“Did you know?”

“Yeah, I knew. But I didn't care. Just figured she needed money and was too proud to ask. It wasn't the only thing she took.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“A coffee shop on campus. She said she had a class with me, but I could tell she was lying. But who cares?” He shrugs. “She was the sexiest girl I'd ever seen.”

He asks who I am. I ignore him.

“Did you kill her?”

He is a deer in headlights. His doe eyes start to leak. He is crying. It takes him thirty seconds to compose himself.

“NO!” He sniffs. “She was the first girl I ever really cared about. Ever.”

“Did you know about her connection to your father?”

He shakes his head. “No, she never talked about her past. She just wanted to, well, screw mostly. At least, at first. At the beginning, I think she just wanted to fuck the President's son. But then, I think, she kinda started to like me.” He smiles sheepishly, like the idea of a girl actually liking him for himself is preposterous.

“Did you ever go to her house?”

“No. I didn't even know where she lived. Dave and Jerry,” he nods toward the two Secret Service guys who had manhandled me, “would sneak her up to my apartment.”

“How long were you two involved?”

“Three months.”

“Did you know her as Callie or Jessica?”

“At first it was Callie, but after six weeks, we were in bed, and she told me to call her Jessie.”

Jessie?

“And she never told you about her past, how she worked for your father's campaign?”

“Nope, never.”

“What would you talk about?”

“I don't know. Movies, books, she wanted to go to vet school someday, to travel. She liked sports, especially the Ravens. She loved to play cards. We'd play cards for hours.”

“Did she ask about your dad?”

“At first. She wanted to know what sort of dad he was. Was he around? Stuff like that. But she abhorred politics. My dad didn't come up very often after the first couple weeks.”

“How did you find out she was killed?”

“Jerry came in and took my cell phone. Told me that Callie had been murdered. Brought me a new phone a couple hours later with a new phone number.”

That would explain the phone number that had been untraceable. It hadn't been the President's. It was Ricky's.

“What's the spread on the Laker's game tomorrow?”

He scoffs. “I haven't gambled in six months. I learned my lesson.”

I nod.

“What do you think 'Jessie' needed the money from the watch for?”

“I don't know. She didn't have a job. She had to pay rent somehow.”

“And you didn't care that she stole a ten thousand dollar watch from you?”

“I know I should have. But I didn't.”

“You loved her.”

He is quiet.

He did.

“Do you think your dad killed her?”

His lips quiver.