Page 37 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘Can you send these to me?’ Travis says and I nod and Airdrop them to him. ‘What about social media?’

I shake my head again. ‘He’s stopped posting,’ I say. ‘He’s gone completely ghost.’

Travis purses his lips. ‘Totally normal for someone who doesn’t want to be found,’ he says. ‘Can you describe him for me? Height?’

I think for a moment. ‘He’s about six feet,’ I say. ‘Medium build. Usually wears glasses but he could have contacts now, I suppose. And he had a big beard the last time I saw him.’

‘Age?’

‘Old,’ Antoinette says. ‘Middle-aged. From the nineteen hundreds.’

‘Early thirties,’ I say.

‘Okay, so not the undead,’ Travis types something.

‘He always wears jeans and band shirts,’ I say. ‘Kind of like you.’

‘So, great style.’ Travis adds this to his notes and I realise that I’m smiling again. Which is weird because speaking to a private detective about finding the psychopath who hurt my friend shouldn’t be a smiling kind of scenario. Travis appears to notice this too and immediately makes his face settle into an appropriately serious and professional expression. He taps a few things into his laptop and then looks at us again.

‘Well, I think that’s all I need from you for now. Unless you can think of anything else?’ We both shake our heads. ‘And you’ve got my details in case you do so please don’t hesitate to drop me a line. Anytime.’ I’m pretty sure he’s speaking to me when he says this. He extends his hand out towards Antoinette. ‘Lovely to meet you, Ashley,’ he says and she laughs. ‘And you, Kitty.’ He shakes my hand too and I’m sure I’m not imagining it when he lingers, just a little, instead of dropping it right away when the shake is over.

Outside Antoinette doesn’t waste any time letting me know that she noticed the frisson between me and Travis too.

‘Sparks,’ she says, ‘Absolute sparks.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ I say, even as I feel a blush creep up my neck and towards my cheeks. ‘He was just being polite and professional.’ Which, at this point, is exactly what we need. I’ve been getting more and more anxious about not really having a clue on how to find Aidan Ward. And for the first time I’m feeling relieved. Travis is going to find him and then I can get that sweet revenge for Tor.

I can’t wait.

Antoinette laughs just as my phone buzzes with a text notification. I look at it. It’s from Travis.

Seriously. Anytime.

I show the message to my sister, who lets out a whoop.

‘Oh, Kits,’ she says. ‘You are so getting some of that private dick.’

21

Hollywood Reservoir Trail, Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles

With Travis Truman taking the reins in the hunt for Aidan Ward for a while, I have the chance to teach Antoinette some of the basics of serial killing. She’s keen and she’s got a knack for it, that’s for sure, but we cannot have another incident like the Ron Wilde one.

So today is a school day for Antoinette. It’s another early start and another hiking trail, this time the Hollywood Reservoir. Full disclosure, even though we pretty much ruled this place out as a potential dumping ground for dead bodies, I wanted to get a better look. It’s obvious right away that this is not the place for me. Or Ron Wilde. Too many cameras, too many Labradoodles and absolutely no way of getting near the actual water without ending up on some sort of watch-list. It’s something of a challenge trying to find any corner of this city that isn’t being filmed by either law enforcement or influencers.

I guess I’ll need to keep thinking.

‘The most important thing,’ I say to Antoinette as we do some basic stretches to warm up, ‘is that you’re certain your target deserves it. This means research. And evidence if at all possible. The worst thing you could do is kill a good man. They’re an endangered species as it is.’

‘I did my research with you know who,’ she says. ‘It was widely documented what a POS he was.’

‘I’m not entirely sure tabloid magazines and Reddit count as credible sources,’ I say.

She pulls her left foot up to her bottom, stretching out her quads. ‘There were legal proceedings,’ she says after a moment.

‘Which were dropped,’ I say. ‘He wasn’t charged with anything. In the eyes of the law, Ron Wilde did nothing wrong.’

She changes legs and frowns at me. ‘What about Believe Women?’ she says. ‘Isn’t that proof enough for you?’