Chapter 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.
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 parking space. 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."
"I was driving.”
I gave him a skeptical look. "Now we both know that isn't true."
His face tightened.
"I suggest you start telling me the truth, or this is going to go the wrong way.”
Connor pulled into a parking space, and I told him to kill the engine.
He did. "I'm going to get in trouble. They can tell when we are not moving. I'm gonna get fired if I don't take you to your destination.”
"We are already at our destination. You just need to be truthful, then you can go about your way.”
Connor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His nervous eyes locked with mine in the rearview.
"I'm gonna ask you again, where were you last night?"
He sighed. "I was at home. I ordered a pizza, played some video games, chilled out. I don't have much of a social life."
"I think you have a pretty active social life. You seem to be involved in political causes. You attend a lot of protests. You share your opinion online. It seems when you’re not driving this car, you’re online, commenting and stirring up trouble.
" The sheriff had sent me a link to his social media page.
"It's a free country.”
"Did you brag about throwing acid in someone's face?”
Panic filled his eyes.
I showed him a social media post on my phone that he had made that pretty much took responsibility.
"Are you the one who called into the morning show today?"
Connor swallowed hard. "I was just talking shit.”
"Why? What's the point?” I knew what the point was. It scored him brownie points socially. Maybe there was some girl he was trying to impress.
"Look, those girls are freaks,” he said.
“Nobody looks like that in real life. It totally sends the wrong message. It makes everyone feel inferior. But hey, buy these products, and you can be beautiful too. I'm sorry, but you can buy all the beauty products you want—it’s not gonna make you look like Ava Lang.”
"So you wanted to take Ava Lang down a notch," I said.
"Wanting to do something and actually doing it are two different things. I didn't do anything."
"So why take credit for it?”
"Nobody else was, so I figured, why not?”
"You made the call to the morning show from Key Bean," I said.
His face stiffened. "How did you know that?”
"It's my job to know these things.”
"Look, I told you what you wanted to know. Can I go now? I need this job.”
"So you're telling me you had nothing to do with the attack on Ava Lang?" I said.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you.”
I looked at him with skeptical eyes.
"Did you go to the Pavilion last night?"
He hesitated a moment. "No. I told you. I went to my apartment after I got off my shift. I ordered a pizza and played video games.”
"I need you to step out of the vehicle.”
His face wrinkled. "What for?”
"Step out of the vehicle and put your hands on the hood."
"Am I under arrest?”
"You will be if you don't comply.”
He huffed and grumbled, then flung the door open and stepped out of the vehicle. I climbed out of the car at the same time.
Connor assumed the position and put his hands on the hood. This wasn’t the first time he'd been arrested.
Connor had the same build as the assailant. He wore the same type of skinny jeans and had the same black canvas sneakers.
I was 99% certain this was the guy.
Connor had tried to cover up the odor of marijuana with an air freshener, but it was still there. The law had recently changed, and the odor alone was no longer probable cause. But a half-smoked joint in the ashtray sealed his fate.
“You got a medical card?”
“No.”
“I need you to put your hands behind your back," I said.
"Man, what the fuck!? You’re arresting me? For what? I didn't do anything!”
"Possession of marijuana," I said.
It was still illegal at that point.
I slapped the cuffs around his wrists and read him his rights. The marijuana gave us probable cause to search the rest of the vehicle.
Jack popped the trunk and looked inside. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”