Page 18 of The Perfect People

Still, it was well-maintained, had a second-floor balcony, and was situated on the Strand, five paces from the beach and about 150 unobstructed yards from the Pacific Ocean. She was doing just fine. They reached the front door, and Susannah looked over to see if Jessie wanted to take the lead.

“Go for it,” the profiler said.

“How do we want to play it?” Susannah asked. “Direct or sneaky-like?”

“I didn’t know you knew any way other than direct,” Jessie teased before adding, “I say we play it by ear, but based on the description we have of Richie Boy so far, I’m leaning toward charm the lady and poke the bear.”

“You know how I love to poke the bear,” Susannah said.

The door opened before Jessie could reply. Standing in front of them was the same man they’d seen in the mug shot that Breem had sent them from his assault arrest last year. Based on the basic information that had accompanied the photo, they knew that Richard “Richie Boy” Vance was twenty-eight, lived in Lawndale, and worked as a part-time personal trainer.

“Yeah?” Richie Boy demanded brusquely. He wasn’t even looking at them as his attention was focused on something in the house behind him. His disinterest gave Susannah a chance to take stock of him.

Richie was shirtless. In fact, other than a snug pair of bright orange boxer briefs, he was basically naked. As a result, his completely tanned body was on full display, as was his hairy but clearly professionally groomed chest hair. He was Jessie’s height and in good shape with a swimmer’s body. His dark hair was just shy of needing a cut and he had a closely trimmed mustache and perfect two-day stubble. He reminded Susannah of a leaner version of Burt Reynolds, the actor that her mom used to have a crush on. She could see why middle-aged women would be drawn to him, though he screamed cheesy to her.

When he actually fixed his brown eyes on what stood in front of him, his brusque demeanor was immediately replaced by what he likely thought was roguish charm. Instead, it just came off as lecherous, with a hint of menace.

“Excuse me,” he said, suddenly much warmer now, “I thought I was dealing with another annoying solicitor. What can I do for you lovely ladies?”

“Good afternoon,” Jessie said. “This is Detective Valentine. I’m Hunt. We’re looking into an incident that happened down the block and we think that Ms. Owens might have some information that could be useful to our investigation. Is she in?”

His face fell but he managed to recover quickly.

“And here I thought you were here to see me,” he said with a tight smile. “Come on in. She’s in the living room.”

Susannah wondered if the brief break in his façade was really because he was disappointed or because he feared they were on to him and a potential crime he committed last night. She bet that Jessie had an opinion on the matter.

“Thanks,” she said, stepping inside after the profiler and pretending not to notice Richie staring unsubtly at her chest as he closed the door behind them. Normally she would have made a cutting comment that set him back on his heels, but for now she held off, happy to let him horndog it up if it kept him unaware of their real reason for being here.

She allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in the change in temperature as they left the mid-afternoon heat and entered the air-conditioned house. Within seconds, the beads of sweat on her forehead had evaporated.

They rounded a short corner into the living room, which looked out onto the patio they’d just come from and the ocean beyond. Lounging on a cream-colored sofa, reading what looked like a magazine about yachts, was Ilana Owens.

She was wearing a bathrobe and her brown hair was tied up in a messy bun. Pleasantly attractive, Susannah guessed that she was just a little past forty, which seemed a little young for Richie Boy. As they got closer, she also noticed dull bruise marks on the woman’s wrists and around her neck. When Owens looked up, she almost jumped off the couch.

“Richie, you didn’t tell me we had guests,” she said, startled. “I would have put something more appropriate on.”

“Sorry, Loni,” he said, “these didn’t seem like the kind of guests I could keep waiting.”

“Please,” Susannah said, “don’t worry about changing. This isn’t a social call. We’re with the LAPD on a case. I’m Detective Valentine and this is Ms. Hunt. May we sit?”

Ilana Owens sat upright and checked that her robe was properly covering her before responding.

“I’m a little thrown, but of course,” she said. “Would it be all right if Richie changes at least? Whatever this is about, I don’t think that I’ll be able to concentrate on it if he’s standing there in his underwear.”

“By all means,” Jessie said, sitting down on the sofa opposite Ilana, “please, Richie, go right ahead.”

While he went off to change, Susannah took a seat next to Jessie. Since the real reason they were here had just stepped out of the room, she viewed this as potentially the only opportunity to speak to Owens without Richie influencing her answers.

“Before we get into the nitty-gritty of why we’re here,” she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, “I have to ask you, how did you and the underwear model get together?”

Ilana Owens blushed and began fiddling with her hair as a goofy smile came over her face.

“I know he seems more like the kind of guy who’d be with a woman who looks like you, right?” she whispered back. “I was at this fundraiser for injured sea mammals and Richie was there and we started talking. We just kind of clicked. He has a passion for animal rescue, as I do, and that passion just sort of transferred elsewhere, if you know what I mean.”

“I certainly do,” Susannah said. “Well, good for you. And it’s especially great that you have someone around in light of the reason we’re here.”

“Yes, why are you here?”

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