Tommy’s shoulders slumped in shame. He’d done all those things, and worse. But what was he supposed to do? He was young and hungry, had no choice but to seize every opportunity. Besides, he’d tried avoiding the press and they only hounded him more. Giving them what they wanted was a win-win. They got the story, and he got the kind of exposure he wouldn’t otherwise be offered. Besides, most of those interviews paid off in fat rolls of cash he was in no position to reject.
“You still pointing the finger at . . .” Larsen pretended to consult his notes, but it was just another tactic in an arsenal of many. “Layla Harrison? You still think she had something to do with Madison’s disappearance?”
Tommy closed his eyes. Did he think Layla did it? Most likely no. Then again, he didn’t know her as well as he’d wanted to, but that was all over now. He’d said it on the phone, back when the cops first called, mostly trying to lessen the heat on himself. Besides, it wasn’t like Layla hesitated to push Tommy onto the proverbial tracks when she’d posted pics of him and Madison. All he knew for sure was that the girl had some unresolved anger issues. And yeah, maybe someone should take a closer look at her.
Tommy opened his eyes, fixed his gaze on Detective Larsen. “When it comes to Layla Harrison—let’s just say I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
FORTY-EIGHT
SHAKE IT OFF
Aster Amirpour drove straight to the police station, pulled into a parking space, and rested her forehead on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. She was wired, shaky, and the fluttering in her belly when she’d left her house had
upgraded to spasms. If she didn’t get a grip before going inside, they’d misread her anxiety and peg her as guilty.
She took a series of deep, cleansing breaths, about to check her appearance in the rearview mirror, when her phone chimed with an incoming call and Ira Redman’s name popped onto the screen.
She stared at her phone, unsure what to do. She wasn’t in the habit of receiving calls from Ira, and she feared she might be in trouble for failing to show at the club and missing some meetings. After all he’d done for her, taking care of her after the Madison meltdown, not to mention the cash-filled envelopes—he’d believed in her and she’d let him down. If he was going to fire her, it was probably for the best. With her reputation as a slutty boyfriend stealer, she’d become a liability. The sooner they both put the whole mess behind them, the better.
She closed her eyes and cleared her throat, and then lifting the phone to her ear, she murmured hello.
“Aster, good.” Ira’s voice was hurried and deep, the sound of a busy man about to clear an unpleasant task from a list of things to conquer by noon. “You’re alive. Up until now I was afraid Madison wasn’t the only one who’d disappeared.”
Aster cringed at the reference. “I left you a message,” she murmured, hating how timid she sounded, but Ira always left her feeling nervous.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” There was a muffled sound on the other end as he placed his hand over the receiver and spoke to someone in the background before he returned. “Still, that was one message, Aster. Your absence was a bit lengthier than expected.”
She picked at a frayed spot on the jeans she’d bought at the Barneys denim bar. Funny to think how much she’d paid for pants that’d been purposely destroyed. If only she’d had enough foresight to buy a less-damaged pair. With her parents determined to cut off her finances, her shopping spree days were now a thing of the past. “Am I fired?” Her fingers instinctively reached for the hamsa pendant, despite any evidence it worked in her favor.
“What? No!” Ira’s surprised voice boomed in her ear. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Well, I just figured—”
“Don’t figure. Don’t ever try to second-guess me. You’ll fail every time. I know you’re getting a rough deal in the press and I wanted to check in and— You okay?”
She was crying. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been unfairly ridiculed and shamed by both the press and her family. And now, because of it, she was penniless, homeless, and about as far from okay as she could possibly get—only to have Ira Redman, of all people, actually show some concern. It was too much to process in too short a time. And once she’d started crying, she found she couldn’t stop.
“Aster—where are you? Tell me you’re not driving.” He sounded like a father—a concerned and caring father. Like the kind she used to have until she brought shame on her family and her dad could no longer bear to so much as look at her.
“I’m at the police station.” The words were a whisper. She hung her head low, watching the tears spill onto her lap.
“What the hell are you doing there?”
Ira’s alarm snapped her to attention. She peered in the mirror and wiped her hands furiously over each cheek. “They asked me to come down for questioning and—”
“And you decided to oblige them?”
She squirmed when he said it. The judgment in his tone rang loud and clear.
“You with a lawyer?”
She shook her head, and then realizing he couldn’t actually see her, mumbled, “No.”
“You talk to anyone?”
“Not yet.” She looked over her shoulder, watched some cops climb into a squad car, neither of them exhibiting the slightest interest in her. “I’m still in the parking lot.”
“Listen, start your car and get the hell out of there. Now. You hear me?”