Part 3 shifts the narrative to California, and the suspense and mystery center on the Gentleman Caller/William Rudolph. The novel intensifies its exploration of “twinning,” first through Rudolph and Casanova’s bond, then through the more subtle but equally compelling parallel between Casanova and Cross. Rudolph and Casanova mirror each other in their sadism, competing yet relying on one another, while Casanova and Cross become intellectual foils, locked in a battle of wits that forces Cross into the predator's psychological framework. The characters must figure out if Rudolph is the Gentleman Caller and if the Gentleman Caller and Casanova are the same person. After failing to capture the blonde woman, Rudolph mutters, “I’d like to cut you both into pieces and feed you to the gulls at Venice Beach” (396). The violent diction provides a strong clue that he’s the Gentleman Caller, as does his job as a plastic surgeon. His work as a surgeon reinforces his need for control over women’s bodies, echoing Casanova’s obsession with aestheticized power and submission. The parallels between their professional and predatory behaviors further blur the line between their criminal identities. By Chapter 70, the reader learns that Rudolph is the Gentleman Caller, closing this mystery. While Cross doesn’t catch Rudolph, his pursuit of him creates frantic drama, involving speeding cars and the California highway. The high-speed chase serves as a kinetic representation of Cross’s increasing emotional investment in the case, his physical pursuit mirroring his psychological descent into the killers’ world. More so, Rudolph’s exposure reveals that he’s inferior to Casanova, whose identity now becomes the central mystery. By positioning Rudolph as the lesser of two evils, Patterson shifts the novel’s stakes, making Casanova’s unveiling the ultimate revelation.

The relationship between Kate and Cross remains nuanced and flirtatious. Patterson uses dialogue to highlight their sharp dynamic. Mixing provocation with compassion, Kate tells Cross, “I’m worried about your stubborn black ass. I’m worried so much my stomach hurts.” Cross replies, “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in months” (464). As Cross and Kate grow closer, they speak bluntly to each other, not worrying about political correctness. This directness between them contrasts with the deception that defines Casanova and Rudolph’s relationships with women. Unlike the killers, who manipulate and dominate, Cross and Kate engage in mutual trust and emotional honesty, reinforcing the theme of Positive Masculinity Versus Toxic Masculinity. Patterson doesn’t confine their relationship, so it fluctuates between friendship and romance. Cross wishes Kate would knock on his door—“the way it happened in the movies” (401). Yet Cross doesn’t pressure Kate. In Chapter 74, they kiss, but the kissing stops. Both characters have self-control, and they’re not in a hurry to start a romantic relationship. Their slow-building connection challenges traditional thriller tropes, which often feature hypersexualized female victims who fall into the hero’s arms. Instead, Kate’s agency remains central to their bond, making their relationship one of equality rather than conquest.

The Lurid Culture of Trauma in the US manifests through John Asaro, the Calvin Klien billboard, and Pearl Jam. Asaro admits that he doesn’t care much about the case. What compels him is the possibility that Al Pacino might play him in a movie. Similar to Beth Lieberman, Asaro wants to capitalize on the prevalent need for sex and violence in the US. His attitude suggests that the media’s commodification of crime is as exploitative as the acts themselves, reducing real victims to entertainment fodder. Rudolph’s penthouse enhances the sense of cultural trauma. Someone plays Pearl Jam, and Cross notes, “The lead singer [Eddie Vedder] seemed to be in terrible pain” (482). The story’s unofficial soundtrack contributes to the romanticization of distress. Vedder’s raw, anguished vocals mirror the novel’s underlying commentary on how suffering becomes spectacle—whether in the form of music, news, or crime fiction itself. As the Calvin Klein billboard features a 14-year-old sexualized model, the story suggests a link between predation, pedophilia, and capitalism. Cross says, “He is a monster. Only he’s created himself” (419). The “he” is Rudolph and Casanova, but based on the novel’s depiction of American culture, Rudolph and Casanova are products of their histrionic, degrading environment. This critique suggests that their monstrousness doesn’t exist in a vacuum—rather, it is cultivated and encouraged by a society obsessed with domination, consumption, and sensationalized violence.

Part 3 concludes with a red herring—a common device used in mystery/thriller novels that entails introducing something intentionally meant to distract attention from the main details. The photograph of Wick Sachs indicates that Sachs is Casanova. As Rudolph and Casanova are “twinning,” Rudolph keeps a photo of Casanova in his apartment in the way that people often have photos of friends, families, and loved ones. Yet the clue is false. Sachs isn’t Casanova, and he has nothing to do with the murders and abductions. The red herring emphasizes the novel’s discussion of deception—not just in the killers’ actions but in the broader sense of how truth is manipulated, obscured, and rewritten. The red herring also works as “twinning,” with Casanova and the Gentleman Caller showcasing their superiority by leading Cross to believe that Sachs is the second predator. This calculated misdirection forces Cross into a reactive position, reinforcing how the killers attempt to control not just their victims but the entire narrative of the case.

Part 3 shifts from mystery to action, intensifying the chase while revealing more about the psychological dynamics between Cross, Kate, and the killers. Rudolph’s downfall marks a turning point, proving that the killers are not invincible but still dangerous in their unpredictability. The novel continues to expose how violence and trauma are intertwined with American culture, from the media’s exploitative tendencies to the unsettling ways consumerism and predation intersect. The exploration of masculinity grows more nuanced as Cross and Casanova’s “twinning” deepens, reinforcing their psychological entanglement. Though Cross remains on the side of justice, his relentless pursuit of Casanova forces him to think like the killer, blurring the line between the hunter and the hunted. As the case moves forward, the narrative underscores that solving the mystery of Casanova’s identity is not just about stopping a killer—it’s about understanding the systems of power and deception that enable him.