Page 35 of Missing White Woman

She shook her head. “You still have access to your social media?”

“No. I need my phone. Why?”

She just held hers out. I took my time walking the three steps to grab it but still got there too soon. I’d been expecting Instagram or even CNN. Instead, I saw TikTok. A Brush With Billie’s page was up. The profile photo was the same—some close-up of a precise makeup job—but now there was just one thing in her bio: #Justice4Janelle.

Adore spoke. “This account’s been posting nonstop about Janelle’s disappearance and—”

I finished her sentence like I used to. “Murder. I know who Billie is. I’ve been just as fascinated with Janelle’s disappearance as the rest of the world. And Billie always has folks sharing stuff no one else knows yet.”

Yesterday, that had been a good thing. Today, the thought made me scared. I also wanted Janelle to get justice, as long as it was directed toward the person who actually had done this.

“Click the latest post,” Adore said.

“The one with 300,000 views…”

“And 5,000 comments. Though I’m sure it’s gone up.”

I clicked on it. “It has. By several hundred.”

The video opened with a screenshot of a tweet. I leaned forward to make it out, but then I realized I didn’t need to because Billie read it for me.

“Jersey City police sent out a statement that they’ll be holding a press conference about the body many believe to be Janelle Beckett. Sources say that the body was in horrific condition. Beat beyond recognition.”

Unfortunately, that was something I already knew.

“Beat. Beyond. Recognition.” Billie started to tear up. “She was so beautiful. To imagine her beat beyond recognition. I’ll be watching the press conference and will share an updated post as soon as it’s done. The police haven’t said anything—yet—about who owns the house, but if you’ve been following the Justice for Janelle hashtag, then you know that it’s an Airbnb. The police haven’t said if it was booked this past weekend, but we have reason to believe it was, perhaps by this man.”

Ty suddenly stared back at me. It was one of my favorite pictures. The first of him I’d ever saved to my camera roll. He’d been at one of his frat’s scholarship luncheons. He had on a black suit and was smiling. And for a moment—just a moment—I smiled at the sight of him alive and happy.

But then the screen switched to a close-up of the bio. Tyler Franklin. Baltimore born and bred. UMD Man. JPMorgan Golden Boy. Ty to my friends. Mr. Franklin to everyone else.

Even though part of me had expected this—dreaded it—I still wasn’t prepared.

Billie spoke over it. “His last couple posts starting with Saturday have all been photos from the New York–New Jersey area.”

She shared my vacation with her hundreds of thousands of followers. Even with her flipping through his posts so quickly, I recognized each place. The bookstore. The cookie shop. The restaurant. Then she stopped on one. I recognized it too. “However, it’s this one in particular,” she said.

In the foreground were intertwined feet on a coffee table. A frame of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was in the background. We’d never finished the movie.

“Tyler Franklin didn’t include a specific address for the photo, though he did tag it Paulus Hook,” Billie said. “Now, if you go to the Airbnb listing for 110 Little Street, you’ll see this photo.”

The screen switched to a realtor-like shot of a living room designed in sophisticated grays. Ty had sent it to me right after he invited me to visit.

“I’m going to zoom in here.” She did. “You see that? Same TV. Same art. It seems pretty clear this Tyler Franklin and someone else were at 110 Little Street at the same time our Janelle went missing. Unfortunately, I don’t have any information on the other person in the photo. Tyler Franklin didn’t tag anyone in any of his posts.”

The shot switched again and Billie was back to dominating the screen, the Airbnb photo behind her. “We know that the police spoke to two people at the scene and let them both go. I don’t have confirmation that one of them is this Tyler Franklin. I also heard they’re looking for a third suspect. Again, I’m not saying that it’s Tyler Franklin. And to be clear, I’m not saying this Tyler person has anything to do with Janelle. Though I can’t help but also wonder about the woman with him.”

I didn’t move, not even stopping the video when it looped back to the start.

“So?” Adore finally said. “What are you thinking?”

“That I knew I should’ve gotten a pedicure.”

“This isn’t funny, Bree. It gets worse.” She snatched the phone back, tapping her screen a few times, then handing it back to me. Ty’s last Instagram post. “Check the comments.”

The ones from his friends were still there. The folks I was embarrassed to admit I didn’t know by their government names. But now there were more. A lot more.

Why did you do it? #Justice4Janelle

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