Page 50 of The Perfect Accomplice

“I’m Jessie Hunt with the Los Angeles Police Department. I was hoping to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Morris. Are either of them in?”

“Not right now,” the woman said. “Mr. Morris is on a work trip. Mrs. Morris is delayed home because of a work meeting. May I take a message?”

Before Jessie could reply, she heard what sounded like scuffling on the phone, followed by several grunts.

“Excuse me,” she said quickly, before speaking into the phone, “Ryan, are you okay? Ryan!”

There was no response, only the continued muffled sound of what seemed like people physically struggling. That was enough for her.

She turned and sprinted across the lawn toward the open gate near the driveway. Her heart was pounding as she pulled out her sidearm and reminded herself to breathe. If something happened to Ryan, she didn’t know what she would do.

She rounded the corner of the house, with loud grunting still audible on her phone. There was a large bush blocking her view of the backyard. She took a moment to regroup, then stepped out from behind it, her weapon gripped tight. After a moment to process the situation, she allowed herself to exhale.

Ryan was kneeling over a man, putting handcuffs on the guy, who was lying on his stomach. From his driver’s license photo, Jessie recognized him as Emilio Vega. Short and heavyset, with black hair and a mustache, he looked stunned but not surprised by his predicament. Jessie holstered the weapon and jogged over.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I approached him, holding up my badge,” Ryan explained. “He saw me and started running before I could say a word. I tackled him. Could you grab my phone from over there on the grass by the deck? He knocked it out of my pocket in the hubbub.”

That explained why he hadn’t responded to her desperate entreaties. As she retrieved it for him, she asked, “Why did he run?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan answered, then looked down at Vega. “Why did you run?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Vega replied, his words slightly muffled by the grass in his mouth, a result of Ryan’s takedown.

“Would Raquel Morris think it’s a misunderstanding?” Ryan demanded.

“What?”

Ryan was about to press the issue when Jessie motioned to him. He leaned in her direction, and she whispered in his ear.

“I just spoke to the maid,” she said. “Raquel’s not home. Apparently a meeting ran late.”

“That doesn’t exonerate him,” Ryan insisted quietly before turning his attention back to the man on the ground. “So Emilio, did your plan get messed up? You didn’t expect Raquel Morris to still be out of the house?”

“I’m not saying anything!” Vega shot back before spitting out some grass and dirt.

Jessie saw Ryan stiffen at that response and put a hand on his forearm before he could offer a comeback. Again she whispered. “Would the killer leave his truck out front, with his business’s name on it, while he was inside murdering someone? Would he do it with the maid home? I’m not saying that gets him off the hook. He could just be here to scope things out for a future attack. But this doesn’t feel right, Ryan.”

He briefly looked at her with frustration, before seeming to get control of himself. After a few seconds, he nodded back.

“Why don’t you see what you can find out?” he replied quietly.

She leaned down close to Vega. “Refusing to tell us anything is a bad idea, Mr. Vega. Do you know why we’re here?”

The man didn’t respond. In fact, he dramatically turned his head away from her. She didn’t mind. He’d come around.

“We’re investigating the murders of three women, all in in this immediate area, at homes where you’ve worked. You’re a possible suspect in their deaths. If that’s not why you ran when you saw Detective Hernandez, you better come clean now. Otherwise, we’ll have to take you down to the station, where this will become a very long night.”

As expected, Vega turned his head back toward her. His expression was hard to read, though she could see a hint of panic in there.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said defiantly.

“Then why did you run?” she pressed.

He was silent for a moment. “How do I know that you won’t bust me for something else?”

“You don’t,” she told him, “but unless you’re a murderer, anything that explains your behavior, even if it incriminates you in another crime, is better than the alternative.”

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