My detective is a driver.  By day, he delivers stuff—fabric, samples, patterns–with the Millenium Falcon, his pet name for the outdated Isuzu SUV.  On off hours, he drives a Toyota Corolla:  a beater.  He’s also got a red, mint BMW he’s inherited from his younger sister, a UCLA coed who is murdered by her boyfriend, Kelly.  But he never drives that.  The car is more of a shrine, not transportation.

Kelly is a world class surfer.  And Robert, my hero, only suspects that he murdered the sister.  But he can’t prove it.  So he keeps the car privately garaged off La Brea.  He thinks there’s still evidence that is left in the car, linking Kelly to the murder.  Whenever he sees Kelly on a bus stop or a billboard or a surf shop display window—God—he wants to spit.

This is motivation to solve the current mysterious set of serial killer murders of beautiful girls—all interns—who are very much like his sister:  smart, sophisticated and chic.  All the girls have this in common:  they are richer than they appear.  They are beautiful but could be more so.

The serial killer is obsessed with improvement and perfection.  He thinks that he’s making them better.  And they are all victims because there’s a lot of girls in Los Angeles with low self-esteem who are climbing the ladder who will put themselves in compromising situations to get that much closer to their goals.

But back to Kelly:  isn’t his name awesome?  I’m terrible with names.  My fashion designer is Betsy.  What kind of image does that bring up for you?  What name should I change it to?