Chapter 26
Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
‘See!’ Antoinette says to me when we get back to the villa. ‘You can’t possibly tell me that the WeHo Ripper isn’t real now? Juno Blake is like the fourth woman from PrivatePool killed this year. And the body was dumped at a Hollywood landmark. It’s got “serial killer” written all over it.’
I have to admit the evidence is pretty compelling.
It’s pattern serial killer behaviour.
The exact kind of killer who is murdering these women to make a statement.
‘And those comments,’ she continues, her face contorts into a disgusted grimace. ‘Can’t even let the poor woman’s body go cold before calling her a slut and basically saying she was asking for it.’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘So we’re going to find this guy then?’ My sister’s eyes are blazing with something I recognise, pure fury. ‘I know you’re focused on finding Aidan Ward but we can’t just turn our backs on this, can we?’
She’s right.
How would I ever be able to live with myself if I had the chance to put an end to someone’s reign of terror over women?
There’s no way I can just walk away from this.
There’s just one problem.
‘I can’t even find Aidan Ward,’ I say. ‘And I know who he is and what he looks like. How am I supposed to find a killer who the police haven’t been able to?’
Antoinette’s brow puckers. ‘We,’ she says. ‘There are two of us. I know we can do this.’
I love her enthusiasm, even if I don’t feel it myself.
I might be good at killing people but I don’t seem to have a natural talent for finding them. I’m a murderer, not a detective.
‘They’re never going to catch him,’ she’s saying now. ‘They won’t even admit he exists. These women deserve justice, Kits.’
‘I know,’ I say again, but Antoinette is in full-flow rant mode.
‘It’s because they’re adult creators,’ she says as she paces the floor in the living room, looking like a caged wild creature.
‘They see the word “PrivatePool” and they stop caring.’ She stops pacing to look at me, her eyes big and imploring.
‘Juno is the fourth, Kits, the fourth that we know of. How many more women have to die before the police think it’s worth staying late at the office for? ’
I know she’s right.
If there was a serial killer targeting, I don’t know, obnoxious tech bros or something, there would no doubt be a full-scale hunt for him. But because these women are selling their bodies, the police don’t care. They probably think they were asking for it too.
I think of the news reports back in the UK about the systemic misogyny that’s rampant in the Metropolitan Police. It’s not too much of a stretch to assume that the police over here are the same. In the country where the phrase ‘Your body, my choice’ originated.
‘Okay,’ I say.
Antoinette blinks at me. ‘Okay?’ she says. ‘As in okay, we’re going to find him.’
‘Well, I don’t mean let’s light a candle and manifest him,’ I say.
She beams at me.
‘Look, we can try,’ I say. ‘You’re absolutely right. They haven’t caught him because they’re not looking for him. Because they don’t care enough.’
‘But we do,’ she says in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. ‘We care about justice.’
I nod even though I’m not totally sure what I’m getting myself into here, what I’m promising.
This isn’t like the other men. Whoever this guy is, he’s not an opportunistic date rapist. He’s not an anonymous incel spewing his vile ideologies online.
This man is a killer. He’s someone who brutally murders women. Who plans it. Who enjoys it.
‘Where do we start?’ Antoinette asks.
‘We start with what we know,’ I say.
Antoinette slumps slightly, like some of the fight is already escaping her. ‘But what do we know?’ she says. ‘The only thing we know is that he could be literally anyone.’
‘That’s not true,’ I say. ‘We know that he works in West Hollywood. We know that he targets a very specific type of woman. And we know that he likes to dump the bodies of his victims at the most famous places around here. So he’s definitely got a flare for the theatrical. That’s not nothing.’
‘And we know that he’s using PrivatePool as his hunting ground,’ she says, that hard glimmer returning to her eyes.
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘We already know the type of woman he’ll target next.’
‘We can find him,’ she says, buoyed up again.
‘We can,’ I agree. ‘And when we do, we’ll make sure he never hurts another woman again.’
Antoinette nods slowly, determined. ‘I’m going to do some research now,’ she says, picking up her iPad and swiping it on. ‘Who needs sleep?’