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“Mr. Marchand,” she said. “You do realize that every character you described her playing just now was a potentially underage girl.”
“That was her thing,” Marchand replied, untroubled. “She looked young so she was a natural for the ‘barely legal’ plots.”
“But here’s the problem, and I think you’re well aware of it. Michaela Penn wasn’t legal. She was seventeen and working with obviously false documentation.”
Marchand stared at her with what he clearly hoped was shock.
“I find that hard to believe,” he insisted. “Missy never gave off the vibe that she was seventeen. I would have guessed she was closer to twenty-one. She oozed maturity.”
Jessie was impressed with Marchand’s brazen willingness to pretend he was an innocent in this whole thing. But part of her wondered if a guy this willing to deny reality when confronted with it might be capable of emotionally disassociating himself from other, far darker behavior. She decided to switch tacks to see if she could rattle him.
“Did you and Michaela get along?” she asked.
“Magnificently,” he said loudly, as if he were announcing it to a full theater. “We were absolutely simpatico. I don’t want to sound arrogant here. But had this not happened, I feel like we might have become the Scorsese and De Niro of the adult market.”
“That doesn’t sound arrogant at all,” Jessie observed drily, unable to help herself. “What about co-workers? Any jealous actresses who wanted her roles or scene partners she might have dated and then broken things off with?”
“I’m sure some of the other girls were jealous, but to the point of violence? I find that hard to believe. As for dating, Missy was known for her firm policy on that. She refused to get involved with anyone she worked with. In fact, I don’t think she was seeing anyone at all. She was very focused on her career. There was no B.S. with that girl. She was all business.”
After all Marchand’s dissembling, this was the first thing he’d said that Jessie felt was completely genuine. His description of Michaela’s work ethic and obvious admiration for it was clear. It also matched Lizzie’s account.
“Where were you last night?” she asked, hoping that his honesty in his last answer might bleed over into this one.
“Is this the part where I provide my alibi?” he asked, rediscovering his arch tone.
“It is.”
“Well, after Leonard called, I thought I might be asked this, so I reconstructed a timeline of my whereabouts after I left the set yesterday afternoon. First I went to dinner with one of our fine performers—her name is Melanie Mynx—to give her some professional pointers. Her onscreen enthusiasm has been proving a little histrionic. It doesn’t have the ring of truth. So we did some scene analysis.”
“And then?” Jessie prodded, fearing he would get into specifics of the analysis.
After that, we went to a house party in Toluca Lake, where I introduced her to some other friends. We spent some ‘quality time’ there. If you’re wondering, I’m being euphemistic. We had an orgy. I can give you the names and contact information for all of those people. Then Melanie and I went back to her place, where she hosted me for the remainder of the evening. This morning I came back here briefly to clean up before heading to set.”
Jessie wanted to be suspicious about how meticulously Marchand had accounted for his time. But it struck her as fitting his personality. Still, she prodded a little, watching closely for his reaction to the next question.
“Are you sure Melanie was awake for the whole evening?” she asked him. “Maybe she fell asleep for a stretch there?”
“Are you alleging that while she slept, I snuck out of her apartment, murdered my rising star actress, and then returned to Melanie’s bed?” he asked, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go given the Botox.
“It’s just a question, Mr. Marchand—one I noticed you neglected to answer.”
“I’ll answer. I was just so taken aback at the suggestion. I spent the entire evening in the loving embrace of Ms. Mynx. Okay, loving might be overstating it. If you want, I can offer details on the nature of the embrace, but you strike me as the type who might blush at such things.”
“I have your answer,” Jessie replied, though not to his dig. “My team will verify it. In the meantime, I recommend you stay in town. And you may want to eat at home a little more often. I have a feeling your production schedule is going to grind to a halt very soon.”
“What?” he asked, his jaw dropping precipitously.
Though she didn’t smile, Jessie felt a sense of satisfaction for the first time in her interaction with this guy.
“I appreciate the whole dandy thing, Mr. Marchand,” as she headed for the door. “But if you think roguish, old-school, smarmy charm is going to allow you to use underage girls in your films, you are sorely mistaken. So I recommend you and your closet full of ascots make alternate plans for the next few months because business is about to dry up.”
Though it was incredibly tempting, she didn’t look back as she walked out and closed the front door behind her. Unfortunately, the high was short-lived. By the time she got to her car, she remembered that she was no closer to finding Michaela’s killer.
