Chapter 39
Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
‘If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now,’ I tell Antoinette the moment the kitchen door closes behind us and I’ve double-locked it.
‘This minute?’ Antoinette says with surprise. ‘What about all that stuff you told me before about planning and blah blah blah?’
‘It needs to be now,’ I say, ‘because we know where he is. We might not get this opportunity again. He assaulted Agnes, plus God knows who else, and he deserves to pay for it.’
Antoinette beams at me. ‘Glad to hear it. It’s hard to know with you at the moment. You seem to have lost your edge since we’ve been out here.’
‘Lost my edge?’ Now I’m seething. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s like you’ve gone soft,’ she says. ‘You weren’t happy at all about Ron Wilde.’
‘Because you weren’t careful,’ I say.
I need a massage.
I thought LA was supposed to be all chill and relaxed but I have honestly never felt so stressed in my whole life. ‘You just killed him with no thought of the consequences and knew I’d clear up your mess.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Antoinette says and I’m sure she sticks her lower lip out a bit. ‘He deserved it.’
I let out a huge sigh of exasperation. ‘Antoinette,’ I say. ‘We’ve been through this, it wasn’t a smart kill. Which reminds me. We still need to figure out what we’re going to do with that body. Now, come on. Get in the car.’
Antoinette looks at the door to the cellar.
‘What about Aidan Ward?’ she says.
‘He’s not going anywhere. We’ll deal with him when we’ve sorted out Richard Stone. Come on. We need to go now.’
In the car, Antoinette does some Richard Stone research. ‘Originally from London,’ she tells me. ‘God, we really produce some pieces of work, but has been working over here for the past thirty years.’
‘Family? Who’d miss him?’
‘Can’t find any evidence of a wife or kids on his socials. He seems to prefer hanging out with women who look like models in Malibu and Miami.’
Urgh, an ageing bachelor who can’t take no for an answer. The worst.
‘What’s Reddit and X saying?’ I ask. ‘Any chat about him on those about him being inappropriate?’
Antoinette shakes her head. ‘Nothing concrete but there are some mutterings about a well-known male producer who hasn’t learned anything from the Weinstein situation. That could be referring to him.’ Or any of the infinite number of producers out here.
It really is like #MeToo never happened.
‘Okay and we know where we’re going?’
‘I got his address from Agnes’s phone,’ she says, tapping something into the car’s sat-nav.
He lives in The Hills. Specifically in The Bird Streets where the houses are huge and, for some reason, the roads are like goat paths.
And it’s dark.
Like really fucking dark.
I am not enjoying this drive.
Not one bit.
But dark is good.
No witnesses.
And that’s exactly what we want.
As I drive, I tell Antoinette the plan. It’s a bit off the cuff, but it should work as long as everyone sticks to her role.
By everyone I mean Antoinette.
I hope Richard Stone is still awake.
He’s about to take his own life.
So sad.