id818
By the time they pulled up at Mitchell Vaughn’s Santa Monica realty office fifteen minutes later, they knew a lot more, and none of it reflected well on the guy.
It turned out that Vaughn, 40, was fairly notorious for his aggressive tactics in the Westside realty world. He’d filed over three dozen complaints against other realtors in his career, including seven just this year. Two of those complaints were against Avery Sinclair.
In response she’d actually filed a restraining order against him with the LAPD, claiming that he constantly harassed her online, over the phone, and in-person, even coming to her house once to berate her from the other side of her closed front door.
And she wasn’t the only one. Three other women had filed restraining orders against him in the last decade, all claiming similar behavior on his part. One of the instances, three years ago, led to a criminal charges being filed.
The statement from the woman in that case, whom he had briefly dated, mentioned erratic behavior on his part, including putting his clothes in a pile in her front yard and burning them. In that instance, he pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor and got six months’ probation and a fine.
“It seems like we’ve got a real winner,” Ryan said in disgust after Jessie finished reciting the litany of incidences Jamil had sent them. “I guess we’re about to find out if he’s escalated to a new level.”
They entered the office, which was in a surprisingly run-down storefront that shared the block with a liquor store and a donut shop. The receptionist, a weary-looking woman in her fifties with gray hair and bifocals, looked up as they walked in. A nameplate on her desk read: Marian Voytek.
“We’re looking for Mitchell Vaughn, Jr.,” Ryan said sharply, flashing his badge.
Marian’s expression suggested that she wasn’t shocked to have police showing up asking questions about her boss, and she simply pointed at a closed door at the end of a short hallway. Ryan nodded in thanks and marched ahead. Jessie trotted to catch up.
With one hand on his 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 was a significant upgrade from his office. Dressed in an expensive suit, his dark hair was perfectly styled and popped against his suspiciously tan skin. The man, even startled, was attractive, though his brown eyes were red and droopy.
After his moment of confusion, Vaughn shot up angrily. He was easily six foot two and while he wasn’t muscularly built as Ryan, he looked like he could be formidable when riled up.
“Who in the hell do you think—?” he started to bark before Ryan cut him off.
“Detective Ryan Hernandez, LAPD,” he growled, holding out his badge. “We’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Vaughn, and unless we like the answers you give us, today is going to go very badly for you.”
Even though Jessie understood where her husband”s anger was coming from—she shared it—she didn”t love the aggression that he was starting off with. She”d seen the horrific photos of Avery Sinclair”s head, too, but this tactic didn”t leave them anywhere to go. Unfortunately what was done was done so she did her best to hide 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 to burst into a working man’s office and start making demands. How about you give me the respect I deserve in my own place of business?”
Rather than feeling cowed, the guy was vibrating with fury of his own. Things were escalating far too quickly. At this rate, someone was going to get hurt before they got any answers.
“Mr. Vaughn,” she said calmly. “I’m Jessie Hunt. I work with Detective Hernandez. We’re dealing with a very volatile situation, otherwise we wouldn’t come into your office like this. But we need you to stand down and answer our questions. It’s an important matter and being combative won’t do anyone any good.”
“Talk to your partner there about being combative!” Vaughn shouted, pointing at Ryan, before suddenly freezing. He turned to look at Jessie more closely. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Jessie Hunt,” she answered, getting a sinking feeling.
“I know that name,” 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 way your pal is acting, it feels like you want to pin it on me. So I’m not saying a damn word.”
“Mr. Vaughn,” she said. “We are here about a very serious matter. But this is your opportunity to prove to us that you’re not involved. We can clear up any confusion right here and now. But if you’re not willing to talk, you’re probably going to get arrested. I know we all want to avoid that.”
He looked at her closely, apparently sizing up whether she was bluffing or not. Then he looked over at Ryan, who still had one hand on his badge and another on his holster. In that moment, he seemed to make his decision.
“I have just one word for you,” he said, his mouth turning into a nasty, twisted grin.
“What’s that?” she asked though she already knew the answer and how difficult it would make solving this case.
“Lawyer.”