Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)

by Jayden Hunter

  Dramatic irony. A watery grave. I deserved that.

  “Pussy.”

  Ryan shook his head and beat his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Fuck!”

  But, then, he thought about Jessica.

  No body for a funeral? That wouldn’t be fair to her.

  He didn’t want her to be left wondering about him, he needed to find a way that was painless, clean, and left her a body to bury. She deserved closure. He was pretty sure of that. For whatever it was worth.

  He’d write a nice note.

  Dear Jessica, it would start.

  I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry. I know this time will be hard on you, but...

  Bullshit. A common cliché. He didn’t want to be a dead cliché.

  As he approached home, he knew he’d never be brave enough to end his own life.

  You are a pussy.

  A San Diego Police Department black and white was parked in front of his house.

  He pulled into his driveway and checked his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Fucking pussy, you’ve been crying.

  Nonchalantly, he stepped out of his car as if he was a movie star about to face the paparazzi. He slid on his sunglasses and looked towards the cops.

  “Professor Ryan Mills?”

  “Yes?”

  “We are with the San Diego—”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. But we are holding you for questioning. Someone higher up is on the way to talk to you.”

  “But I’m not under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m free to go?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Part of the Patriot Act, sir. We can hold you without arresting you.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  “That’s still bullshit.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I’m going inside.”

  “How about you invite us in?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Do you really want to make a scene? Out here? In front of your neighbors? Let’s talk inside.”

  “Fuck.”

  Ryan opened his front door. He motioned for the two cops to follow him.

  He pointed towards the living room.

  “Have a seat. I guess.”

  “Sir, is there anyone else at home? Any pets? Anything we should be concerned about?”

  “No.”

  “Please sit with us. It won’t be long before a detective arrives. He’ll explain what he needs to talk to you about.”

  “But I’m not under arrest?”

  “No, sir. We are just here to make sure that conversation happens. Just relax, sir.”

  Ryan sat. He closed his eyes and thought. He wondered what they were actually here for and he realized that it was possible they wanted him to start talking. They wanted him to incriminate himself somehow. Fucking cops. They thought he was stupid. He would ask for a lawyer when the time was right. He looked at the two uniformed police officers; one was older, perhaps in his forties, and Hispanic. The younger one was white, and barely looked thirty, he hadn’t spoken a word. Ryan looked at the older cop’s face and then decided to shut his eyes, he would wait in silence.

  Nearly twenty minutes had passed before there was a knock on the door.

  The senior cop stood and put out his hand towards Ryan. “Don’t get up, sir. I’ll get it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Professor Mills, do I have your permission to allow the detective in?”

  “Sure. But I think I’m going to call my lawyer.”

  “That’s fine, sir.”

  Ryan watched as the cop stepped outside. A minute later he returned, followed by a tall man who wore a cheap suit.

  The detective walked up to Ryan and handed him a business card.

  “Ryan Mills? I’m Detective Turner. May I sit?”

  Ryan nodded.

  The detective sat across from him and opened his laptop. He typed without speaking.

  “Can you tell me what this is about?” Ryan asked.

  “Just a minute, sir.”

  The detective continued to type while occasionally looking up at Ryan.

  He said, “Hmmmmm,” several times.

  Then suddenly he stopped and stared through Ryan.

  Ryan looked to the left and then bit his tongue.

  He fidgeted.

  He cracked his knuckles.

  He finally broke the silence. “I’d like to call an attorney.”

  “By all means,” Turner said. He outstretched his arms and held Ryan’s stare. “It is within your rights, sir.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you going to explain to me what you want?”

  “No sir, I was hoping you’d explain to me why we are here,” the detective said.

  “How would I do that? I don’t know why you’re here. Why are you here?” He fidgeted and tried to return the detective’s stare, but he was unsuccessful.

  “Professor Ryan, sir. Thank you for being a gracious host. We’ll be going now.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it, sir. You have my card if you’d like to talk.”

  Ryan watched the two cops follow the detective out. As they closed the door, his body began to shake; he broke down and cried.

  After a minute he stopped, washed his face in the kitchen sink, and thought about what to do next. The uncertainty bothered him. Checking the calendar on the refrigerator to see what time Jessica would be home, he realized he was going to have to explain the situation to her.

  Will she support me?

  Will she believe me when I tell her I’m innocent?

  He knew she wouldn’t support him if this went to trial and he was convicted.

  Ryan drank a beer and took inventory of the meds in the house.

  He called Randy Hawkins and left him a message.

  After googling criminal lawyer he wrote down three names, then he logged into his brokerage account and placed sell orders, he was going to need the money.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  You cannot remind someone about something they can't forget.

  ~ A mother (online support group for neonatal death)

  I read once that a chimpanzee mother rescued a human baby from drowning. There’s something about newborns that is universally special and magical. A lioness won’t even attack a newborn zebra or its mother while she’s suckling, I think.

  ~ Jessica Mills

  ...................

  Jessica Mills drove into her neighborhood; there was an unusual amount of traffic. She had just finished a twelve-hour shift in the neonatal intensive care unit at Scripps in La Jolla, and she was emotionally spent. They’d lost a newborn.

  Death was part of the landscape, but the NICU had pushed hard boundaries from only ten years previous and unimaginable boundaries from fifty years ago. While doctors behaved like gods, nurses like Jessica simply viewed their work like midwives did a thousand years ago. Only the tools had changed.

  She was running late because of a small accident, and she was worried about her tabby who had given birth to a litter of kittens a week previous. Was she irresponsible to let her have one litter? Maybe. But she couldn’t help but allow her only living child, Shabeel, the gift of motherhood. Jessica would enjoy it vicariously and then have her spayed. Besides she’d already found three people at work and one in her book group who were willing to receive a new kitten. Only two more to go.

  She was about to call her husband to ask him if he’d like to go out for dinner when she saw a traffic cop blocking her street. He was directing traffic away, so she put on her blinker and rolled down her window.

  “Is everything okay officer?”

  “Unless you are a resident, I need to ask you to move along.”

  “I live here.”

  “May I see some ID?”

>   “What’s going on?”

  “Not at liberty to talk, ma’am. ID?”

  Jessica showed him her driver’s license.

  He waved her through. She could still see him speaking into his shoulder mic through her rearview mirror when she noticed the television news vans parked near her home.

  As she opened the door to her car, an onslaught of bright lights momentarily blinded her.

  “Jessica Mills? May I speak with you?” a reporter asked.

  And then several other journalists started shouting questions at her.

  A uniformed police officer instructed them to keep on the sidewalk.

  They were asking about her husband.

  She keyed on the words without actually hearing any of their questions. Serial killer. Rapist. Did you know? Abduction. Rape and torture and death and what-did-you-know-and-when-did-you-know-it?

  Her chest squeezed at the onset of a panic attack, sprinting towards the house she tripped and still on her hands and knees she began sobbing. A cop asked her if she needed help, but before she answered him, the front door opened. Ryan stood inside, he didn’t move towards her, but instead he motioned for her to come towards him.

  “Ryan, what the hell is going on?” She stood.

  “Get in here.” He motioned her again but did not leave the house.

  Jessica stood and looked at her husband. She looked back at the crowd of reporters and the police officer. She considered, briefly, getting back into her car. She could run away. Forever.

  But her tabby Shabeel and her kittens would be neglected. She knew she’d end up coming back anyway.

  There was nowhere, really, to run to. She had chosen her life.

  She entered the house, and Ryan closed the door behind her. He had been sweating and appeared uncharacteristically nervous and shaky. He was usually calm, unemotional, and stoic with her. He pointed to the couch.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on?” she asked him.

  “Hold on. Catch your breath. I’ll explain.”

  “I’m serious, Ryan. Explain right now. I almost didn’t come into the house. What are they talking about? Dead girls. Serial killer. I’m going to be sick. Why are they saying these things?”

  “Because of a self-absorbed lying bitch.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s all because of Kyle’s friend. The famous one. You’ve heard about her on the news. She was the one that had an affair with that Congressman. Boyd. Remember?”

  “I think so. She’s the one that everyone thought was missing?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What does she have to do with you?”

  “I met her. On campus. She’s a friend of Kyle’s. A girlfriend. She’s a home-wrecker. And a liar. I don’t have anything to do with this. I swear.”

  “What’s she saying?”

  “I guess she’s accusing me of raping her and dumping her into the ocean. It’s insane. You know me. I’m not that kind of a person. Maybe that’s why she picked me. I don’t know.”

  Jessica looked at her husband. She knew he had a troubled past, secrets, and things he was ashamed about. She had an idea about his sexual habits; she’d seen his porn collection. She’d checked his internet history more than once, and while it was disturbing, she’d never seen anything illegal. Nothing had ever indicated that he was dangerous. Weren’t sexual fantasies and viewing porn pretty normal?

  Could he possibly be a murderer? A rapist? A serial killer?

  Those accusations seemed insane to her.

  Was this woman capable of lying so outrageously? Destroying a man’s reputation? His career?

  She broke down and cried again. This was horrible. Ryan sat next to her while she cried and then spoke softly.

  “Can show you her past?”

  She nodded.

  Ryan did a Google search and showed Jessica articles about Drew Stirling and Congressman Boyd. Jessica wasn’t unfamiliar with the story, it had sold a lot of magazines, and Drew’s face had been plastered all over the news.

  Drew Stirling had certainly caused a national commotion in the media. She was very beautiful and alluring. Jessica could understand why her husband, or anyone’s husband, in fact, could be tempted to look at her with lust and desire. But honestly, why would a woman like this give her husband the time of day? Was this woman accusing Ryan of literally snatching her off the campus? The whole thing sounded crazy to her. She’d woken up into a living nightmare.

  She took Ryan’s hand and looked into his eyes.

  “Ryan?”

  “Yes?”

  She held her stare. She needed her next question to sound like it came from God as if she was merely a conduit of the Almighty. Jessica wiped a tear from each eye and thought of her baby. Her lost child. In heaven, before she’d even taken a breath. Ripped from her womb. She would wield her like a saint as if she had been canonized as an unborn keeper of dreams. She looked at her husband and considered what would happen to her if she lost him, too. Aloneness. A fate scarier than death. She’d never lived alone. What would she do without her husband?

  “Ryan. I can’t believe you’d do this. I want to believe you, but I need to hear you swear. On the soul of Lily. If you lie to me, she’ll know, God will know. I want you to swear you’d curse our own daughter if you’re lying. On your life. On her life. On my destiny. I cannot live with you if I don’t believe you.”

  Ryan squeezed her hand.

  She held eye contact and watched for signs of deception. She listened with an ear that was being tuned by angels.

  “I swear to you,” Ryan vowed. He didn’t break eye contact, and he used a calm, soothing voice. “I swear on Lily’s soul. May God keep her in peace. I promise you, Jessica. I did not do this thing. I barely know the woman. I met her once on campus; Kyle was dating her, and I ran into them one day. We were introduced. I saw her maybe one other time, and I was polite to her. I didn’t do this thing. Whatever her story is: it’s a lie. She’s done this before. She’s a publicity hound. Famous for being famous. A family wrecker. Look what she did to that poor Congressman and his family, putting them through hell pretending to be dead. She’s making up stories now. She wants the notoriety and the press. She’s going to end up in a magazine or video after this story goes national. She’s a pro at drumming up free advertising. She’s a devil, Jessica. A real piece of work. I did not do anything to her. She’s a liar. Damn her to hell.”

  Jessica Mills broke down sobbing uncontrollably. Her body convulsed, tears flowed like rain, and mucus flowed from her nose. She felt her husband’s arms enfold her. He rocked with her, following the timing of her sobs, and he stroked her hair. She remembered feeling held like this when she was only eight years old, and her first dog had been hit by a car. Her mother had consoled her then. She felt the same consolation now. My husband is capable of empathy and compassion she thought to herself. He’s a good husband and a good man. I need him. I can’t believe what they are accusing him of is true. I can’t.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I’m going to clean up. And then I’m going out there.” She pointed to the front of the house. “I’m not going to let that bitch get away with this.”

  ...................

  Jessica had Ryan put on a conservative dark suit with a purple tie that matched her favorite shirt and she changed into a sophisticated pantsuit that would not clash with her husband’s.

  He dressed in silence. She adjusted his tie and ran her fingers through his hair. She fixed her makeup and put up her hair into a no-nonsense bun that made her look business-like, but didn’t detract from her femininity. When he had finished dressing, she looked at them standing together. We look good, she thought. The versions of them she saw in the mirror looked as if they’d been doing morning talk shows for years.

  She gave him instructions. “Don’t say a word. Not one word. Don’t say anything. Not even, No comment, okay?”

&nb
sp; “I understand.”

  “I’m not asking you if you understand. I’m asking you to promise me that you’ll keep silent. No matter what they say.”

  “Yes.”

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear.”

  They walked together, hand in hand, out the front door towards the press. The media stirred. Cameras were turned on. Lights shined. Two uniformed police officers barked orders at the crowd. Reporters shouted questions. Chaos.

  Jessica kept her chin up and her eyes bright. She kept Ryan’s hand in hers and walked deliberately to the front edge of the lawn. A newborn child had died during her shift only a few hours previously, and she’d observed the parents and extended family deal with the death of the newest member of their clan. Not even three days old, its life extinguished. By fate? The universe? God? She didn’t know, but she was familiar with the questions, there were something she had endured as well, years ago, and she thought of her lost baby. Perhaps she was watching from heaven at this very moment? She knew the truth, Jessica imagined. Ryan would have been a good father to her, had she lived, and he would have redeemed his past. She knew this with certainty; everything would have been different if Lily had lived. Everything.

  Reporters continued shouting questions. Rude questions. Ugly questions. She remained calm. She had expected this. She raised her left hand up, palm out, keeping Ryan’s hand held tight in her free hand.

  “I’d like to make a statement,” she said.

  The press moved like ants working together. They became quiet and focused, but Jessica could see they were still anxious, like a group of coyotes surrounding an injured dog. She kept her head up, and her eyes scanned the crowd of reporters and cameramen. She took a deep breath and then spoke from her heart.

  “My husband, Professor Ryan Mills, is a good man. A faithful man. These ugly accusations are unfounded. They are deceitful lies built by a manipulative woman who has, in the past, used the press to garner fame for herself. Now she’s created another publicity stunt with these attacks on my husband. She’s done this kind of thing before. With Congressman Boyd she invented a story about being attacked so she could pretend to be missing and then she cashed in on the press. She’s using the media to promote her career. She doesn’t care whom she hurts. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. Ryan has never been unfaithful to me. Never. He’s a wonderful husband, and I know that she is lying about him. Please respect our privacy and that of our neighbors and leave. We have no further comments.”