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He looked up at Jessie as if seeking absolution. But she had none to offer. He was almost certainly right. It was quite likely that he had done this to her. Maybe Michaela had anti-social tendencies already, but having an abusive, alcoholic, absentee father would have greatly exacerbated it.
She got the sense that he didn’t know just how far his daughter had gone to achieve any semblance of feeling in her life. He seemed not to know that his dead daughter was a porn actress. And though he probably didn’t deserve to be protected from knowing the full extent of the harm he’d caused, Jessie decided not to tell. He was pathetic enough as it was, lying limp and forlorn on the apartment carpet. She didn’t need to kick him while he was down.
“You should go, Mr. Penn,” she finally said. “You could get in trouble for being here and you don’t need any more trouble.”
“Okay,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. “Why are you here?”
Jessie felt a brief moment of anxiety as she realized it wouldn’t do for him to go around talking about her presence here. But it faded quickly.
“I’m investigating Michaela’s murder,” she said, not mentioning that she was ignoring the niceties of proper police procedure. “I’m looking for evidence to catch her killer.”
Penn seemed satisfied with that answer and trudged out toward the front door without further prodding. Jessie followed him, not holstering her weapon but now keeping it at her side. She locked the door from the inside and they stepped outside.
“How did you get here?” she asked.
“My truck is impounded so I took a cab from the motel.”
Jessie looked at the time. It was 2:24 a.m. She sighed heavily.
“Tell me where it is and I’ll give you a ride,” she said.
“You’d do that?” he asked, taken aback.
“I just want to go home and get some sleep,” she told him. “That’s what I recommend you do too.”
He nodded and they made their way to her car. Both were weighed down, he by guilt and grief and she by unresolved questions. Neither spoke again, even when they parted ways.
