Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Rose City Risk

By M. Scott Kelley

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 M. Scott Kelley
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-3873-0

Chapter One

My cast was perfect and the feeling of satisfaction I had was almost, but not quite, as good as when I actually hooked up. I was fishing for winter steelhead on the Clackamas River near Carver outside Portland, Oregon on a perfect Monday in early March. It would have been a perfect day even if I hadn't already landed and released two of the incredibly beautiful fish I was targeting. The fact the bite was on and the sky a deep blue made it one of those days that I live for. One of the most rewarding benefits of being a private investigator and being my own boss was that I could take time for days such as this. It far more than made up for the somewhat meager income I managed to derive from the times I actually did work. This is not to say that I find what I do for a living unrewarding, because it often is, especially when I helped decent people out of tough situations.

I had been fishing since daybreak and I could tell it was about time to call it a day. Traffic was picking up on the bridge near my fishing spot with people heading in for their jobs in the city and its environs. It was tough to call it quits because I had the prime drift to myself for a change. The steelhead is a large sea going member of the salmon family. The run was just about over and I wanted to make the most of it. I was in between jobs and had nothing significant pending, so I told myself, as so many anglers had through the ages, just one more cast and that will be it. Once again I zipped my custom made spinner out into the riffle and let it sink before starting a slow retrieve. Once again I felt the lure bounce along the bottom, come to a suspiciously fishy feeling stop, and I set the hook. With steelhead you have no doubt when you have a fish on and my line screeched off the ultra light reel as the fish took off with a vengeance.

It was at that moment that my cell phone started jingling with the customized ring I had selected for my significant other, Holly Palmer. Holly was probably the only person whose call I would answer given I had a fish on (and I almost included my mother in that). Few people or things are more important to me than fishing but Holly is one of them. I loosened my drag and tucked my fishing rod under my arm hoping for the best. Given I had told Holly what my plans were for the morning and that she knew how I felt about fishing I knew her call had to be important.

"Hey, Holly, what's up?" I asked with what I hoped sounded like sincere interest. She answered, sounding upset which was extremely unusual for her, by saying, "Matt, sorry to call but I have some terrible news. Alex's friend Doug was found dead near the Burnside Bridge. Alex just called and I told her I would give you a call and see if you could check with Ben and see what the police know." Alex, short for Alexandra Galloway, was Holly's best friend and they worked together as sports apparel designers at Nike.

Ben, otherwise known as Detective Canfield, was a homicide detective with the Portland Police. He and I had met while I was working on a case the previous fall and we had since become friends outside our working relationship. I told Holly I would call and check in with him and call her back. She thanked me and asked how the fishing was. I told her it had been fantastic and that I'd fill her in later if she was willing. She told me that would be great, I could hear her customary good cheer returning, and we hung up.

I put away my phone and began to retrieve my line which, as I expected, had gone slack. The fish was long gone. I knew the fishing spell was broken and it was time to get back to the real world.

Chapter Two

I waded back to the beach and trudged up to my green Toyota Tundra pickup. Not for the first time I wondered how a great person such as Alex could fall for a ne'er-do-well like Doug Peterson. Doug was a spoiled only child of rich parents who, at least in my humble opinion, had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and grown up with no regard for others. Holly and I had often tried to talk each other into speaking to Alex about breaking it off with Doug but we had always concluded this was one of those things we just couldn't do. We hoped Alex would come to her senses without being too badly hurt but it sounded as if that decision had been taken away from her.

Once I had taken off my chest waders and pulled on sneakers I pulled out my cell phone. I dialed up my best buddy who was on a vacation fly fishing for snook in Honduras and left him a quick message letting him know he wasn't the only one catching fish. After hanging up I punched in Detective Canfield's cell number and waited for him to answer. He picked up and said, "Hey Matt, I bet I know why you are calling. Doug Peterson, right?" I told him yes and asked how he knew. He said that he had just spoken to Alexandra and she had dropped my name. They had set up an appointment for 8:30 for Alex to meet with Ben at Central Precinct for the usual questioning given Alex and Doug's relationship. Alex had asked if I could sit in with her. Ben said, "I was just reaching for my phone to call you to see if you could make it but you beat me to the punch. How about it? Can you get down here?" I looked at my watch and saw it was 7:20 which left me time to get downtown if I hustled so I told I'd be there and we hung up.

I started up my truck and swung out of the parking lot and across the bridge and I found myself speculating on how Doug had come to grief. The Burnside Bridge area was a fairly notorious spot right smack in downtown Portland. I could easily envision it being a random act of violence, a mugging gone badly for example, but of course I had no information to base that on. I set such speculation aside as futile and fired up the iPod that was hooked up to my stereo and cranked up a classic rock playlist I had put together. The transition from idyllic early morning fishing to Tom Petty's Runnin' Down a Dream was fairly abrupt but I hadn't had enough coffee and didn't have time to stop.

Chapter Three

Traffic was not bad and I parked near Central Precinct with ample time to stop in a Starbucks across the street from the precinct and pick up some caffeinated drinks. I figured we'd all need them. I knew from experience what Ben drank, triple mocha, and called Holly to bring her up to speed and get some input on Alex's coffee drink of choice. Holly told me Alex was partial to vanilla lattes so I added that to my order.

I managed to work my way through the downtown sidewalk rush without spilling anything and walked into the small foyer just in time to see Alex walking towards the window that separated the public area from reception desk. I called to her and she turned and gave me a glad smile and said, "Matt, thank you so much for coming. I feel so much better knowing I have a friend here." I reached out my free hand and took one of hers, gave it a squeeze and said simply, "Sorry about Doug. I'm glad to help in any way I can." She returned the squeeze and blinked away some tears and swallowed as if to clear her throat but did not speak. I noticed that despite having obviously had a tough time she still looked very good. She was a natural Irish beauty with wavy red hair and piercing green eyes.

I handed her the latte and said, "I called Holly and she told me this is your coffee drink of choice. I think you might need this because these sessions can be fairly trying. That said I know Ben well enough to tell you that he is...