"Mike, Mike sweetie, get up," Jenny said to Mike. It wasn't until she started living with him that she realized how impossible it was for him to get up when he didn't want to. She'd never had a problem getting up on her own, but he was something completely different. "Mike, this is getting annoying. Your mother must be a saint for putting up with you. Get the fuck up."
"No," Mike simply said before rolling over and putting his pillow over his head. She grabbed it and threw it across the room. "Jenny!"
"Quiet down," Jenny said. "What if--?" She didn't get to finish her sentence before the door opened and Mike's mother walked in.
"Mike, I--Oh my God! Michael, would you care to explain what exactly is going on here?" Mike didn't say anything as he looked away from both Jenny and his mother. "Put some clothes on--the both of you--" Jenny tugged at the shirt she was wearing, trying to cover herself a bit more. "I want to see you downstairs in the kitchen in five minutes." She left. Jenny hit Mike.
"Thanks a lot, Mike." She stood. "At least now you have to get up." They put on some clothes and went downstairs. Michael's mother sat them down at the kitchen table and sat across from them.
"How long has she been here?"
"Three weeks," Mike said. The woman looked surprised.
"You mean to tell me you've been living here for three weeks and I hadn't even noticed?" she asked. Jenny noded. "Well you did a good job of hiding so far but it's done now. I'm calling your mother." Jenny bit her lip; she didn't want to correct Patricia, especially not now.
"Are you going to even ask why she's here and not at home?" Mike asked.
"It's not my home," Jenny corrected.
"Oh, not now, Jenny!" Mike said. She huffed, crossed her arms, and looked away.
"I don't need to know why, Michael. She doesn't belong here."
"She doesn't belong there! I'm not going to let her live somwhere where she's getting beat up and treated like shit!" Mike yelled.
"Watch your language and your tone. This is not for you to fix. This is between Jenny and her family. I can give Social Services a call, but that's it. She cannot stay here." The woman picked up the phone and with the number Mike had written on the whiteboard on the fridge, called the Sloan house. "Hi, Liz? This is Patricia Laticer. Yes, Mike's mother. It seems he's been keeping Jenny here. You knew? Liz, this is your daughter. Sorry. Your foster daughter. Still--all right. I--" Patricia looked at the phone. "She hung up on me!"
"See? She is a bitch," Jenny said. Patricia gave her a look. "Sorry. What'd she say?"
"She knew you were here and she doesn't necessarily want you back." Mike looked at Jenny, who shrugged.
"That sounds about right," Jenny said. Mike looked back at his mother.
"Can she stay here?" he asked.
"Michael, this isn't 7th Heaven. We don't just take people into our home and--"
"Listen, I don't want to be a bother," Jenny said. "I didn't even want to leave to begin with, but Mike insisted. I'll talk to Liz and work it out with her. It's not going to be for long anyway; as soon as my father gets out of jail, I'm out of there."
"But Jenny, that could take a while," Mike said. "And what if he doesn't get out?"
"Have you been watching at all?" Jenny asked. "They're nailing that trial." Mike pressed. "No! I'm not going to be an inconvenience. And frankly, Mike, if I have to attempt to wake you up one more time, I'm going to go postal on somebody. It'll probably be you." Jenny looked at Patricia. "I don't know how you do it."
"You get used to it," Patricia said. "But Jenny, as much as this isn't my business, I don't think you should stay with Liz. I'm not sure I want you here; that's a bit awkward and I'll have to discuss it with your father, Mike. I'll make a decision and let you know after school. Now go get ready or you'll be late." Jenny and Mike got up and started out of the room. "Wait...have you been showering together?" Neither replied. "I don't want to know anyway. Go on." They ran out of the room and up the stairs.
"Mr. Billet, it's been hard to find you," Debbie said to a now-retired Jeffrey Billet. He'd aged even worse over the past seven or so years, and now was completely bald. "You no longer work at the pawn shop in the Bronx."
"No, I retired."
"Where are you living now?"
"I moved to St. Petersburg, Florida," he said. "It's a lot calmer there."
"St. Petersburg...that's right next to Tampa, where Ginger Stevens lived, am I right?"
"Yes, it is right next to Tampa," Jeff replied.
"Why there?"
"I figured Florida, you know, because that's where a lot of people go when they retire. For good reason, too--it's beautiful. I found somewhere nice and decided to settle there," he answered.
"How old are you now, Mr. Billet?"
"I'm fifty-eight."
"Oh, so you retired early, then?" He nodded. "Did you always work at the pawn shop?"
"No."
"What was your profession before you opened the shop?" she asked.
"Well I'd always been interested in the sorts of things I was working with in the shop. Before I opened it, I was a photographer. It's why I sell so many cameras." Debbie nodded. Jeff hadn't been present at the trial prior to that day, but she could only assume he'd been watching.
"Around what time were you a photographer?"
"I stopped and opened the shop around the mid-nineties. About '97, I believe."
"Did you ever hold a photo shoot with the defendant? Say, late '96?"
"I did a lot of shoots at that time. I was trying to save for my shop." Debbie picked up the same photo used before and handed it to Jeff.
"Did you take this one?" He looked at it.
"I don't--"
"Your name is on the photo, Mr. Billet, so I'm assuming you took it, unless there was another Jeffrey Billet doing photography at that time."
"No," Jeff said. "I took it."
"All right, Mr. Billet, you held the photo shoot which clearly shows Zac Hanson holding a gun you later sold to him that was found at the scene of the crime and was said to be the murder weapon. I've already proven the gun is a fake. However, there seems to be a lot of you in this story. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Well, Mr. Billet, you're all over this case. You took the photo of Zac holding the fake gun which later is played as a Browning BDM, which your shop specializes in. You were in the tape that shows you selling that gun to Charles Edwin, someone who used to be employed as a decoy for Zac Hanson. You retired early out what I can only guess is good planning because I know a pawn shop owner doesn't pay well. You currently own a very expensive beach house in Florida in the same city Ginger Stevens herself used to live. As a matter of fact, you live right next door to Lynn Stevens. I'm sorry, but that's just too coincidental for me."
"Well, I--"
"Tell me, Mr. Billet, when did you first meet Lynn Stevens?" Debbie asked. "And please be honest."
"I first met Lynn about a year before Ginger's death. She wandered into my shop completely by chance, I can assure you of that. She was browsing when she came across that gun," Jeff said, and pointed to the gun lying on the evidence table, the sign still sticking out of the barrel. "I kept it around, I don't know why, and when Hanson got famous I put all three guns in a glass case with a sign that said 'These guns were held by Hanson.' I found one of the old photos and put it in there as well. It was my little claim to fame. Well, Lynn saw it and mentioned she was Ginger Stevens' mother. She marveled over the fact that the guns looked so real."
"And then what?"
"Then she left."
"Then why are you living next door to her now?" Debbie asked.
"She came back quite a bit later. She said if I helped her out with something, she'd pay me generously. She said if the plan worked, I'd be rich and could retire. I was in a bad state financially and was afraid of losing my shop, so I agreed."
"What was this plan?" Debbie asked. She looked over at Zac, who was staring at Jeff. He'd already figured it out and was beginning to lose his cool.
"Well Lynn didn't like Zac, and didn't like her daughter just as much. Lynn, to me, was always a little crazy, but she had the money so I put up with it."
"What was the plan, Mr. Billet?" Debbie asked again.
"She said if I 'sold' the gun to a guy who looked like Zac Hanson and played it out like the real Zac Hanson was getting the gun, she'd pay me."
"So you did. You made that videotape, claiming that it was Zac Hanson. You didn't have any reservations? It looks like a frame up for a murder, Jeff, and that's what it turned out to be. You didn't care?"
"No, not really. I was getting a lot of money," he said.
"Is that all she had you do? Did you have any other role in this?"
"I don't want to incriminate myself--"
"Mr. Billet, you already admitted to creating phony evidence. A little more isn't going to get you out of anything," Debbie said. "What else did Lynn have you do?" Jeffrey didn't seem to realize he'd already incriminated himself. "Did she have you participate in the murder at all?" Jeffery didn't respond. "Where exactly were you the night Ginger Stevens was killed?" He still didn't respond.
"Answer the question, Mr. Billet," the judge intervened.
"I was in LA. Lynn told me if I could kill Ginger Stevens, she'd pay me over a million dollars. She convinced me it was a foolproof plan and I believed her. I-I really needed the money," he said. "So I did."
"You killed Ginger Stevens for a million dollars?" Debbie asked.
"...Yes."
"Well then, no further questions."