Kyle sighed. “Sure. No problem.”
A moment later, Rachel’s profile page appeared on the screen. She was identified only by her first name. Verraday noticed that Kyle’s face was momentarily frozen in grief at the sight of her. Even in death, she still had a powerful hold on him.
In one of the photos, she was making a flirty, pouting expression and pulling on her necklace, touching the tip of an ankh to her lips seductively. Verraday was certain that whoever had killed Rachel must have seen this portrait and mentally filed it away to devise his own response to it. In another photo, Rachel stood in front of a mirror wearing nothing but a seductive smile, a pair of black over-the-knee boots, and her beaded ankh necklace. She had a lot of tattoos and piercings, the jewelry all rings and studs except for one unusual piece that caught Verraday’s eye. It was a tiny version of a Native American dream catcher that hung from a piercing in her navel.
“Did she always wear that dream catcher?” asked Verraday.
“No,” replied Kyle. “She got her navel pierced after we split up.”
Another photo featured a close-up of the scripted tattoo beneath her left breast. “Rachel got that after we split up too,” said Kyle. “I never saw it ’til she was on this site. She said that was her new motto.”
Maclean read it off the screen. “‘If you don’t live for something, you’ll die for nothing.’”
“Yeah,” said Kyle. “A lot of those piercings are new too. She said she was going to reinvent herself.”
Down one side of Rachel’s page was a comments section showing the profile pictures of her admirers. The assortment included art school boys, alternative musicians, guys with jail tattoos, gang bangers, and even doughy middle-aged family men who looked like they had written their urgent declarations of passion with the door to their den locked, in between shuttling their broods to and from Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Verraday read some of their predictable comments to himself. Seeing Rachel’s so-called admirers, and the sorrowful expression on Kyle Davis’s face reflected in the monitor, put him in a melancholy frame of mind.
“Thanks,” said Maclean gently. “You don’t have to show us any more.”
Kyle closed the Assassin Girls page. “Like I told you, I only looked once. That was enough for me,” he said. “I never looked at her page after that until just now with you.”
“You said earlier that after that night in the bar, you never saw her again ‘in person.’ What exactly did you mean by that?”
“Rachel texted me about a month before she disappeared and asked to have a Skype call.”
“And did you agree to it?” asked Maclean.
“Yes. When we connected, I saw that she was in her studio apartment. She looked high. She was acting flirty, leaning forward toward the screen, twisting her hair around her fingers. She said she was starting a new business and she wanted me to be her focus group.”
“What was the business?” asked Verraday.
“When Rachel stood up and backed away from her webcam, I saw that she was wearing a black latex dress and high heels. Then I noticed that there was a blonde girl in the background sitting on the edge of Rachel’s bed. Rachel put some music on and started dancing. Then she gestured to the other girl to join her. They started close dancing together and making out in front of the camera. Then she said this was going to be her webcam business, putting on shows for her ‘fans.’ Rachel asked me if I was turned on.”
“And were you?” asked Verraday.
Kyle hesitated before answering. “What guy wouldn’t be? But I was sort of pissed too, because it was another one of her control things. You know, keeping me hanging on.”
“Did it make you feel angry?”
“Yeah, but not at her. At myself. For being such a loser.”
“Did you record any of the video call?” asked Maclean gently.
Kyle hesitated again. He bowed his chin slowly and looked at his feet. “Yeah.”
“Nobody’s judging you,” said Maclean. “We’re just trying to find her killer. Do you know who the other girl was?”
“No, I don’t. Rachel never mentioned her name.”
“It could help the investigation if we can identify who she was,” said Maclean. “Do you still have the screenshot?”
“Yes,” said Kyle, rubbing his cheek. “I can e-mail the file to you.”
“Thanks, I know this isn’t easy, and we really appreciate it,” said Maclean. “Now, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt her?”
“No. We were so caught up in each other at first that we didn’t socialize at all. My friends even began to joke that I was turning into a recluse and started asking if this girlfriend of mine even existed.” Kyle hesitated. “I just can’t figure out why somebody did this to her. It’s hard to imagine someone being such a sick fuck.”
And Kyle Davis would be shocked to his core, thought Verraday, if he knew just how many sick fucks there actually were out there and how sick they could be.