Silent River by C.M. Weaver Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Silent
River
by
C.M. Weaver
Genre:
Psychological Thriller
A
gripping psychological thriller inspired by true events.
Robert
Collins is Portland’s best investigative detective. When the
Stevens family goes missing, he goes to work. As he uncovers clues
the family may have been targeted for a professional hit by organized
crime, it gets personal.
Too
personal. Can he face down his inner demons before he loses
himself?
He
confronts the mob and police bureaucracy to find the missing family.
Jake, partner and friend, thinks he's spiraling into obsession, when
Robert's taken off the case but refuses to give up the
investigation.
Can
he get past this shameless tragedy and his own past to move on with
his life?
Silent
River is
a fictionalized version of a real investigation in the late 1950s in
Portland, Oregon, a time when money and power ruled the city. This
story will appeal to fans of true crime and detective fiction alike.
Readers who enjoy Ann Rule, Rex Stout, and Mary Higgins Clark will
love CM Weaver.
CHAPTER
1
Detective
Robert Collins absently swigged the lukewarm coffee that he’d
bought on his way to work that morning. A few officers sat at their
desks. Monday mornings usually weren’t 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 didn’t 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. He’d 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.” Nate’s nasal
tone grated on his nerves. “Why do you guys seem to get all the
bribes? Oh, that’s right, you two passed through the cleanup with
flying colors. Makes a person think now, doesn’t 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 driver’s 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. He’d hit the end of the rush hour and
everyone heading to work. He poked down the street, looking for the
address he’d 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
didn’t 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,
what’s happened?” a reporter called out. “Who’s 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. Couldn’t 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. “This
is Tom and Maggie Borman. She claims something happened to her
brother and his family.” Stan consulted his black book, “A Karl
and Debra Stevens and their three girls. Mrs. Borman, this is
Detective Robert Collins. Would you tell him what you told me?” Maggie
Borman wore a beige sweater over a plaid shirt and pleated brown
skirt. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a French roll at the
back of her head. She was in her late forties; her brows were
furrowed over her brown eyes. She
wrung her hands as she talked. “I called yesterday afternoon to
talk to Debra, but they weren’t home. I kept calling until almost
midnight. When I got up this morning, I tried again, but there was
still no answer. We came over here and because I have a key for
emergencies, we went in to check. I didn’t find anything missing or
any reason they wouldn’t have come home last night.” Her voice
broke, and she began to cry. “Was
the lock forced?” Robert asked Stan. “No,
and we couldn’t find any of the windows forced open either.
Everything is locked up tight.” “Can
you give me their names, ages, and descriptions?” he turned to the
woman. “Karl
Stevens is my brother; he is fifty-four. Debra, his wife, is
forty-eight. Kelly is fourteen; Darla is twelve, and Sara is ten
years old.” Tom spoke the names while Maggie filled in the ages. “Do
you have any idea what they might have been wearing?” Robert asked. “No,
I can only guess. I know that Debra would have been wearing a dress,
and the girls were probably wearing pedal pushers, shirts, and maybe
either a sweater or a jacket.” “Is
there anyone they might have gone to visit? Someone they spent the
night with? There has been some snow up the Columbia River Gorge.”
Robert directed the questions, while Stan stood to one side looking
at his notepad and adding any details he hadn’t thought to ask. Maggie
shook her head. “They would have called me,” she muttered into
her handkerchief. When
Maggie could not continue, Robert left them in Stan’s care and
walked through the house. He watched a team of men search for any
clues. The house was clean, but the Sunday paper lay on the side
table, as if Mr. Stevens had just put the sections down after reading
them. The comic pages had been divided, and some were on the floor
while others were folded on the coffee table. The
kitchen had been used, for breakfast dishes soaked in oily water. He
opened the fridge, but there was no roast waiting to be put in the
oven. His mom liked to have a roast cooking when they came home after
church. He took a deep breath, remembering the smell that greeted the
family as they all trooped through the door after the church service.
This family either ate before going to church or didn’t go that
Sunday. What would cause this family to skip church? Taking
a quick look in the bedrooms upstairs, he saw the parent’s bedroom.
No clothes lying around; the items on the vanity were lined up on the
runner. A quick check in the closet revealed no suitcases; he’d
check the hall closet later. The next door down the short hall had
the name “Kelly” written on a card tacked to the door. Inside,
there wasn’t anything out of place—too neat for a teenager. He
stepped inside. The bed had perfect hospital corners, the books so
neat they were aligned by height. With his pen, he hooked the desk
drawer and pulled it open. All the pens and pencils were in neat
rows, small to large, sharpened to a point. He
looked for any notes she might have left, but the notepad was blank.
He would have the guys bag it and bring it to him at the office,
along with her schoolbag. All
the drawers held her clothes neatly folded in vertical stacks. Robert
opened the closet door to see dresses, blouses, and skirts hanging in
even spaces. She must have been obsessive about her room, which
wasn’t normal in his book. He had no sisters, but he did have a
brother who would sleep in and on his clothes. He backed out of the
door, taking one more look at the dresser, small desk, bed, and night
table with a single lamp. Two
cards with “Sara” and “Darla” printed on them were stuck to
the next door. The beds were made, but not as neatly as Kelly’s. A
wicker basket of folded clothes sat on each bed, ready to be put
away. A bookshelf held books and games stuffed haphazardly on the
shelves, some of the pieces falling out of the half-closed boxes.
Schoolbags in this room peeked out from under the beds, nothing out
of the ordinary. He
opened the last door in the hallway and found a stairway to the
attic. A door at the top was closed but it opened when he turned the
knob. A bedroom. He sniffed. A boy’s room. Perhaps a boarder? A
single bed with a quilt over it, a short dresser, a chair, and an
empty closet. He turned and went down the stairs. Back
on the main floor, he made a note that there was no sign of a
struggle and no note left on the pad near the phone or on the
refrigerator, where most people would leave one if they were going
out of town. In
the basement, he touched the sawdust furnace. Still warm, even though
the fire was out. It must have been going for quite a while before
the fire died from lack of fuel. Robert judged it to have been out
about four or five hours. In
the living room, the Christmas tree was decorated, a Santa suit lay
neatly over a chair, and a bag of candy canes lay right next to it. A
few Christmas decorations adorned the windows. Probably
done by the girls, he
thought. It was December 7, 1958, and Christmas was just around the
corner. Not a time for a family to go missing. The Bormans remained
on the couch, watching the officers. “Mrs.
Borman, who else might have a key to the house?” “No
one that I know of, but anyone could get in, the back door is never
locked.” Robert
frowned; he turned and walked back to the kitchen. Maggie stood and
followed him. He stood looking at the lock, a standard, turn knob
with a button-slide, locking mechanism. Maggie reached past him
toward the knob. Robert pushed her hand down, intercepting her reach. “What!?”
Maggie gasped. “Fingerprints.
If this door is normally unlocked, someone locked it. We will need to
fingerprint the lock. We’ll need your prints to disqualify you, and
we’ll have the others in the house. Anyone different, we will need
to question them. I’m sorry I startled you.” “That’s
okay.” He
met Stan on the porch. “What
do you think?” Stan asked. “Mrs.
Borman said they never went anywhere overnight that they didn’t
notify her first. It’s possible this might be the exception. Let’s
question the neighbors and see what comes up.” “I
have a team already on it, though we are shorthanded if you want to
help out.” “Always
ready to help, after all, this could be my department—homicide.” Robert
talked to the occupants in the house next to the Stevens and one
person across the street. None had seen anything that morning or the
day before. One family had been gone all day, and the other had sick
children and hadn’t been outside.
~~~
“Hey,
Robert, the chief wants you in his office right away.” Deputy
Nate’s grin almost wrapped around his head as he made the
announcement. Robert
ground his teeth and nodded at the young man. The kid must have his
ear on the phone every moment. At
the office of Chief Arnold Gilmore, better known as Arnie, he rapped
his knuckles firmly and waited for an answer. “Come
in,” the gruff voice called out. Robert
opened the door, but the chief was on the phone. The man waved him to
a seat across from him and finished his conversation. “Good
to see you, Collins. What are you working on right now?” Chief
Gilmore had a balding, round head with a few wisps of white hair that
grew near his left ear and were pasted across the top of his head
almost to his right ear. He had a barrel of a chest and a stomach
that overshot his belt buckle if he had one on. He wore wide
suspenders that crossed over at his shoulder blades. “The
usual, sir. Following mob bosses who show up in our city and have to
submit to their haranguing the department to the media, who then make
us look like fools.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his
voice, but he was sure the irony was not lost on the chief. Arnie
laughed. “Yes, I saw your picture in the paper this morning. Was
that your arm or Jake’s?” “Mine,
sir.” “Don’t
worry about it. The hoopla’s over. The man you were watching was
here to put a deal together to buy a plot of land on Sauvie Island.
He planned to build a casino here. Wanted to build a little Las
Vegas.” Robert frowned and leaned closer to ask if that had
happened. Arnie continued. “No, it didn’t happen. It’s rained
here for the past two weeks. The area he wanted to see is flooded
with about a foot of water. He’d been heard to say, ‘Who would
want to live in this godforsaken place, much less want to visit
here?’ He had his dinner Sunday night with his boys and now is
probably back in sunny Las Vegas.” “For
once, thank goodness for our rain.” Robert sighed. “Yes,
that might be true, but a casino would have brought in jobs and money
to the community.” Robert
schooled his expression. He was against legalizing gambling. It was
bad enough they had their own little organized crime gang running the
city. “Jobs.
Yes, we would have had to hire more men, build bigger jails, and then
you would have another corrupt department to clean up.” This
time Robert didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm. “Yes, we can be
thankful that it isn’t going to happen. One cleanup was enough. I
never want to go through that again.” Robert
had just become a deputy when someone sent large envelopes to the
governor, the Oregonian,
and
the Journal.
Inside
were pictures, dates, and the names of cops who were on the take. The
photos were so incriminating that there was nothing left for the
governor to do but initiate a city-wide sweep. There were still
officers and high officials who were on trial. “Robert,
I want you to work with Stan on this missing persons case. He
specifically asked for you. You file a report regularly. That’s
all.” Chief Gilmore dismissed Robert. Walking
down the hall to his office, Robert glanced at the men working. He
wondered what they thought when they weren’t buried in police
procedures. He’d felt some of their gazes as he passed them,
conversations that suddenly stopped or seemed to change. After
the chief called them all in for a meeting and said there were going
to be changes, he’d been apprehensive. He liked the chief and
thought he did a good job. Then half the department disappeared.
Older officers retired early or asked for a transfer. Some were
indicted with criminal charges and the few left, like Jake Monroe,
his friend, walked softly around some of those who remained. Not all
of them agreed with the chief but knew their jobs were a thin line
from being terminated.
I live and work in the
Pacific Northwest. I’m married and take care of a challenged rescue
dog, Ariel. I love writing, but don’t write in one particular
genre. I do gravitate more to mysteries as I’m always asking “What
if?”
Where
were you born/grew up at?
I
was born in Portland, Oregon but we moved to Los Angeles when I was
18 months old. When I was 14 we moved to So. Oregon then Kansas City
and then I got married and lived in Minnesota. In 2006 we moved back
to Portland, Oregon
If
you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
I
would spend the day with family. They are the most important people
in my life.
Who
is your hero and why?
I
don’t have one. I am in awe of good authors. All for their
different styles and ability to keep readers buying their books.
What
are you passionate about these days?
True
Crime Podcasts. I love listening to them. I’ve done a research
paper on Albert Fish.
What
do you do to unwind and relax?
Right
now I sit and do a coloring app on my phone. And watch Netflix
movies.
Describe
yourself in 5 words or less!
Compassionate,
happy, dedicated, spiritual
When
did you first consider yourself a writer?
35
years ago when I wrote my first novel. It wasn’t great but 12 years
ago I joined a writing site and began to perfect my craft. I’m
still perfecting it. I began to post short stories and enter contests
on that site. I received great reviews that helped me to hone my
craft. I learned that I needed to develop a tough skin. Put my ego in
a drawer and practice what I was shown to do. I share that tidbit
with other new writers. You can’t write well without good
critiquing. You have to learn when to accept advice as good to know
and when to determine its a personal opinion that when it differs
with yours, ignore it.
Do
you have a favorite movie?
I
have so many. I would probably say Hunt for Red October is one I
can’t pass if it’s on TV I’ll sit there till I get to my
favorite parts, then I’m hooked to the end. I loved Alec B in that
movie.
What
literary pilgrimages have you gone on?
Only
one. I want to write a story based on the plight of the Chinese n
Oregon at the turn of the century. I made a weekend trip t Pendleton
and Baker City. I don’t call that a pilgrimage but a research trip.
My dream is to go to a writer’s cruise or a weekend where you can
sit with other writers and woodshed your manuscript. There is a
place here in Oregon, Sylvia Beach Hotel that has no TV and maybe no
internet. Each room is in an author decor. They host a writer’s
weekend. So far I haven’t been able to go there. It was in April
this year.
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