Chapter 51
Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
Just as I touch the tip of the blade against the soft part of his throat that’s fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, there’s a knock at the door.
Oh come on, not now.
Not on murder attempt number four. Or is it five? I’ve lost count.
I ignore it and concentrate on the knife. But the door thumps again. Harder this time.
For fuck’s sake.
Can I not kill a man in peace?
My phone lights up with a text notification.
Finished up earlier than I expected. Am outside.
Travis.
Of all the times for him to be early.
‘Do you need to get that?’ Aidan says.
I glare at him. ‘I’ll be back for you. Don’t think you’re off the hook.’ I rip off a new strip of duct tape and slap it across his mouth. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
Then I go up the steps and lock the cellar door behind me.
There’s another knock at the door.
‘Coming,’ I say.
I open the door and he’s standing there, leaning against the frame in that louche way of his, his hair curling slightly into his eyes.
‘Hey,’ I say and he smiles.
‘Hey, yourself,’ he says. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting anything?’
Just a casual spot of mid-afternoon murder.
‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ I say. ‘Come in.’ I stand to the side and let Travis step in. ‘Thanks so much for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would.’
He gives a little shrug. ‘Of course. But you should know that I’ve got a can of Mace in my pocket so don’t try anything.’
I stare at him in horror.
‘Kitty, I’m kidding,’ he says. ‘It’s fine. Now what’s going on? You sounded panicked on the phone.’
I lead him through to the kitchen and tell him to take a seat.
Travis pulls out a chair and I sit opposite him.
‘So what’s going on?’ Travis asks again, opening his big hands and laying them palm up on the table.
‘Antoinette is missing.’
‘Missing? What do you mean?’
‘She’s gone,’ I say. What else could missing mean? ‘We argued two nights ago and I haven’t seen her since.’
Travis’s face rearranges itself into concern. ‘And you haven’t heard from her?’
I take her battered phone out of my pocket, where I’ve been keeping it like some sort of talisman, and lay it on the table between us. Travis reaches for the phone and inspects it, his eyes widening when he sees the dark red stain.
‘Is this—’
‘Blood,’ I say. ‘Yes, it is.’
He sucks in a deep breath. ‘And you haven’t called the police?’
I sigh. ‘It’s complicated,’ I say. ‘So, no.’
His eyebrow twitches slightly but his face remains neutral. Private investigators must meet people all the time who don’t want to involve the police. That’s pretty much their bread and butter, isn’t it? Helping people who have been let down by law enforcement.
We’re actually quite similar when you think about it.
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes out a small notebook and the stub of a pencil.
‘Let’s keep this simple then,’ he says, scribbling something down. ‘So it’s Antoinette Collins?’
‘Pemberton, actually,’ I say and he writes this down. ‘She’s my half-sister.’
‘And her date of birth?’
I tell him.
‘So you say you last saw her two nights ago? Walk me through it. What happened? What was she wearing?’
I describe Antoinette’s outfit to Travis, her slip dress, her vintage Chanel flats. ‘And a scarf,’ I say, remembering the pale pink silk fabric looped around her neck. She’s barely taken it off since I gave it to her that first day.
‘A scarf?’ Travis repeats, his brow troubled. ‘In LA?’
‘Not like a winter scarf,’ I say. Urgh. Men. ‘You know, like a delicate one. An accessory.’
‘Right, yes.’ He nods and scribbles something down. ‘And how was she? When you last saw her? Was she distressed? Did she seem worried about anything? Anything on her mind?’
Anything other than the producer she’d just stabbed in the neck?
I take a deep breath in. ‘We’d had a bit of a disagreement.’
Travis holds my gaze. ‘So you argued?’ he asks and sweat begins to bead on my upper lip. God, I can never get questioned by the police, without being nervous about giving away that we were arguing about her sloppy attitude to murder.
I’d fold like a deckchair.
‘A bit,’ I admit.
‘What about?’
‘I honestly can’t even remember,’ I lie and hope I’m doing a good job of it. ‘Just something silly.’ I give a little laugh that sounds fake even to my ears. ‘Sister stuff.’
Travis narrows his eyes at me. ‘Kitty,’ he says, ‘if you want me to help you then I need you to be honest with me.’
I sigh. ‘We just argued about some of her behaviour,’ I say.
‘Okay. In what way?’
‘Just like, well, we’re here looking for someone, as you know, and she’s just been getting distracted.’ It’s not exactly a lie.
More scribbling. ‘Distracted with what?’
Oh God.
This was a terrible idea.
‘By Agnes!’ I say. He saw them at dinner after all. He thought they were cute.
He purses his lips. ‘Interesting,’ he says. ‘I think I need to speak to Agnes.’
‘Really? Why? She’s as baffled by Antoinette’s disappearance as I am.’
Travis nods slowly. ‘Maybe. Or maybe she knows something.’
I shake my head. ‘There’s no way. Agnes is the sweetest. She’s got a little dog.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Do you know who else had a dog, Kitty?’ I shake my head. ‘Jeffrey Dahmer.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, I’m thinking we call Agnes in. See what she knows.’
‘Who’s name-dropping me?’ Agnes pokes her head around the back door. ‘Knock knock.’
‘Come in,’ I say to her. ‘Travis is here.’
She wafts in, Lana Del Gay in her arms, and Travis considers her for a moment.
‘Cute dog,’ he says eventually and Agnes gives him a smile. She puts Lana on the floor before pulling out a chair and sitting next to me. The dog immediately snarls at Travis.
‘Oh be quiet,’ Agnes tells her in a baby voice. She looks back at Travis. ‘Sorry about that. She doesn’t really like men.’
Travis’s eyebrow twitches again.
‘No problem,’ he says and then clears his throat. ‘So Kitty and I are talking about Antoinette’s disappearance.’
Agnes nods solemnly.
‘Where were you the night she went missing?’
‘Excuse me?’ Agnes is taken aback.
Travis leans across the table. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he says. ‘Antoinette hasn’t been seen since the night before last. And she doesn’t know many people in this town. So I need to speak with the people she does know.’
‘I was at home,’ Agnes says. ‘All night. In my room.’
‘Is that so? Can anyone confirm that?’
Agnes’s eyes widen. Two nights ago was the day she was assaulted by Richard Stone.
‘Travis,’ I say. ‘You’re oiling the wrong hinge. Agnes doesn’t know what happened to Antoinette. She’s as worried as I am.’
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Agnes says with a hard stare at Travis, which Lana Del Gay backs up with a low growl. She turns to me. ‘Have you told him? About the WeHo Ripper?’
Travis flicks his gaze over to me. ‘The what?’
‘The WeHo Ripper,’ I say. Surely a private investigator would know about the theories circulating online.
His face is blank though. I sigh and take Antoinette’s iPad from the counter.
I slide it over to him, open on her PrivatePool page.
His eyes widen and I notice a flush creep across his face when he sees the photos she’s uploaded.
‘There’s speculation on Reddit that WeHo has a serial killer who’s targeting women from this site. ’
Travis takes the tablet from me and frowns at the screen. ‘You think she’s been targeted?’ he says after a moment or two, and Agnes and I nod.
‘Not just targeted,’ I say. ‘I’m pretty sure she set this account up as a trap. She wanted to try to catch the killer.’
‘But her trap was used against her,’ Travis says almost to himself, running his hand over the scruff on his jaw.
‘A classic story of cat and mouse. But the hunter becomes the hunted.’ He stares at the iPad for a few moments, deep in thought.
Then he looks up at me. ‘And you haven’t called the police?
Is that right? Even though you think she might have been taken by a murderer? ’
I shrug helplessly.
‘Show him the messages as well,’ Agnes says. ‘The Instagram ones.’
I take the iPad back from Travis and swipe through to the DMs.
‘She’d been getting these messages,’ I say. ‘They sound like they could be from the killer.’
He holds out his hand for the iPad and I pass it back to him. He regards it for a minute, a serious look on his face.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Leave this with me. I’m going to see what I can find out from this.’ He stands up to leave. With the iPad.
‘Is that it?’ I say. ‘Are you going?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘If you’re right and she has been taken by this WeHo Ripper then we have no time to waste.’ He taps the iPad. ‘I’ll mine this for data. Sit tight. I’ll be in touch. I’ll see myself out.’
And with that he disappears out of the kitchen.
A moment later the front door slams.
Agnes stares at the space where Travis had been sitting.
‘Well, that was weird,’ she says and I nod. ‘Do you trust him?’
‘I have to,’ I say.
But the truth is, I really have no idea who to trust.