Elizabeth Short still represents who is missing. The ring—her ring—sits warm against my chest under my muumuu.
And in front of us on the television, blown up to a truly horrifying size, are Marcus Ashford’s social media profiles.
“Thirty-eight. Single. Named one of Philadelphia’s most eligible bachelors just last year.” She clicks the remote. I pause mid-sip, straw still between my lips.
It’s a PowerPoint presentation.
An actual, fully formatted PowerPoint presentation with graphics and bullet points and a title slide that readsMARCUS ASHFORD: A COMPREHENSIVE INVESTIGATIONin a professional corporate font.
“Pause.” I pull the straw from my mouth and wait for Alex to look at me. “What the fuck.”
“What do you mean, what the fuck?” Her brows pull together and her head tilts slightly. Genuinely confused.
“I mean—” I gesture at the TV with my wineglass. “—when did you have time for this?”
“Well, about that.” She begins already defensive.
“Alex. Who isn’t getting paid this week because you were making a PowerPoint instead of doing your actual job?”
“I had David cover my work.”
“Seriously?” How the hell did she keep that a secret?
“Oh yeah, so they hired a new David last week, and I convinced him to help me with some spreadsheet work.” She shrugs. “He needed mentorship. I needed answers.”
“You mean you had a presentation to create.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Definitely not what you said, but I’ll let it go.” I pick my wine back up, resigned to whatever this is. “How many Davids are there now?”
“Four? Maybe five if you count the guy who spells it D-A-V-I-D-E.”
“That’s not a David, that’s a Davide.”
“Same thing.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Can we continue now?”
“Please. I’m fascinated.”
She clicks to the next slide. Numbers appear. Big numbers.
“Two million followers.” I whistle low. “Jesus.”
“I know.” She sounds grim.
“That’s a lot of followers. Is that across all platforms?”
“TikTok alone.”
I wince. “Damn.”
“I know. It’s like he’s trying to make serial killing go viral.” Her nose wrinkles, mouth pulling down. I feel it too. The absolute wrongness of a man who strangles women having two million people watching him perform boyfriend energy online.
We sit with that for a moment.
“Instagram is a little less, but he really doesn’t post much on Facebook.” She clicks through several screenshots. “And here’s the weirdest thing—no mock accounts. Not one person has created an account claiming to be him or even a fan account.”
“Is that normal?”
