CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Despite Ryan's protests, Jessie refused to punch the gas.

They were making the last turn leading to the Hollywood Hills home of Raquel and Stewart Morris, and she had refused to let her husband anywhere near the driver's seat. As she pulled to a stop across the street from the home, she turned to face him.

"See," she said. "It took me about sixty seconds more than it would have taken you to get here. But here's the big difference: we're alive."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed, getting out of the passenger seat, "but Raquel Morris might not be. In a situation like this, every second counts."

Jessie got out of the car too, making sure the Ziploc baggie with Karl Van Hart's singular hair was safely secured in the glove compartment for later analysis, and locked the doors.

"We"re no good to anyone if we don"t make it here in one piece," she reminded him. "So how about you stop backseat driving, dearest, and help me find this guy?"

Her tone successfully indicated that she was tired of the debate, and Ryan wisely let it go.

"Emilio Vega was booked for this job until five," he said, "but it's 5:21 now and his truck is still here. That makes me a little nervous."

Jessie too had noticed the big vehicle parked in the driveway, facing the street, with Hollywood Green Thumb on the side door.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," she warned as they walked up the drive. "The job could just be running long."

"Let's find out," Ryan said. He pointed to a gate leading from the driveway to the back of the house. "Should we go that way or try the front door?"

"How about we do both?" Jessie suggested. "I'll take the front and you can go around back."

"Okay," he agreed, "but call me now and put it on speaker so we're in touch the whole time."

She did as he asked. Once they were squared away, she walked up to the front door, taking in the place. After seeing so many of these hillside homes, she thought they might all start to run together. But like the others, this one still managed to impress. It had an understated Mediterranean look, though the closer she got, the more she appreciated the detailed craftmanship of the of the stone and tile work.

It seemed befitting for the couple. From the background information that Beth gave them on the drive up, they'd learned that Stewart Morris was a senior vice-president with a corporate bank and that his wife, Raquel, was the in-house counsel for the west coast division of an oil and gas firm. Frankly Jessie was surprised the house wasn't even bigger.

Once on the front step, she rang the bell. It only took a few seconds for it to open. She was met by a middle-aged Latina in a maid's uniform. "How may I help you?" she asked warmly.

"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."

He rested his forehead on the dirt briefly, before looking up again.

"All right," he began, "I was—."

"Hold on," she interrupted. "Let's make this official and have Detective Hernandez read you your rights before you say anything else.

Ryan gave Vega the Miranda warning, then Jessie said, "Now go ahead."

"I took some of Ms. Morris's jewelry when I went into the house to use the bathroom," he said, wincing at the admission. "I thought that was why you were busting me."

"Where is it?" Jessie asked.

"I put the pieces in the glove box of the truck," he muttered.

"Is this the first time you've done that?" she wanted to know.

"No," he admitted. "More like the fourth."

"Is your boss, Van Hart, involved?" Ryan wondered. "Is this some kind of jewelry theft ring?"

"No," he said. "Karl"s a good guy. I"m going through a divorce, and money is tight. I"ve been pawning the stuff I took to help pay some bills. It was a desperate, stupid thing to do, I know. But I swear, I didn"t kill anyone. I"ll take a lie detector test to prove it if that helps."

Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who looked as crushed as she felt. Lie detector tests didn't hold much sway with her, but the fact that Vega was volunteering to take one did. Either he was guilty and thought he could beat it, or he wasn't involved and was willing to do whatever it took to prove it.

They would go through the motions, take him back to the station to interrogate him and check his alibi, but she doubted this was their man.

"Let's take him in," she said, knowing she sounded despondent.

As Ryan pulled Vega to his feet, she stared up at the sky. It was starting to get dark. She couldn't help but ask herself if the sudden chill she felt was from the cold or what she feared might be coming later tonight.