Bridge to Nowhere: A Detective Aldaine Mystery, #1

By Calvin Cahail

A single act of violence changes Charlie Aldaine's life forever, plunging him into a dark world of crime and despair. Widowed by a serial killer and desperate for answers, Charlie sets out on a quest to uncover the murderer's identity and bring them to justice. As he delves deeper into the depths of the underworld, he uncovers secrets and horrors that he never expected to find. Will Charlie be able to bring the killer to justice, or will he remain forever in the shadows?

 

If you enjoyed the suspenseful thrill ride of "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn, then you'll love "Bridge to Nowhere". Buy now and experience the gripping story of Charlie Aldaine's journey into the mind of a pathological killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calvin Cahail
• Release date: Sep 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223129868

Book preview

Bridge to

Nowhere

A Charlie Aldaine Mystery

by

Calvin Cahail

Copyright © 2023 by Calvin Cahail

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Cover Design by Sabertooth Book Services

First edition 2023

Paperback ISBN: 9798386467517

Hard Bound ISBN:  9798386470012

To Mari

Contents

Prologue

1  Three Years Later

2  Bridge to Nowhere

3  Beware Who Guides

4  Memories

5  Haunting Siren

6  Lapping the Face

7  The Call

8  Timing is Everything

9  New Suspect

10  Before the Storm

11  Triangle

12  Just In Time

13  Never More Than One

14  The List

15  On the Rope

16  What Bag?

17  The Pot is Empty

18  Ghosted

19  Growling

20  Quack

21  Senator

22  Poor Choices

23  Portland

24  The Best Night

25  Coming Together

26  What?

27  Disgrace

28  Just Saying

29  Burden of One’s Past

30  Bad Ride

31  Strange Sightings

32  The Neighbor

33  Dad

34  Moan

35  Lunatic

36  Undying love, come again,

Epilog

Author’s Note

Prologue

I FACED DEATH ANYWAY,

But I never expected it to come

In such a horrific manner.

Lake Oswego

The Clackamas native Americans called it Waluga or Wild Swan. Today, the residents of this prestigious community call it Lake Oswego. It is close to everything, only eight miles south of Portland, Oregon. Yet, the residents ensure it is a world apart from lesser individuals. In the past, they included deed restrictions banning the sale of their property to specific individuals. Although the covenants are racist and illegal, they exist on many properties. Some landowners whisper their support for the ban, while others condemn racial discrimination as an affront to humanity's advancement.

Either way, no one can deny that nature touched this piece of her world with a unique hand. Nestled in forested hills of tall pines and large-leaf maples, it frames stunning sunsets and guides one's heart and mind on to serenity’s path. It is a harbor for fowl in the early morning. And during the day, motor craft frequents the lake as many homeowners have docks and boathouses, sometimes for use and many times for their prestige. Every three years, the lake's dam gates opened, allowing drainage of three feet of its captive water into Oswego Creek on a journey to Willamette River, which flows through Portland, Oregon. The release enables lake-front homeowners to repair these status symbols.

Cory Seaman owned Seaman Construction and focused on high-end homes in the area, knowing his profit margins would be greater than working in other parts of Portland. He needed to get the current job for the Aldaine's completed quickly. He had three different work orders to complete before they re-dammed the lake.

He shook his head as he watched two scab workers carrying longboard lumber down the backyard slope from the stack piled to the side of Aldaines home. Lake Oswego covenants forbid construction deliveries to stand at the side of the road. It brought down the neighborhood. He picked up the scabs from a known labor corner in Portland where undocumented workers hung out looking for a job. The one knew construction, but the other was a piece of work, to be sure. But they would help him get this job completed. Time was money.

CHARLIE ALDAINE CREATED a double-Windsor knot and wiggled his tie firmly around his neck. As he stood in front of his counter sink in the bathroom, Charlie judged his look in the mirror. A fresh haircut was shorter than he wanted, but it was his fault. He told his stylist to 'just cut the gray ones.' Now that he thought about it, he was sure she had heard that one many times. He used to have dark hair peppered with gray. Now it was gray peppered with dark hair.

I called out to Charlie from the bedroom.

Let me see how my Laura looks.

Charlie walked into the room and posed like he was a fashion model.

Not bad, but.... Charlie sat on the edge of the bed as I reached up for his tie and gave it a nudge. Not that it needed it, but it was my loving touch. You will be stunning tonight. I was proud of my man as much as possible, and tonight was his night.

Charlie had joined the force when he was twenty and worked his way up to detective, where he had made a name for himself, handling the station's most challenging cases. Thirty years later, Ben Grass, his boss, was about to honor him for his work and announce his detective's retirement. Charlie was not ready for retirement, but Ben told him to go out on top. Besides, he felt I needed him now. I overheard the doctors say to him that I would not be getting better, and he wanted to be by my side as much as possible. I loved him for that.

I broke into an uncontrolled cough, and Chuck reached for a tissue.

I don't need to go to this honorarium, my love, he said.

Yes, you do. You've worked hard your whole life. You've earned this.

But it is not important to me. You are.

Make me happy. Go to the event.

I wish the nurse could be here.

I'll be fine. It's only a few hours.

Outside, the construction crew continued to hammer on the boathouse.

Not with all that racket, Charlie said as he looked out the window. I'll tell them to quit early. Let you get some peaceful rest.

Thank you, dear.

Charlie leaned over and gave me a final, caressing kiss goodbye. Little did he know how final it would be.

Living on Lake Oswego has blessed my life. It's a small community. Tight-knit. Discriminate. And as the personal assistant to Julianne Phillips, who lived two lots east of us with her mega-star husband, Bruce Maddocks, life had been anything but stale. But, more importantly, I had gotten to share it with the love of my existence, Chuck. Together our life had evolved into a wonderland unimagined before we met.

Julianne had informed me of this home. We purchased it when it became available. It was expensive for Chuck and me, but with Julianne and Bruce's backing, we stretched our finances as I did not think possible, and have yet to look back.

Our home sat on an embankment on the northern edge of the lake. With three stories of gray slate stone siding, white trim, and a darker gray roof, it stood majestically at an angle facing sunsets, with a nine-hundred-foot matching cottage below it. Our home had five bedrooms and four baths. With floor-to-ceiling windows, the formal dining, grand room, and primary bedroom soothed my soul every time I look out.

On my dock at Lake Oswego's edge, I used to watch the rosy glow of a setting sun paint the clouds' faces, the tint rising over an immense expanse of them, then chasing the sun as it set behind the western hills. So magical. Now, I could only follow a tree's shadow across our bedroom wall as it passed over Chuck's and my picture. I was going to miss him. It felt inevitable now.

My mind wandered to the past before we owned this home, to that magical night that made Chuck and I fall in love with the lake area.

Julienne and Bruce were getting married at their compound on the lake to insulate them from the paparazzi. As her assistant, I oversaw the organizing of the event. Chuck came as my date, but I had little time to visit with him, yet he never complained about his lack of my attention.

Just promise me the last dance, Chuck requested. And I did. It ended with an eternal kiss. Now, because of that night, we would live nowhere else.

So, we bought our dream home, which brings us to now.

MY BODY CONVULSES UNCONTROLLABLY as I cough. It scares me. Chuck encourages me to think positively, but cancer in my body demands I face my destiny. I feel it edging closer to the truth; my time is near.

Why did Chuck have to attend that benefit? I feel so safe when he is at my side. So selfish of me, I suppose. Tonight is his night. With the home nurse unavailable for the day, I am quiet. My body no longer stops aching when I lie in bed. And I am too weak to turn over by myself. No nurse. If I needed help, I could call the construction guys below working on the boathouse. But no. I no longer hear them. Chuck sent them away.

But would they be able to hear me anyway?

Where is my Chuck?

What was that? Did I hear something downstairs?

I glance at the wall clock. It’s too early for Chuck to be returning from Portland. Without moving my head, I glance around the room. Only the early evening crescent moon's glow illuminates it. As a young woman, I was never afraid of the dark. Now, lying vulnerable to everything, the monster under the bed becomes a possibility in my mind. Or not.

You're letting your mind run wide, Laura.

I desperately scan the shadows. They are everywhere, yet they hide nothing—only more darkness.

I hear glass breaking in the distance. Downstairs.

Oh, my God.

I try to roll over to get up, but my body denies me.

More glass breaking.

Jesus!

I stop breathing, trying to hear what is happening downstairs. Someone is rummaging around.

A burglar? He thinks no one is home. Should I call out? No, don't be crazy.

I lie motionless as if I have a choice.

Then the most horrible thing happens.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. Gentle, slow steps.

Quiet, Laura.

I wait for the intruder to reach the fifth riser from the top. It is loose and creeks. But it never sounds. Only silence.

Did he turn back downstairs? I've got to get out of here.

I struggle to move my body, then give in to fatigue. In the end, I have no choice but to live my fate.

Silence.

More silence.

From nowhere, a pillow smothers my face. I fight despite my body's frailty.

Need to breathe!

I try calling out, but it falls on deaf ears. The assailant is too strong. But the down pillow allows me to breathe a little.

My attacker, in frustration, throws the pillow aside. For the first time, I see a silhouette on top of me. As a detective, Chuck would explain that I need to remember everything possible about the event, but I can see nothing significant. The assailant has a black baklava pulled over his face. His clothing is all dark.

Short hair around his ears? Oh my God. What is he doing?

The burglar reaches for the table on the left side of the bed while holding my limp body, his knees planting my limbs to the mattress. He grabs a letter knife my nurse gave me to help me open mail, raises his arm, then draws it down violently. The hard plastic enters my chest between my ribs. Not a sharp pain, but an indescribable ache that tells me something is wrong.

Blood enters my lungs, and I begin to drown. My attacker is staring at me.

Do something, Laura!

Time slows down, and the inevitable happens.

Oxygen-deprived, my body drifts into nothingness.

I see a shadow below me as I rise from my torso towards the light. I see a shadow below me. My assailant stands but hesitates as if forgetting something. Then, he picks up a sack from the carpet, reaches into it, pulls out a limp kitten's dead body, and lays it across my now-deceased chest.

1  Three Years Later

CHARLIE’S FAVORITE BAR, The Cantina, sat in the corner of a dilapidated cannery building in Astoria, Oregon. Neither it nor the town was anything fancy by Charlie's standards, just like he liked it. A sour beer smell permeated the room, giving it a local bar feeling. John had opened it fifteen years ago with killer chili and cold beer, but more importantly, he stocked a bottle of Glenlivet for Charlie Aldaine. A Seahawks banner stretched across one wall, and large-screen TVs were everywhere.

Charlie moved his hands in the air as if scribbling a note. John interpreted the sign language and brought his tab as Charlie savored the last of his Scotch and stood.

Thanks, John.

Charlie slid his truck key into the steering column keyhole of his old beat-up 2008 dual cab. He was a Chevy man. Heck, as far back as he could remember, his family were Chevy folk. They would not think of owning a 'lesser' Ford. However, times had changed, and many in the area felt a Toyota was a good choice when it came to cars. They perceived the brand lasted longer. But when it came to trucks, everyone dug in their heels stubbornly. It made for good conversation at the bar on Saturday nights, but there was never a winner. Finally, the L21 Corvette engine the previous owner had dropped into his modified truck rumbled to life with a satisfying roar, unlike the fancy electric ones they sell nowadays. He put it in gear and backed around to face the highway. As he headed out of town down Nehalem Highway, the terrain flattened for miles, and Charlie could not see headlights anywhere.

Always in the dash, a CD with 'All My Love' signed on its face by Laura, played Willy Nelson's 'Stardust' album. It filled the interior of the truck's cab and touched Charlie's heart. His mind regressed to his father, and it made Charlie half-smile. But then, Laura's vision filled his mind. She had made the CD, and they both loved Willy's music.

Oh, how I miss her.

Aldaine settled into his well-bolstered seat as he sped down the solitary road. The broken-striped center line visually and rhythmically mesmerized him. Still, the Glenlivet did nothing to dull the heartache in Charlie's chest. Soon, he drifted across the road. He was startled back to reality by the Bott’s dots thumping as the truck's tires crossed over them. Charlie shook his head, fighting for clarity. Then, as he passed the Williamsport Road intersection, his eyes caught red and blue flashing lights in his rearview mirror. They surrounded Charlie in his truck's cab. The patrol car's siren kicked in. Charlie calmly smiled.

He was awake now. His right foot pushed down on the accelerator, and the L21 never hesitated. Charlie's body, set firmly against the truck's seat, felt the engine's torque pull the truck away from the chasing police car with ease. Charlie reduced his speed when he had a comfortable lead, but the patrol car never gave up. It started to gain ground, so Charlie decided to make things more interesting. Barely slowing, Charlie took a hard right onto Harrison, his truck undulating as it drifted, transitioning from the paved highway to the gravel side road. The patrol car followed like a tail on a dog; it swayed back and forth, losing ground, but never relented. Finally, the road crested, and the Chevy went airborne before crashing back to earth. First, the two front tires hit the gravel, and then the rear ones. The patrol car bottomed out as it landed hard, sparks flying. With careless abandon, Charlie continued, his truck's tires fighting for traction and spitting stones rearward at the patrol car that was now bumper to bumper behind him. As the road straightened, Charlie again sped up and half-smiled as he looked in his rearview mirror.

Charlie finally slowed, turning down a sloping drive he had named Tabasco Road. A dog barked in the distance as Charlie approached a quaint home surrounded by woods. The cottage sat on a bluff looking down on Eagle Lake below.

Leia, Charlie's Springer Spaniel, ran past the Chevy towards the patrol car in pursuit. She jumped at the side of the SUV as it pulled alongside the Chevy's driver's side, stopped, and lowered its passenger side window. Charlie hesitated momentarily, then rolled down