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“That’s greatwork,” Ryan exclaimed. “Any link to Clarissa Langley?”
“Not that I couldfind so far,” Jamil conceded.
“There’s got to besomething,” Jessie insisted. “This feels right. I mean, the woman was killedwith the very trophy that she won, proving that she bested him. If it washim, it must have felt like poetic justice to use it as the murder weapon.”
“Actually,” Bethvolunteered, “when I was looking through the Langley’s financials before, I sawthat they paid for staging services for their home earlier this year. There wasnothing about them putting the place on the market, but maybe they were consideringit and changed their mind. If that’s the case, they would have surely met withsome realtors to discuss it.”
Jessie looked atRyan and said what she knew he was thinking.
“Let’s go findout!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By the time theypulled up at Mitchell Vaughn’s Santa Monica realty office fifteen minuteslater, they knew a lot more, and none of it reflected well on the guy.
It turned out thatVaughn, 40, was fairly notorious for his aggressive tactics in the Westsiderealty world. He’d filed over three dozen complaints against other realtors inhis career, including seven just this year. Two of those complaints wereagainst Avery Sinclair.
In response she’dactually filed a restraining order against him with the LAPD, claiming that heconstantly harassed her online, over the phone, and in-person, even coming toher house once to berate her from the other side of her closed front door.
And she wasn’t theonly one. Three other women had filed restraining orders against him in thelast decade, all claiming similar behavior on his part. One of the instances,three years ago, led to a criminal charges being filed.
The statement fromthe woman in that case, whom he had briefly dated, mentioned erratic behavioron his part, including putting his clothes in a pile in her front yard andburning them. In that instance, he pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor and gotsix months’ probation and a fine.
“It seems likewe’ve got a real winner,” Ryan said in disgust after Jessie finished recitingthe litany of incidences Jamil had sent them. “I guess we’re about to find outif he’s escalated to a new level.”
They entered theoffice, which was in a surprisingly run-down storefront that shared the blockwith a liquor store and a donut shop. The receptionist, a weary-looking womanin her fifties with gray hair and bifocals, looked up as they walked in. Anameplate on her desk read: Marian Voytek.
“We’re looking forMitchell Vaughn, Jr.,” Ryan said sharply, flashing his badge.
Marian’sexpression suggested that she wasn’t shocked to have police showing up askingquestions about her boss, and she simply pointed at a closed door at the end ofa short hallway. Ryan nodded in thanks and marched ahead. Jessie trotted tocatch up.
With one hand onhis gun holster, Ryan opened the door and barged in unannounced. The man,sitting behind a rickety-looking desk, jumped in his seat. Vaughn’s attire wasa significant upgrade from his office. Dressed in an expensive suit, his darkhair was perfectly styled and popped against his suspiciously tan skin. Theman, even startled, was attractive, though his brown eyes were red and droopy.
After his momentof confusion, Vaughn shot up angrily. He was easily six foot two and while hewasn’t muscularly built as Ryan, he looked like he could be formidable whenriled up.
“Who in the helldo you think—?” he started to bark before Ryan cut him off.
“Detective RyanHernandez, LAPD,” he growled, holding out his badge. “We’ve got a few questionsfor you, Mr. Vaughn, and unless we like the answers you give us, today is goingto go very badly for you.”
Even though Jessieunderstood where her husband's anger was coming from—she shared it—she didn'tlove the aggression that he was starting off with. She'd seen the horrificphotos of Avery Sinclair's head, too, but this tactic didn't leave themanywhere to go. Unfortunately what was done was done so she did her best tohide the disapproving grimace she felt forming at her lips.
“I’m sorry,”Vaughn retorted belligerently. “I didn’t know that it was the LAPD’s job toburst into a working man’s office and start making demands. How about you giveme the respect I deserve in my own place of business?”
Rather thanfeeling cowed, the guy was vibrating with fury of his own. Things wereescalating far too quickly. At this rate, someone was going to get hurt beforethey got any answers.
“Mr. Vaughn,” shesaid calmly. “I’m Jessie Hunt. I work with Detective Hernandez. We’re dealingwith a very volatile situation, otherwise we wouldn’t come into your officelike this. But we need you to stand down and answer our questions. It’s animportant matter and being combative won’t do anyone any good.”
“Talk to yourpartner there about being combative!” Vaughn shouted, pointing at Ryan, beforesuddenly freezing. He turned to look at Jessie more closely. “What did you sayyour name was again?”
“Jessie Hunt,” sheanswered, getting a sinking feeling.
“I know thatname,” he said. “You’re that profiler who hunts serial killers.”
“That’s correct,”she replied, waiting for what she now knew was inevitable.
“If you’re here,then that means something terrible has happened,” he told her, “and the wayyour pal is acting, it feels like you want to pin it on me. So I’m not saying adamn word.”
“Mr. Vaughn,” shesaid. “We are here about a very serious matter. But this is your opportunity toprove to us that you’re not involved. We can clear up any confusionright here and now. But if you’re not willing to talk, you’re probably going toget arrested. I know we all want to avoid that.”
