch thought.

Fuck. You.

When the defendant made her first appearance in court, nearly four months ago, the judge asked her if she was willing to waive her right to a speedy trial.

Under state and federal statutes, once a suspect was arrested, the court had a hundred and twenty days to put her in front of a judge and jury. The idea being that they didn't want a prisoner rotting in jail for a decade before anyone remembered she was there.

If the defendant waived that right, and was free on bail, a few weeks or even months were tacked on to the deadline to accommodate the court's schedule and give the prosecution and defense additional time to prepare for trial.

This could work to the advantage of both parties.

But because Ronnie had been charged with a capital offense, bail was set at two million dollars, and there was little chance she'd be able to raise the ten percent bond to set her free. So not only had she offered the judge a resounding "Not Guilty" at her arraignment, she had demanded that she get her day in court as soon as the law permitted.

Today was that day.

Hutch knew all of this because he'd been at that arraignment. Sat in the back of the courtroom as she gave her plea.

That night outside The Monkey House he had stood there speechless as the police had recited Ronnie's Miranda rights and escorted her to the cruiser, Ronnie glancing back at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if to say, get me out of this-please.

And that had been Hutch's first instinct. To help her.

He couldn't fathom why they'd be charging her with Jenny's murder. At the time, it just didn't make any sense to him. He had immediately run inside to tell the others, then they all jumped into their cars and headed down to central booking, where Hutch had every intention of bailing Ronnie out.