Page 66 of Lead Me On
The attorney bustled in and they all sat down to go over the reports the police department had released the day before. Mr. Chase and the attorney had clearly already read them all, because they each had a list of questions.
“Listen,” Mr. Chase said. “I managed to corner one of your friends, Jessie. He didn’t want to talk to the cops, but when he found out I was working for you, he agreed to answer a few questions. After I offered a hundred-dollar bill, I might add. This guy said that your pal Tiny is dealing pot and a few pills. Is that true?”
Jessie shifted uncomfortably.
Mr. Chase gave him a hard look and turned to the attorney. “The name of the girl who OD’d is Rose. The informant says she’s fine, though. Took a few pills with a few too many shots and her friends ran her in to have her stomach pumped.”
Jane took a deep breath. “She didn’t die?”
“Nope. He didn’t know her last name. Jessie?” He shot Jessie a sideways look. “Last name?”
“I don’t know her, man,” Jessie mumbled.
“Well, it’s nothing to do with this Rose girl, it seems. I just thought I’d track down that loose end.”
They turned to the Michelle Brown file, but nothing surprising came up as they trudged through it. Yes, Jessie admitted, he’d stolen her purse. He’d also tried to use one of her credit cards to buy beer at the self-checkout line of the grocery store. He couldn’t remember how much cash she had, but he was pretty sure it had been less than the two hundred dollars she’d claimed on the police report.
“And afterward?” Ms. Holloway asked. “When did you see her again?”
“Never!”
“You’re sure? Maybe you hooked up with her later, not even realizing who she was.”
“No way. I’m not such a dog that I can’t remember the names of the girls I hook up with. The only Michelle I ever slept with was a girl in my high school, and it wasn’t her.”
They went over where he’d been the night Michelle Brown was killed, but his answer offered no comfort. “Probably getting high at Tiny’s house” wasn’t exactly the rock-solid alibi a jury would be looking for.
“Okay, let’s move on to Kelly Anderson. She said her backpack was stolen from The Black Box on January third. Do you remember that?”
“The Black Box? No way, man.”
Ms. Holloway leaned forward. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I haven’t been to The Black Box in three years. It’s all emo bands and folk shit now. No way.”
“So maybe she was at Ryders and didn’t want her mom to know.”
Jessie shrugged. “I never lifted any backpack, either.”
Mr. Chase flipped through the papers. “They didn’t find any of Ms. Anderson’s belongings in the car or in Jessie’s room.”
“Told ya,” Jessie said.
The attorney’s eyes gleamed. “So there’s no connection between Jessie and Kelly Anderson at all, and nothing connecting him to Michelle Brown’s murder but the fact that he stole her purse two weeks before she died.”
“That’s it?” Jane asked.
“That’s it, which is why the judge agreed to lower bail to ten thousand.”
“All right, man,” Jessie said. “Great.”
“Jessie,” Jane snapped, “it’s still serious. Six years’ worth of serious, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jessie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s my ass on the line, Jane. I’m pretty clear on it.”
His attorney put up a restraining hand. “Jessie, I don’t want you doing anything while you’re out on bail. Nothing. Stay home. Keep your nose clean. No drinking. No pot. No women. And definitely no clubs or bars.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, but quickly followed it up with “Fine.”
