Chapter 13 Jake
Sunlight poured through Jake’s bedroom window, making him squint.
What had possessed Liv to choose white muslin to cover an east-facing window?
He had asked her this once, around March, when they’d finally finished the room and the morning light was brighter than it had been all winter.
“The better to see your naked body when I wake up each morning,” had been her reply.
How he wished he could see her body, naked or otherwise, in this light now.
Jake had thanked him, unsure whether ‘all the time you need’ really meant multiple weeks off.
After a month, he’d probably be pushing it — and if he didn’t restart at least some work, they might need to hire someone else.
David had passed off two of Jake’s refugee cases to a colleague, who was already overworked.
But Jake wasn’t ready to go back. Perhaps he could get away with another week?
He rolled over, his body aching with tension after another night of bad dreams and restlessness.
His phone was already buzzing with activity.
He’d never had so many people get in touch with him as he had since the press conference, which had been all over the local and national news, and endlessly replayed in online video clips.
Even this morning, two weeks after the conference, he had eleven new messages on Facebook, mostly from old friends reaching out.
Dude, just saw you on the news, it was on my Facebook feed.
I had no idea about Liv, man, I’m so sorry.
Let us know if there’s anything we can do.
Take care and I hope she gets home soon.
The most recent Messenger text was from Charlotte.
Latest news piece. Thought you should see it:
She’d added a preview link to a CNN online story, dated today, and headlined:
IS LIV ALIVE? NAKED brIDE-TO-BE STILL MISSING AFTER THREE WEEKS.
Jake clicked on it, his guts churning. It was standard fare, the main image being of Liv’s widely circulated professional headshot, with a video clip of Jake’s media statement embedded about halfway down.
The reporter, who’d been leaving Jake daily voicemails for the past two weeks along with everyone else, had evidently given up and interviewed a former police psychologist for the piece. Some ‘expert profiler’ with an Opinion.
. . . Jackson Bates, whose résumé spans thirty years of psychological profiling for police departments up and down the Eastern Seaboard, told CNN the truth often lies closer to home.
“Nine times out of ten it’s a close friend or family member, often the spouse or partner, who is responsible in these cases,” Bates said in a phone interview.
“In the case of Olivia Grainger, where extensive ground searches have been undertaken with no results, the likelihood is high that somebody removed her, or her body, from the scene.
We do know only her fiancé and an unrelated bystander were in the vicinity at the time of her disappearance, so suspicion will naturally fall on her fiancé in the first instance.
“Did they have a fight, perhaps — some kind of argument that went too far? Was there a physical altercation that led to a fall over the cliff? These are the questions the police should be asking.”
Bates added it was also possible the victim was not a victim at all, but a runaway bride. However, he observed Ms. Grainger took with her no possessions that would facilitate her escape, and was not even clothed at the time of her disappearance, making this a far less likely scenario.
Who the fuck did this guy think he was, accusing Jake?
He was a total stranger who didn’t know a damn thing about Liv, or him, or any of it. Some retired douchebag looking for another moment in the spotlight, not caring who he hurt to get it.
Jake should sue the bastard for libel. CNN too.
Okay, it wasn’t strictly libelous. It was all fair comment in the eyes of the law.
Fuckers.
Jake clicked through to CNN’s Facebook feed, where the headline and its photo were in prime spot at the top of the widely followed page, Liv’s gorgeous eyes smiling out at him. It had only been posted a couple of hours ago, and there were already hundreds of emoji reactions and 112 comments.
Shit. The story was really getting a lot of attention. But that was good, too. Liv was still front and center in people’s minds, which would help if anyone learned anything about where she was.
He clicked through to the comments and reactions. Mostly sad-face emojis, dozens of “care” huggy-hearts. Several wow faces, and at least twenty likes.
Jesus. Who “likes” a story about a missing woman? Morons.
Also, seven angry faces. Why? Angry at who? The profiler, maybe, throwing accusations around?
Jake allowed his gaze to slide down the page to the comments, inwardly bracing, his lips screwed up as he read the first.
Aww, her poor fiancé, looks so sad. :’( Hope his pretty lady comes home unhurt. He cute tho. ;) If she doesn’t show up, I’ll marry him. :D
That wasn’t so bad. At least there was a compliment in there.
The comment had thirty-seven replies, plus a bunch of laughter faces and two angry faces.
Hun, if u marry him, u end up dead in a ditch just like her. It’s always the husband or boyfriend, listen to the expert!
Did you even watch that video? Dude looked totes shady reading statement, I didn’t think he looked that sad, more like no emotion, don’t trust him. That sweet little momma next to him crying, THAT was sad! Such a shame for the family, daughter probably long dead at this point.
I know, super hot rite??! That’s what I was thinking as well. :D Nevermind ur GF, come 2 mama!! Hahaha!
WTF, was probably him who done it!! You dumb, girl.
Fuck.
Everyone thought it was him.
That he’d . . . what? Murdered her?
Pushed her off the cliff, killing her, moving her body in their car, then going back to the quarry, and acting like she was missing when a hiker showed up?
Lying about it, to everybody?
How would he ever be able to prove that he hadn’t?
Jake threw his phone down onto the comforter and rolled into a fetal position, the bedding bunched up beside him.
He hugged it, as he’d been doing for weeks, imagining Liv’s body under the sheets.
But that side of the bed no longer smelled of her.
It reeked of his own night sweats, the acrid odor of his despair.
The bedding hadn’t been washed in nearly a month.
His parents had visited him daily in the first couple of weeks since Liv’s disappearance, but he hadn’t let his mom wash the bedlinens.
They’d still retained a trace of Liv’s coconut-tropical scent.
Jake rose and stripped the bed, throwing it all into the tiny laundry room.
He’d do it later. Right now, he needed to try to ease his mind, and there was only one thing in the world that helped him when he was troubled.
Mid-morning on a Wednesday would be perfect, too — the breakers would be clear of the weekend and early morning surfers he usually hung with.
Jake dressed in his surf shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops and headed out to the garage, where he strapped his favorite board to the roof of the Audi.
He drove the ten minutes to the pier at Wrightsville Beach, parking near a fancy oceanfront condo building, next to a bike stand.
It was 10:30 a.m. and already hot, but there was a stiff breeze that meant the swell would be good.
He grabbed a bottle of sunscreen from the glove compartment, locked the car, and pulled the board off the roof.
He stepped through the beach access toward Surf’s Up, the little surf shop next to the concrete steps that led up to the Beach House, one of their favorite date night restaurants.
“Hey, Randy.” As he pushed through the door, the bell rang cheerfully.
“Jake, dude, so good to see you.” Randy paused in his task of hanging up shorts. “Saw you on the news, man. Wasn’t sure I’d see you any time soon. So bummed to hear what’s been going on — your Liv is a rare jewel. Any updates?”
“No, but thanks, man. Needed to get out on the board. Try to clear my head.”
“Of course, dude. Totally get it. Lemme know if I can help at all.”
Jake gave him a half-smile.
So many people wanted to help. Nobody could.
He made his way through to the small bank of lockers and stripped off his T-shirt, applying coconut sunscreen liberally over his limbs and torso. He dropped three quarters into the lock to secure his belongings, slipping the locker key around his wrist on its tight band.
“All set. Thanks, man.” He waved to Randy, picked up his board, and wove his way out through the racks of wetsuits.
“Take it easy, Jake. Have a good one.”
The beach was quiet, with just a few tourist families around — typical for a weekday morning before the summer season fully kicked off in late June.
Jake tramped through the toasty sand and into the cool ocean.
The water hadn’t really been warm enough in May to surf without his short wetsuit, but it had been over three weeks since he’d last been out.
Surely the water would be getting tolerable this close to the equinox?
Not that he really cared about getting cold. More than anything, he wanted to feel something, anything, other than the weight of Liv’s absence bearing down on his chest.
The tide was out, and he paddled for an age to get to a point where there were some decent swells to ride. He slipped into his natural rhythm: wait, paddle hard, ride the swell toward the shore, paddle back, wait.
His course was unobstructed today since he was the only one out in this spot.
The solitude suited him, though. He didn’t need to face a bunch of surfers who kinda knew him, who’d seen him around with Liv on the beach, and who now probably had Things To Say about the situation and their faces being all over the news.
Why couldn’t people fuck off and mind their business?