Page 21 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

I sigh again. I do know. I just don’t know what else to do.

‘We need to think smart,’ Antoinette is saying now like I didn’t just say the same thing two seconds ago. ‘Like, okay, he might not be working as a therapist but he still needs money. And groceries. Stuff like that. Does he know anyone out here? There must be a reason he came to LA of all places.’

‘But how would we know that?’

Antoinette taps her phone. ‘He might not be active himself on Instagram but the people he follows might be. Have you checked his tags?’

I stare at her.

His tags.

Of course.

Why haven’t I thought of this?

We spend some time trawling through the bowels of Aidan Ward’s Instagram tags before we find something that might be useful.

‘Look,’ Antoinette says, pointing to a photo of Aidan on a beach with his arms wrapped around a dark-haired woman. They’re both beaming at the camera, under the shade of a palm tree. It was posted 156 weeks ago.

I click on it.

‘Girlfriend?’ I say.

‘Definitely looks like it.’

The picture appears on the account of someone called Niamh O’Hagan. I scroll through her photos but there aren’t any others with Aidan Ward in them.

‘That’s weird,’ I say to Antoinette. ‘If they were a couple, why aren’t there any other photos of them together? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Unless they had a bad break-up,’ she says, ‘and she deleted all the others. Maybe this one survived the purge.’

I stare at the photo. They definitely have that in-love energy. What happened for her to delete all other photos of him?

‘I’m going to DM her,’ I say to Antoinette, who nods.

I tap out a message.

‘Hi Niamh, I’m really sorry to slide into your DMs out of the blue but I’m hoping you can help me. I noticed a photo of Aidan Ward on your grid. I’m trying to find him. He violently attacked my friend a few weeks ago before leaving London for LA. If you can help at all in any way, I would be grateful forever. Thank you for your time, Kitty Collins.’

I press send and look at my sister. ‘And now we wait.’

Antoinette nods and looks out at the pool, squinting in the sun. ‘It’s getting hot,’ she says. ‘I think I might have a swim. Coming in?’

I shake my head. ‘I want to keep at this a bit longer,’ I say, indicating the laptop. She shrugs and stands up, peeling off her cover-up, revealing a white Oséree bikini. I watch as she dips her foot into the impossibly blue water. ‘Gosh, that’s cold,’ she mutters before arching her back and diving in, perfectly. She remerges a few seconds later, her teeth chattering. ‘Gosh, that’s really fucking cold!’ She laughs again and swims to the other end of the pool. ‘Kits. What’s that building?’ I follow the line of her finger and see what looks like a miniature version of the villa.

‘I think it’s a guesthouse,’ I say. ‘Funny, the listing didn’t mention that.’

‘Shall we go and check it out? You never know, it might be nicer than the main house!’

‘It’s probably just full of old furniture and pool maintenance stuff,’ I say. ‘I doubt it’s very exciting or I’m sure the owners would’ve said something about it.’ Antoinette’s already hauling herself out of the pool though and wrapping a towel around her waist.

‘I might just go and have a look anyway,’ she says and sashays in the direction of the guesthouse, leaving a trail of footprints drying on the concrete behind her.

13

Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles

After Antoinette has disappeared from view, a wave of tiredness washes over me. It can’t still be jet lag, can it? I lean back on the lounger and close my eyes, stretching my legs out and letting the sun hit them. I’m almost asleep when my phone starts vibrating next to me. I reach for it, expecting it to be Tor again, but the name on the caller ID sends me spiralling.