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“No. But providing alcohol to a minor is.”
“Oh dear,” Rose said mockingly, reaching to his neck to clutch imaginary pearls. “The horror! If you plan to toss me in lockup for that, be my guest. And before you shut the cell door, I’ll have my firm slap a suit against you for everything under the sun—harassment, false imprisonment, police intimidation.”
Jessie beamed back at him.
“You realize by minimizing this, you’re also tacitly acknowledging that you were having sex with a minor. With that and the alcohol charge, things are really starting to add up here.”
“Ms. Hunt,” Rose said, unruffled, “you are making unwarranted assumptions. I never confirmed that I knew Missy was underage. It’s not like I asked her for ID. I learned about her because she’s an actress working in the adult film industry. I thought you had be an adult to do that. If she’s a minor, that’s news to me.”
Jessie didn’t plan to let him off that easy.
“So you’re telling me that as a competent attorney with a thriving career, you didn’t do your due diligence before getting involved with this girl?”
Rose seemed unbothered by the question.
“Do you ask to check the licenses of your dates for their birthdays, Ms. Hunt? Come on now, what is this really about? I know you didn’t come all the way here and bust into my office to give me a hard time over unprovable charges.”
Jessie glanced at Ryan, letting him know she thought the time had come. His half-nod indicated he agreed.
“Missy’s dead,” he said.
Aaron Rose’s already pale face turned ashen. When he finally regained the ability to speak, he croaked a question.
“What happened?”
“She was murdered, Mr. Rose,” Ryan said. “Are you asserting that you know nothing about this?”
“No,” he said, the attitude gone. “I mean, we have a standing date every other Thursday, including tomorrow. She usually calls the day of to reconfirm. When did this happen?”
“Monday night. And her real name is Michaela Penn, by the way.”
“She never told me that,” he whispered, more to himself than to them.
“Where were you two evenings ago, Mr. Rose?” Jessie asked brusquely, refusing to give him time to organize his thoughts.
“What?” he asked distractedly. “Oh, right, of course.”
He sat back down and moved his computer mouse around. After several seconds, he looked up, both relieved and distraught.
“Monday night, right? I was at a bar association banquet. It ran until ten thirty. Then my wife and I went home to relieve the babysitter. I was in bed by midnight.”
Jessie felt like a deflated balloon but tried to hide her disappointment. Ryan, more experienced with this sort of thing, did a better job of it.
“We’ll need the babysitter’s number,” he said matter-of-factly, “as well as contact information for the bar event.”
“Not a problem,” Rose said, writing down the numbers as he spoke. He was sounding increasingly confident. “I can also give you access to the security camera footage at my house. It will show our return home and when I left the next morning.”
“We’ll need it,” Ryan said. “And until we can verify your alibi, I wouldn’t recommend any travel, Mr. Rose.”
“Of course not,” the lawyer replied, not yet back to full smarm but getting there quickly.
“We’ll be in touch,” Ryan said.
They were almost out the door when Rose called out to them.
“Do you know where the funeral is being held?” he asked. “I obviously can’t go. But I’d like to send flowers.”
“We don’t have that information,” Ryan said. “But I’ll let you know when I find out.”
As they walked out, Jessie felt a pang in her chest. What kind of funeral would Michaela get? Could her father even afford one? The fact that none of these things had occurred to her until just now filled her with guilt.
And the realization that Aaron Rose had thought of it before her filled her with shame.
