Page 11 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

I read the reports twice over.

Yeah, there is something that smells both fishy and ratty about it.

‘The bodies were all found at famous Hollywood landmarks?’ I say and Antoinette nods.

‘It’s got pattern serial killer written all over it,’ she says.

I turn back to look at the reports.

At the pictures of the dead women when they were very much alive. Smiling into the camera lens, life sparkling in their eyes. Life that a handful of people in a dark corner of the internet – people I don’t usually take seriously – believe was snuffed out by one person.

Antoinette’s right.

If there’s even the possibility that someone is killing these women, and killing them because they’re taking agency of their own bodies, then I absolutely should be doing something about it. Rage boils inside me and pushes my blood faster around my body.

But then an image of Tor leaps into my mind. Of her face, still alive but completely devoid of sparkle.

I can’t start a wild goose chase for a serial killer that may not even exist. I have to find Aidan Ward and kill him. That’s why I’m here. I made a promise to Tor and I can’t get distracted by another project.

I hand the iPad back to my sister.

I’d almost forgotten.

I’m not doing this alone anymore, am I?

There are two of us.

That’s more than enough to take on both projects.

‘Look,’ I say gently, ‘if you can convince me that there’s actually a killer out there and this isn’t just some Reddit drama over absolutely nothing, then I will think about it.’

Antoinette smiles. ‘You’re the best.’

‘I know that, but thank you. Now let’s get changed and go and get some food. I’m starving.’

I watch as my sister skips out of the living room, placated for now.

6

The Restaurant, Chateau Marmont, West Hollywood

Antoinette stopped talking about the supposed WeHo Ripper long enough for us to decide that we’re both too tired to go out for food tonight. Now we’re seated at an outside table in the hotel restaurant and, in the sinking evening light, we could really be a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of LA.

Antoinette is glowing under the fairy lights that adorn the wooden beams overhead. She’s twirling spaghetti around her fork and actually looks happy. She’s even wearing the scarf I bought for her and I was right: it looks stunning on her. I hope she’ll let me borrow it.

‘Okay?’ I ask. She beams at me.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘This is actually lovely.’

I’m not sure if she’s talking about the food specifically, the restaurant in general or hanging out with me, but she’s smiling and I’m taking that as a win. I knew I’d be able to convert her to loving it here. She was tired and hungry earlier. That’s why she was grumpy. I get like that too. That’s another thing we have in common!

‘It is,’ I say and clink my glass of sparkling water against hers. I’m taking a bit of a break from the booze. Something horrible happened to me in Cannes earlier this summer, something that probably could’ve been prevented if I hadn’t been chaotic drunk. Anyway, it makes sense to keep a clear head when we’ve got a job to do out here. Antoinette apparently ‘barely drinks anyway’ because ‘urgh, getting blackout drunk and ending up going viral is so cringe’. This is a little hard to believe when I saw her packing away the champagne at my mother’s wedding a few weeks ago. Anyway, instead of cocktails we’re going to have a nice supper and an early night, ready to properly start our search for Aidan Ward in the morning.

‘Oh I almost forgot to tell you,’ Antoinette says as she winds more pasta onto her fork. ‘You’ve got an appointment tomorrow.’

‘An appointment for what?’

‘I found a therapist,’ she beams. ‘From Reddit. I arranged it all while you were out earlier. It slipped my mind with all the WeHo Ripper stuff.’