Page 46 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

I might be good at killing people but I don’t seem to have a natural talent for finding them. I’m a murderer, not a detective.

‘They’re never going to catch him,’ she’s saying now. ‘They won’t even admit he exists. These women deserve justice, Kits.’

‘I know,’ I say again, but Antoinette is in full-flow rant mode.

‘It’s because they’re adult creators,’ she says as she paces the floor in the living room, looking like a caged wild creature. ‘They see the word “PrivatePool” and they stop caring.’ She stops pacing to look at me, her eyes big and imploring. ‘Juno is the fourth, Kits, the fourth that we know of. How many more women have to die before the police think it’s worth staying late at the office for?’

I know she’s right.

If there was a serial killer targeting, I don’t know, obnoxious tech bros or something, there would no doubt be a full-scale hunt for him. But because these women are selling their bodies, the police don’t care. They probably think they were asking for it too.

I think of the news reports back in the UK about the systemic misogyny that’s rampant in the Metropolitan Police. It’s not too much of a stretch to assume that the police over here are the same. In the country where the phrase ‘Your body, my choice’ originated.

‘Okay,’ I say.

Antoinette blinks at me. ‘Okay?’ she says. ‘As in okay, we’re going to find him.’

‘Well, I don’t mean let’s light a candle and manifest him,’ I say.

She beams at me.

‘Look, we can try,’ I say. ‘You’re absolutely right. They haven’t caught him because they’re not looking for him. Because they don’t care enough.’

‘But we do,’ she says in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. ‘We care about justice.’

I nod even though I’m not totally sure what I’m getting myself into here, what I’m promising. This isn’t like the other men. Whoever this guy is, he’s not an opportunistic date rapist. He’s not an anonymous incel spewing his vile ideologies online. This man is a killer. He’s someone who brutally murders women. Who plans it. Who enjoys it.

‘Where do we start?’ Antoinette asks.

‘We start with what we know,’ I say.

Antoinette slumps slightly, like some of the fight is already escaping her. ‘But what do we know?’ she says. ‘The only thing we know is that he could be literally anyone.’

‘That’s not true,’ I say. ‘We know that he works in West Hollywood. We know that he targets a very specific type of woman. And we know that he likes to dump the bodies of his victims at the most famous places around here. So he’s definitely got a flare for the theatrical. That’s not nothing.’

‘And we know that he’s using PrivatePool as his hunting ground,’ she says, that hard glimmer returning to her eyes.

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘We already know the type of woman he’ll target next.’

‘We can find him,’ she says, buoyed up again.

‘We can,’ I agree. ‘And when we do, we’ll make sure he never hurts another woman again.’

Antoinette nods slowly, determined. ‘I’m going to do some research now,’ she says, picking up her iPad and swiping it on. ‘Who needs sleep?’

27

Kale Me Maybe Juice Bar, Santa Monica Blvd, West Hollywood, Los Angeles

The next day, I leave Antoinette doing whatever she’s doing on her iPad and I go off to meet Travis for a catch-up on how he’s getting on with his hunt for Aidan Ward. I might have agreed to look for the WeHo Ripper but I can’t lose sight of the reason I came here. Revenge.

Travis is sitting at the exact same table as he was the first time we met when I get to the juice bar.

He looks up when I walk in and gives me a big smile.

‘Mary-Kate,’ he says, his eyes twinkling in a way that should make me feel things. I don’t. ‘You’re looking well.’

‘Thank you,’ I say as I pull out the chair opposite and flop down into it.