C Weaver - Silent River

This book has been 35 years in the making. Id like to thank my friend Joanne who helped me with research at the beginning of this project.

As I struggled to become a writer, my sisters; Kathy Buss and Susie Scriber along with my daughter Lani Weaver, read my manuscripts and gave me critical reviews. They constantly, over the years, encouraged me to write this story and have supported my writing goals.

In the last few years, I have had the privilege to meet JB Fisher. His research while writing his own story has prompted me to get busy and finish this novel.

Joni Wilson has done a great job in the line editing, and the designer who did the cover as well as Alex Roman who took on this project.

In the darkness, twin beams of light illuminated the road as the car sped down the highway. Inside the 1954 station wagon, the silence was deafening and fear almost tangible.

The car left the road and bumped along the grassy shoulder, then came to a stop. The driver killed the lights to keep out of sight from passing motorists. Lights from a second car reflected for a brief moment on two white faces peering over the back seat, then everything turned dark. The driver of the second car approached and opened the rear car door. Two girls slid to the opposite side of the car, leaving as much space as possible between them. The man laughed harshly as he climbed in and slammed the door shut.

Lets get it done. He tapped the driver on the shoulder.

Kelly wrapped her arms around her sister, Darla, who was hugging the door handle. The driver maneuvered the car away from the highway, swerving now and then to avoid boulders too large to cross. She winced as the shrubs scraped the sides and cringed as rocks struck the bottom of the car.

Take it easy, Frank; we dont want to leave any evidence.

Im goin as careful as I can, you didnt exactly pick a well-marked path, ya know, Frank growled.

Darla whimpered, while Kellys squeeze was meant to reassure. Kellys eyes strayed toward the front seat. Their mother hadnt turned to look back at the girls since the men showed up and held them at gunpoint. Directly in front of Kelly, her father rested his head on her mothers shoulder. She wanted so much to reach out and touch him. This whole thing had been her fault. Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed, following the tracks of their now dried predecessors. Why had she allowed it all to happen? How could she have been such a fool? Now it was too late to go back.

Kelly saw her fathers head fall forward when the car hit another rock. Her mother didnt move. Kelly knew the large, bloody mass on the side of his head made a mess on her mothers sweater. She hoped the dry cleaners could get the stain out.

Momma? a small voice rose from the back of the station wagon.

Shush, its all right, Sara, go back to sleep.

Kelly turned and looked at her youngest sister. The man called Frank had put something from a bottle on a cloth and then pressed it to Saras face. She had gone right to sleep. Now she was beginning to wake up.

Lie down, Sara; were almost home, Kelly sighed as Sara obeyed.

The car jerked to a stop. The man next to them got out. Stay there! he ordered.

Frank bent over in the drivers seat. Kelly hoped he was going to help her father. He straightened a little and slapped her fathers cheek

Dont be trying anything now. Then he laughed, Oh, yeah, you cant, cuz you are dead.

He turned to look at Kelly, You shudda kept your pretty mouth shut. So long now. He did something on the front seat. Kelly heard the engine get louder. She saw him push the door lock down, shove the gear shift, and slam the door as it moved past him. Kelly screamed as the car shot over the edge into the cold, Columbia River.

Detective Robert Collins absently swigged the lukewarm coffee that hed bought on his way to work that morning. A few officers sat at their desks. Monday mornings usually werent this quiet.

He pushed open the door to his office. He detested the institutional green walls. His desk was falling apart, no matter how many times he nailed and glued the drawers back together. He threw his coat at the stand along with his hat. It slid on the curled wood and stayed. The hat twirled but remained in its place. Robert didnt bother to watch as he sat the cup on the stained desk and gingerly sat in the wooden, rolling, office chair. It hated him and had dumped him on the floor a few times.

His inbox overflowed with reports for follow-up and notes on cases he needed to read. There were times when he wished he had a regular nine-to-five job, and this was one of those times. Hed pulled an all-nighter last night, and the subject of the stakeout had played him like a cat with a toy mouse.

The sound of taps on leather shoes echoed as it moved toward his office. The announcement of Nate Polentti was not a welcome sound to Robert. He cringed as the tapping stopped at his door.

So, you and Jake got some prime beef last night. Nates nasal tone grated on his nerves. Why do you guys seem to get all the bribes? Oh, thats right, you two passed through the cleanup with flying colors. Makes a person think now, doesnt it? You made front page news. I wonder how my uncle, Chief Gilmore, is going to take this. Nate gave a dry laugh as he slapped the newspaper down in front of Robert. The tapping seemed more pronounced as Nate walked away.

The paper unfolded, allowing Robert to see a large picture, above the fold, of an unmarked police car. The drivers arm rested on the frame of the open window. Thankfully, it was just an arm, he thought. He looked closer at the grainy picture. The prime target of the photographer centered on the person in the background. A white-jacketed waiter walked away from the car, balancing a tray that bore the remains of two sumptuous dinners.

The headline read: Are There Still Cops on the Take? The article stated that two police officers were seen eating prime rib dinners provided by a known mob leader who had arrived in Portland to possibly open a casino in the area.

The phone rang. Robert fumbled around under the paper until he found the receiver. He answered, not taking his eyes from the article.

Collins here.

Robert, we got a call for you to report to Stan. The dispatcher gave the address. He pulled a pen and pad from his pocket and jotted down the information. As if it were one complete motion, he jammed his long arms into the sleeves of his coat, positioned his fedora over his dark blond crew cut, and hurried through the office.

In the car, he turned the key and pressed the gas pedal. He headed down Alder Street to Sandy. Following Sandy Boulevard, the traffic kept him to the speed limit, and the drive to Fifty-Seventh Avenue took a little longer than usual. Hed hit the end of the rush hour and everyone heading to work. He poked down the street, looking for the address hed been given.

The houses were well kept. Robert saw people milling on the sidewalks ahead and parked behind a squad car. He looked at the situation and didnt see anything that would need a gun drawn, so he got out and slid his hat in place, running his fingers along the brim. He made his way through the crowd of people the officers tried to keep on their front lawns.

Hey, whats happened? a reporter called out. Whos missing?

Stan! Robert called to a man just going up the front steps of the house.

Took you long enough, Stan taunted.

Took you long enough to call. Couldnt handle it on your own?

I thought you should earn some of those taxpayers dollars instead of just reading the sports pages at your desk on Monday morning.

Yeah, well, thanks. What have we got here? He followed Stan into the living room. A man and a woman sat on the couch talking to one of the officers.