Burning Bridges (eBook)

Frank F. Weber (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
392 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-63821-363-5 (ISBN)

Infos

Harper Rowe hires investigator Jon Frederick to find her biological father, only to discover he is a dangerous psychopath who suddenly disappeared. This true crime mystery involves uncovering one dangerous secret after another before reaching a startling true to life conclusion.

Frank F. Weber is a forensic psychologist specializing in homicide, sexual assault and domestic abuse cases. He uses his unique understanding of how predators think, knowledge of victim trauma and expert testimony in writing his true crime thrillers. He has profiled cold case homicides and narrated an investigative show on Oxygen. He has been the recipient of the President's Award from the Minnesota Correctional Association for his forensic work. His Award Winning books include 'Murder Book' (2017) 'The I-94 Murders' (2018) 'Last Call' (2019) 'Lying Close' (September 2020) and 'Burning Bridges' (March 2021).

---

Harper Rowe hires a private investigator, Jon Frederick, to help find her biological father, Billy Blaze. Harper had fantasized about the possibilities-but instead unearth that he was a dangerous psychopath who called St. Cloud his home for two decades, before he disappeared. Where is Blaze today? Harper's relationships with her lover and family deteriorate as she uncovers one dangerous secret after another from her father's past. This True Crime mystery reveals Blaze's actual sordid history and an astonishing true to life experience of his scandalous behavior. Jon and Serena Frederick take on this investigation through COVID restrictions and the Minneapolis riots of 2020, discovering the answers ultimately lie somewhere between St. Cloud and Bemidji, Minnesota. Harper accepts some bridges need to burn...but is it too late? Forensic Psychologist & Author Frank Weber's next mystery after coming off of two consecutive award-winning thrillers.

Textauszug

1

Shoot the moon right between the eyes

I’m screaming

Take me back to sunny countryside

—JOHN PRINE, CLOCKS AND SPOONS

JON FREDERICK

9:00 A.M., THURSDAY, APRIL 9, 2020

BIRCHMONDT DRIVE NORTHEAST,

WEST SIDE OF LAKE BEMIDJI, BEMIDJI

At twenty years old, Harper Rowe reminded me of an abandoned fawn. The willowy, baby blue-eyed woman had long blonde hair, brush-stroked away in waves, reminiscent of impressionist art, like Renoir’s Girls at the Piano. With her long legs crossed, she sat in front of me in a cushioned wicker lounge chair, in her grandparents’ four season porch.

In a soft-spoken tone, Harper wove the tapestry of her sad tale. “My mom, Kali Rowe, was a buyer for Macy’s and was in New York for work. And now she’s dead.”

“I’m assuming not from natural causes.”

“Most unnatural.” Her eyes welled with unshed tears. She shared, “My mom had the dubious distinction of being one of the first coronavirus deaths in New York.”

My heart ached for Harper. She was in the same boat as the loved ones for the victims of homicides I’d investigated, back when I worked for the BCA. No hugging or kisses goodbye—just gone.

The dam burst and Harper took a moment to gather her composure. Wiping away tears, she wearily continued, “My mom used to call me every day. And I’d act like taking her calls would be that final prick that would burst my sanity.” She could barely get the words out. “It’s a bridge burned, now. Did you ever wish you could have one more conversation with someone?”

“Yes.” I also wished my wife, Serena, was here. She would know what to say. Sterile, taciturn data, devoid of any ability to comfort, ran through my brain. I tried my best, “I’d bet your mom was similar, with her mom, and your daughters will treat you the same—no matter how great of a parent you are. It’s just a part of growing up.”

With heartfelt sincerity, Harper warned of the burden she carried. “Before she went into the coma, my mom told me, ‘I love you and I want you to know there is nothing that I wouldn’t forgive you for. You have been my pride and joy. I’m hoping you will forgive me, too, even for things I never told you.’ That’s a hard line to let go of.” The weight of her grief had the potential to create unforeseen challenges.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Kali sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was.”

I felt so useless. “I would hug you, but …”

Harper understood. “I appreciate your boundaries. Everything is so weird. It’s my junior year of college. Instead of spending Saturday night with friends, we’re online live streaming. Instead of enjoying a romantic meal with my boyfriend, Greg, we’re Snapchatting. I’m already sick of social distancing, but I don’t want to die. It just sucks!”

I cringed inwardly, a bit, by her use of “boyfriend,” when referring to an adult male. I never referred to any adult as girl or boy, due to the history of sexism and racism associated with those terms. It bothered me that there were so many books about adult women, Girl on the Train, Gone Girl, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, etc. that referred to women as girls. I never used girlfriend or boyfriend when discussing adult relationships. When I was with the BCA, and an offender would talk about his girlfriend, I would respond, “Isn’t it illegal for you to date girls?”

While Harper regrouped, I decided it was a good time to clarify the reason I was there. “Why do you need an investigator?”

After blowing her nose, she said, “I want you to find my dad.” She paused momentarily, and then anxiously purged information. “Well, he’s not my dad. Jeremy Goddard is technically my stepdad, but he’s my rock. He’s Dad, as far as I’m concerned. He hugs me whenever I need a hug and loves me. I could never have the heart to tell him what I’m doing today; he might think he failed me. After Bemidji State went completely online and my roommates moved home, I moved in with my mom’s parents. I want to learn as much as I can about her life.”

“Your grief speaks well of you and your love for your mother. Viktor Frankl said, ‘Everything can be taken from you but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose your attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.’”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Harper straightened out of her melancholy and got back to business. “I need to find my biological father.” She handed over her birth certificate. “I needed this for a passport last year. My mom told me where to find it in her file. I didn’t bother to mention to her my father’s name was on the certificate, since she was reluctant to give me any information about him. I Googled him, but couldn’t find anything under the name, William Blaze.”

The birth certificate identified Harper’s father as Billy Blaze. Billy might’ve been his legal name.

I left the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) one year ago; I was finally picking up my first case as a private investigator. I performed construction work for a local company, until our architect came down with COVID and everything came to a halt. Serena asked me to take this offer and, since she was handling our finances, I was going to. The family farm on which I was raised fell to bankruptcy. I, for damn sure, wasn’t going through it again.

I said, “You were born in St. Cloud.”

She nodded, “He granted me power of attorney when I turned eighteen. He apparently knew someday, I’d come looking for him. And that’s all I know.”

My first thought was that her father had a criminal history. Career criminals eventually needed someone on the outside, during their incarceration, to take care of their affairs, so it was a pretty common practice to give a sired adult power of attorney. There were also a number of legitimate reasons people wanted another to have a power of attorney, such as career military involvement or poor health.

Harper blew unruly strands of hair out of her eyes. “My mom took the time to help a lot of unsavory characters, but she never let them in my life. I’m assuming my bio-dad fell into that category. My mom wasn’t crazy. I’m sure there’s a reason she deflected any questions I had about him.”

My obsessive brain took a brief tangent. When it comes to food, savory is salty rather than sweet, but an unsavory person is a salty person. So, a sweet person, like Harper, was the opposite of both savory and unsavory.

I asked, “Who is paying my wages?”

She cleared her throat and said with shaky confidence, “I am.”

“A college student is paying me two thousand dollars a week and covering medical expenses for my family?” I doubted it.

Embarrassed, she admitted, “Okay, it’s not me directly. An anonymous professional is putting the money into an account and I’m forwarding it to you.”

I said, simply, “Explain.”

Harper scratched one of her long legs by rubbing the other over it. “After my mom’s funeral, a woman contacted me and told me she’d cover the expenses for an investigator to find Billy, if I promised to keep her name out of it. She gave me your name. Do you want the job or not?”

It wasn’t a matter of wanting it. My family needed the money.

YESTERDAY WAS MINNESOTA’S BIGGEST INCREASE, TO date (+85 new cases), of the coronavirus. By the Governor’s “stay at home” order, businesses had been shut down and people were advised to isolate. Serena was taking this order seriously, protecting our children—Nora, age five, and Jackson, one. She had confined herself to the home with them. We were hammered with news that the pandemic was worse, daily.

After leaving Harper, I called a friend and retired county investigator, Tony Shileto. Tony was paralyzed after being shot on the job, but still occasionally took on laborious work for investigations, such as viewing camera footage or going through files. He agreed to see what he could find on Billy Blaze. I then contacted a St. Cloud police officer I knew and asked if he’d ever heard of Billy Blaze. I thought it was good fortune, at the time, that this officer had interviewed him back in 1997. The interview had been recorded at the police...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 15.4.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-10: 1-63821-363-1 / 1638213631
• ISBN-13: 978-1-63821-363-5 / 9781638213635