Guilty As Charged

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Red Eye!

Chapter Nine

Miami - Law Offices of Maura Brown

"Proof? What kind of proof?" Maura asked, staring at Jackson's other daughter. Unlike Jackie, who was a mirror image of her father, Myra took after her mother. They shared the same reddish hair and green eyes. They were the warm side of the family.

Jackson and Kyra were the cold side with their dark hair and ice blue eyes. Both father and daughter were damaged in ways Lisa and Myra couldn't understand.

"Photographs of injuries. Bruises and cuts," Myra Rippner said quietly, sliding the small album across the desk between them.

Maura took the book and slowly opened it.

Lisa Rippner stared right at her, one of her eyes bruised, the skin around it purple.

"She says she slipped in the bathroom, but it was Jackson. He lost his temper that day," Myra explained.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Years. It got worse when Kyra left."

Maura Brown flipped through the album, facing scars, cuts, and more bruises than she could count. She knew about Jackson's past, or at least as much as he cared to share, but she'd never even guessed at this darker side. He was always a loving, caring husband. Lisa never once complained to her about his behavior.

There were emergency room records as well. Some of them dated back to before Kyra's birth.

Like Myra had said, the little album recorded the Rippner family's darkest secret. Based on the pictures and documents, Lisa looked like a classic abuse victim.

This album would destroy Jackson Rippner.

Miami – Miami-Dade PD – Interrogation Room

Dressed in a prison uniform, Jackson was chained to a chair this time. Clearly the guards were worried he might attack his latest visitor.

The door opened, a young woman stepping into the dark room. She looked extremely out of place in her well-cut suit and heels. A brief once-over assured him that whoever she was, this woman came from or had money. The black suit jacket was a custom jacket meant to conceal a weapon without showing it. The skirt flared out at her knees, exposing long, lean legs. Well-toned from some form of exercise. Her heels were shiny, high, and most likely cost her around three hundred dollars. The white blouse underneath her jacket was pure white, not cream or off-white as so many garments turned after being washed.

She carried a leather folder and a silver pen in her fingers. Her hair, a red-brown color, was tied back in a bun. Everything about her, down to the silver chain around her neck and the ring on her left hand screamed professional.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rippner," she said pleasantly, taking a seat across the table from him. She didn't seem intimated at all.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your lawyer, Miss Brown, requested my presence. She wants me to evaluate you."

"Evaluate what?"

She set the folder down along with her pen. "I'm a psychologist, Mr. Rippner. Miss Brown hired me to determine your mental state. I'm working with you, not against you."

"Really? Then what's your name?"

"Dr. Katherine Robertson-Murphy."

"That's a mouthful," he muttered.

"Yes, yes it is."

She opened the folder. "I was told you were arrested for attempted murder. Do you remember anything about the incident in question?"

"What incident?"

"The police report says you strangled your wife, Lisa Rippner. She was revived by your daughter and a team of paramedics."

"Oh, that incident…"

"Jackson—do you mind if I call you Jackson?"

He didn't bother to respond.

"I'm trying to help you, Jackson. I can't help you unless you talk to me."

"Why bother? I'm guilty."

"Are you? Miss Brown doesn't seem to think so," the psychologist countered.

Jackson sighed. "Listen, doc… cut the crap. You don't really care about me or my mental state. You just want to get paid. Am I right?"

She leaned forward. "You're wrong."

"Why should you care about me?"

The shrink pulled a business card out of her folder. She slid it across the table for him to see.

The cream-colored card simply said 'J. Carter and Associates'.

"So?" he challenged.

"Maybe you remember my father? Jim?"

"Not ringing any bells."

"Jim Carter?"

Carter. That was a name he knew. Since when did Jim run a business? Out of all of his past associates, Jim Carter seemed the least likely to get into legal business ventures versus illegal ones.

"Carter's your father?"

"Yes."

"That's not possible. Carter doesn't have kids."

"Not that he knew of until much later. I was seventeen when I met him and my mother. You might remember her—Lynn DeCoute?"

"The girl from high school?" Jackson looked surprised. "She's your mother?"

"Yup. Now that we've established my background, let's get down to business, shall we?"

"You're a doctor? Carter's little girl is a doctor?"

"Psychologist. Remember?"

"You look like Jackie… my little Jackie…"

Katherine looked at her folder. "You mean Jacqueline? Your daughter?"

"Jack. She hates being called Jacqueline."

She nodded. "Jackson, I need you to tell me everything you remember about that day. From when you got up to when you were arrested. Can you do that?"

"I don't remember."

"You remember more than you think you do. Do it for your daughter, for Jackie. After all, what's she going to do if you're stuck in prison?"

That thought sobered Jackson for a moment. Jack wouldn't do well with him in prison. She'd get into trouble if he was locked up on the inside. On the other hand… he might just be forfeiting her life and Lisa's if he told.

"All I remember is the hospital. And Jack telling me that Lisa was hurt. I don't remember anything else."

"What do you remember about the hospital? A smell? A sound?"

"Just Jack. She was worried. So worried."

Katherine nodded, her pen scrawling across a notepad. "What else? What else do you remember?"

He shook his head. "That's it. I don't remember anything else."

"Not even the ambulance coming to your house?"

They held him back as one of them pressed Lisa into the wall. The man holding her squeezed her throat, strangling his wife as he watched, helpless. He couldn't yell because of the gun pointed at the doorway. If Jack came running, which he knew she would, these men would kill her.

"Now, Rippner, if you don't do what we say, she dies. She dies and her death is on your hands. You're guilty as sin. And your little girls… well, let's just say one of them blows out their brains…"

Jackson struggled a bit, his eyes cold as ice.

"What do you want?"

"Kill Charles Keefe."

Jackson shook his head. "No, I don't remember that. I remember being in a car with Jack."

"Are you sure?"

He looked at her with his ice-cold eyes. "That's all I remember, doc. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go back to my cell now."

Author's Notes:

I know it's been ages! Please review if you are still reading this and want me to continue. Also complete the poll on my profile page. Thanks!

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