It rang a few times, then went to voicemail.
I left a message.
To my surprise, Amara called back a few minutes later. "Is this Deputy Wild? This is Amara returning your call.”
"Thanks for getting back with me."
"It's just terrible what happened to Ava. I just can't imagine.”
"I guess it worked out pretty well for you," I said, trying not to sound too snarky about it.
"I'm excited to be the new face of Lumière. I'm not excited about how it happened,” she replied in a sharp tone.
"I guess you’re back in New York shooting for the campaign."
"Yes, I'm on set now. The company wants to rebrand its entire line, and there's no time to waste."
"I know you're busy, so I'll just get down to it. Did you have any involvement in this?”
"God no. Ava is a dear friend. We’ve been in the business together for a long time. I would never do anything to hurt her. I admire her greatly. She's accomplished things I can only dream of.” She paused. “We were both in the show last night. This could have happened to anyone. Are you sure she was specifically targeted? I have heard rumors that a particular activist group was just looking to stir up trouble. I was on the red carpet when it happened, only a few feet away. It could have been me!”
“It's my understanding you were always competing for the same jobs.”
"Healthy competition. I’d always see her at castings. I would never go so far as to harm someone. That is abhorrent. You need to catch whoever did this and put them away for life! Her career is destroyed. Her life is over. It's tantamount to murder!”
"So if I dig through your phone records and bank accounts, there's going to be no indication that you hired someone to take out your top rival?”
She laughed. “You can look through my bank accounts, phone records, whatever you like. You’re not going to find anything suspicious. I told you. I respected Ava. Still do. I hope that she can return to this industry and become the face of Lumière once again. I will gladly relinquish my role.”
I took it with a grain of salt. It sounded like a rehearsed answer and the politically correct thing to say.
I thanked her for her time and told her to call if she heard anything through the grapevine. She said she would, and I wished her well as the new spokesperson.
My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. “I’ve got a lead for you to look into. We got an anonymous tip. Someone claims to know a guy who bragged about throwing acid in a model’s face. Denise looked into him, and he’s pretty vocal on social media.”
“We’re on it,” I said.
13
Connor Jennings drove for a rideshare company. We stopped by his dump of an apartment on Pelican Trace, but he wasn't there.
Isabella was able to track his phone. With a little hacking, she penetrated the system and routed him to pick us up when I ordered a rideshare.
It was almost too easy.
15 minutes later, a silver sedan pulled into the parking lot at Diver Down and drove around to the front of the restaurant. JD and I climbed into the back of the car, and Connor started towards our destination.
He was a wormy-looking guy with stringy brown hair that hung to his shoulders, narrow puffy eyes, and a thin mustache and goatee. He was the kind of guy who, fresh out of the shower, looked like he hadn't bathed in a few days.
I flashed my badge and told him to pull into a parkingspace. From the minute we slipped into the car, traces of illicit herb hit my nostrils.
His confused eyes looked at me in the rearview. "What's going on?”
"We’ve just got a few questions for you," I said. "Can you tell me where you were yesterday evening?"
"What's this about?”
"Just answer the question."
