C Weaver - Silent River

Now he looked at it. His marriage wasn’t everything he wanted it to be. His time with Becca had been cut short. He was healing. He slid the ring off his finger and put it in the box. He felt no sorrow, only a sense of relief. The night stretched long as he stared at the ceiling for many an hour before his eyes closed.

The next morning, his pace slowed as he headed to the break room for coffee. In the typing pool, Barbara sat on her chair, her back to him as she talked to the girls. He continued to walk by with slow steps. The woman facing him tapped Barbara, and she turned. Seeing Robert, she stood and grabbed her cup.

“You going to buy me a cup, officer?” she teased as she met him at the break room door.

“Sure, I’ll pay this time.” He put her cup under the spigot and pressed the handle. They both watched the black liquid fill the cup. “I wish someone else would make the coffee,” he whispered.

“You don’t like my coffee?” She stepped back, her hand to her heart, a shocked expression on her face.

Robert froze, holding the cup in his hand between them. He didn’t know what to say.

Barbara burst out laughing. Her face contorted as she bent a little. “I’m just kidding. Your expression is priceless.” She took the cup and set it down, adding cream from the bottle she’d taken from the fridge. “Lighten up.”

He filled his cup, unable to answer for the moment. “Okay, you got me.”

“It’s Mrs. Cook. She’s in here at six each morning. At her age, she hasn’t got a life. Probably goes home early at night, feeds her cat, fixes her dinner, reads a little, and goes to bed. I think she’s a bit blind. She fills the measuring cup heaping full and dumps at least four of them into the holder. My goodness. Two level cups would be enough. I wish we had a pot of hot water. I’d fill my cup half full of coffee and add water. “

“That’s why we go through so much cream,” he added, stirring his brew. “Maybe we need to substitute a smaller measuring cup.”

“Great idea. I have an extra cup at home. We’ll see if that works.” She patted him on the arm as she turned to the door.

“Barbara?” he cleared his throat.

“Yes?”

He stared at the floor. The words wouldn’t come. “I have a report for you. I’ll drop it by.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was too late to change. He walked past Barbara, leaving her standing alone in the break room. At his desk, he called himself all kinds of names for not asking her out. He stayed in his office with the door shut for the rest of the day.

Two days later, he read results from the FBI Lab in Washington, DC. It stated the samples the lab received came from a different year and make of car than what he expected.

He went down to the lab. “Bob, remember those paint samples I gave you?”

“What samples?”

“I gave you some paint samples from a ’54 or ’56 station wagon. The samples were mostly red. I’m not sure if there were any other colors mixed in.”

Bob anxiously checked the room to make sure they were alone, and then led Robert to his office. He opened the bottom desk drawer all the way out and lifted a small strip of wood revealing a space between the false end and the rear panel of the drawer. Bob handed Robert a notebook. He opened it. After turning a few pages, Bob pointed to the page and indicated Robert should read it silently.

Robert read,

After I returned from lunch, I took the paint samples to be mailed and just before I put them in the envelope, I looked at them. I have reason to suspect that the samples I am sending to the FBI are not the same as those given to me by Detective Collins. I weighed them, and the bag weighs more than it did when I first received it. Someone exchanged the bag, not knowing that I keep accurate records. The bag was the same size. The label looked like one of mine. However, the samples inside were not the same shape or size as the ones that were there before.

“Why didn’t you come and tell me right away?” Robert asked

“Shh, I don’t know who to trust around here. I’ve been accepted for a position at a large research company in the Midwest. I’ll be leaving at the end of the month. I didn’t want to jeopardize my new job on just a suspicion,” Bob whispered.

“Just a suspicion? I thought you kept good records? It could be proven that an exchange had taken place,” explained Robert.

“Yeah, with me as the prime suspect. I know there are only a couple of us with the combination to the locker where we keep everything, but that doesn’t mean a lot these days. Whoever did the exchange marked the bag the same way I had marked the original bag.”

“I agree with you. Right now, this station is the most corrupt law enforcement office I’ve had the misfortune to be associated with. I thought this was all taken care of. I guess until you thoroughly clean house, the mold is going to grow back.” Robert nodded.

“I agree, that is why I applied for this new job.”

“I don’t even know how long I’m going to last if things start popping around here. I won’t be bought off or compromised in any way,” Robert ground out between clenched teeth. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be railroaded.”

“That’s right; you lost your wife a while back when a murderer who you helped indict got out of prison and held her hostage. She was murdered, wasn’t she?”

Robert nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Robert braced for the familiar pain, but it never came. He didn’t bother to correct the mistake. This version was the one the department sent out as a media press release. “Some things just don’t change.”

“I’m glad I’ll be leaving. You’d be smart if you did the same. With your talents and track record you could get a job anywhere.”

Robert nodded but didn’t comment. “What is this book?” he pointed at the book in his hand.

“I keep a diary of things that seem a might unusual or too coincidental. It might save my hide someday. I’ll give it to you when I leave. I hope I don’t ever have to see it once I leave this place. I don’t even want a goodbye party. I’m going to give my notice the day before I take my two weeks of vacation, and I will be out of here.”

“Good luck, Bob. If you still decide to give me the book, I will take good care of it.” Robert left Bob’s office not feeling any better than he did going in.

The paint samples were a wash. The media would get the story they didn’t match, when in reality, the original samples were never sent for testing. Nothing was going very well in this investigation. He felt like a wind-up toy that just ran into things, turned around, and moved until it ran into another wall. Someone was winding him up, and he was tired of it.

Robert watched the chief speak to the press. “The bulk of the search is centered at Cascade Locks. The Stevens’ car might have gone over an unguarded portion of the road into the river. We’re using drag lines along the bottom of the locks. The current is swift, and the lines have become entangled. We plan to send divers down.”

The reporters called out questions. More photographers flashed their camera bulbs.

Robert looked around the room and didn’t see the star reporter. Anne Sullivan wasn’t in attendance. He grimaced and opened the door to Jake’s office.

“The chief gave his weekly press conference. Guess who was missing?”

Jake stood at the filing cabinet and didn’t answer.

“Anne Sullivan,” Robert continued and pulled the ever-present roll of butterscotch candy from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. Jake nodded and kept filing. Robert continued. “Remember that talk I had a while back with the chief? I told you he’d given me a story about Karl Stevens having heart trouble? I just heard one of the sergeants tell the guys that very same story.” He shook his head in disgust.