Stolen Diving Suit

by Mike Hershman

“Does his family still own the house?”

  “I’m not sure – see if there’s a Boardley in the telephone directory.”

  This advanced police work sure is interesting, I thought, and I looked up the name. There was a Mrs. Mildred Boardley at 354 Hillcrest Drive. I tried the number but it didn’t work.

  “Maybe she cancelled her phone service – lots of people have done that in the last few years.”

  “Yeah, we don’t have a phone anymore.” I said.

  I decided to hike up to the Boardley’s house after work. There was no sense in taking my bike -- it was almost straight up hill.

  Walt stopped by -- he got off work at the paddleboard dock a little early.

  “I need to go by the shack and pick up some more sparkplugs for tomorrow.”

  “That’s good, I was going to interview somebody up on Hillcrest Drive.”

  “Interview?”

  “Yeah --- on the case – remember.”

  I hadn’t seen Walt in a couple of days and filled him in on the information Sharon and I learned from Riley and Mrs. Quigley.

  “You know, I heard about that Grady guy, he lived out there and mostly fished, shot rabbits, and dug up clams at Clam Beach.”

  “Well his place is up above Clam Beach somewhere. I think it would help us if we knew where that house was?”

  “Why?”

  I told him I thought the shipwreck might have something to do with the stolen diving suit and if we could pinpoint where the wreck occurred, we could stake it out and see if the guys tried to dive on it.

  “Well it’s a big ocean out there – that wreck could be just about anywhere.”

  “I think we can figure out pretty good where it probably is.” I said. “I’m going to study the charts and find out as much as I can.”

  “Heck, even if we’re not right about what those guys are up do – maybe we can find it.” Walt said, looking at me.“ But how could we dive on it – we don’t own a suit? ”

  I thought for a minute and remembered a story someone had told me.

  “I heard about a guy a couple years ago who wanted to get more abalone and didn’t have much money. He took an old water heater and sawed the top 1.5 feet off. Then he screwed on an old boat porthole on the side and caulked it real good. He got a compressor somewhere and put the air in where the cold water comes in and plugged the hot water outlet. He put it on his head, jumped in, and went diving. They said it didn’t work to good.”

  “That has got to be the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life -- I ain’t going to put no damn water heater on the top of my head, George Bailey – Jeez.”

  We hiked up to the shack and picked up the spark plugs, then walked a couple more blocks to 432 Hillcrest with the old anchors by the porch. I walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door.

  14.

  “Let’s go, there’s nobody home.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, “I think I hear somebody.”

  I looked at the porthole in the door. It slowly opened and an old lady with grey steel wool hair and real squinty eyes peeked out.

  “Yes.” She said, looking at me.

  I stood back a little so she could see my badge.

  “Mrs. Boardley?”

  “Yes, I’m Gladys Boardley, what do you want, young man.”

  “Ah, I’m George Bailey Watson and I’m --- ah --- a cadet with the Hamilton City Police. I just had a question about a book your husband wrote.”

  “Which one?” She asked as she opened the door. There were about three chains securing it. “ Let me unlock these chains. Are you related to Dr. Watson?”

  “He’s my Dad.”

  “Well, he’s my dentist, come in boys.”

  Walt and I walked in the house. It was like a combination of the Hamilton City Library and the rental shack. There were books everywhere -- mostly old leather bound ones in bookshelves reaching to the ceiling and old nautical items: a brass compass, a hatch cover coffee table and large shells. There were two old leather chairs in the living room set up so you had a view of the bay. Through the front window, between tall eucalyptus trees, I could see moored boats and the end of the pier. Against the window was a wood rocking chair with an old stitched pillow, which said, “Bless this Ship.” Mrs. Boardley had Walt and I sit in the leather chairs -- she sat on the rocker.

  “You say you’re interested in one of my husband’s books? Seymour wrote several books -- mostly about California history.” Mrs. Boardley rocked back and forth.

  “The one we’re looking for is “Early Hamilton Island,” it was stolen from the Hamilton City Library and Mrs. Quigley said it was their only copy.”

  “Priscilla should have just called me, the silly woman, I must have twenty copies around here somewhere. The book never did sell very well. I can’t imagine why anyone would steal it.”

  I looked around the room, trying hard to conceal my excitement. I noticed an old black and white photograph taken of the same bay I was looking at --almost from the same angle. There were no moored boats and no pier. I knew the pier was built in 1885 ‘cause there’s an old brass sign near where we fish.

  “And what’s your name?” Mrs. Boardley asked Walt.

  “I’m Walter Jenkins.”

  He was sure trying to impress her – he never called himself Walter.

  “Jenkins, I don’t think I know any Jenkins.”

  “My mom works at the steamship company, her name is Wendy.

  “Mrs. Boardley, do you happen to have a copy of “Early Hamilton Island” that I could see?”

  “George Bailey, I have several that you can have – you can give one to Priscilla too.” She stood up and walked over to a hall closet. The closet was packed with books, most of which looked new.

  “Let’s see now – could you move some of these for me.”

  Walt and I jumped up.

  “I think there -- under those heavy blue ones.” I moved “Chumash of California.”

  “ There they are --go ahead -- grab two of them,” she said

  I gave one to Walt -- we sat back down in the chairs and looked at the books. Mrs. Boardley got us a couple of Cokes and sat back down in her rocker.

  “Seymour wrote that book thirty years ago. He was a new professor and we lived near the campus. It was one of his first books and I know he did a lot of research. He loved Hamilton Island so much. As soon as we made enough money, we bought this house and spent every summer here. He would sit in your chair, George Bailey,” she said nodding towards me, “and read every night. I would sit in the other and read my mysteries.”

  I thumbed through the book until I got to the last chapter, which was titled “Wreck of the Bolivia.” I didn’t want to be rude to Mrs. Boardley, but it was hard to keep from reading that chapter.

  We stayed about a half an hour longer and then left carrying the two books.

  “Let’s stop by the library.” I said, “I want to give this book to Mrs. Quigley.”

  “You mean Priscilla.” Walt said.

  “You call her that if you want – I’m not going to.”

  Mrs. Quigley was re-stocking some returned books in the fiction section. I walked back. She was holding some book called “Middlemarch.”

  “Hello Mrs. Quigley, I found another “Early Hamilton Island” for you – Mrs. Boardley had a bunch of them.”

  “Oh, thank you Officer Bailey, I hadn’t even thought to see her,” she said, taking the book.

  I wondered what had made Mrs. Boardley call her a “silly woman.”

  “Those fisherman were in again. I kept a close eye on them, I even thought of calling you.”

  “They were? That’s OK, we’re not sure if they had anything to do with the case.” I said. “What did they want?”

  “They wanted that chart you looked at – the older one. They took it to a table and spread it out just like you did. They must have studied it for at least an hour and even took notes. They certainly must think there’s some big fish out there.”
r />   “Yes,” I said, “ a really big fish.”

  15.

  That night I went to bed early and read the last chapter -- “Wreck of the Bolivia” twice. The ship was built in Germany and was one of the first of the modern ships with a regular propeller. Before that, steamships had large wheel paddles, like Mississippi steamboats, except they were on the side instead of in back. “Bolivia” was owned by the Coastal Steamship Company and ran regular trips from San Francisco to Panama. The ship was rumored to have silver bullion on board, which had been stolen from the Motherlode Bank of San Francisco. Mr. Waldo Conklin, who was an executive of the Bank, was thought to have run off with the silver, which had a value in 1897 of over $200,000. Mr. Conklin booked passage at the last minute and never informed his wife. She only discovered that he was on board when she was notified by the steamship company of his death.

  The next day I walked out on the pier and looked down at the rental dock.

  “Walt, when are you taking a break?”

  “I’ll be up in five minutes.”

  It was 9:00 AM, I planned on telling Sharon and Walt all I’d discovered in my reading, but I just couldn’t wait ‘til after work. Sharon always took her break at 11:00. I stopped by and told her to meet me at the bench by the end of the pier.

  “I’ll be out by the bait house.” I said.

  “Can you grab me an orange juice?”

  I ran back to the Donut Hole and bought three orange juices and some glazed donuts. Walt met me on the way out and we walked out to the bench – then Sharon showed up.

  “The Bolivia had $200,000 in silver bullion on board,” I said.

  “Not to mention all those steamer trunks.” Sharon said.

  “Huh?”

  “There were 87 passengers on board with luggage for a long trip, plus jewelry, gold coins and everything. Many of the articles in the Hamilton City News after the wreck talked about how sad the ladies were about their lost jewelry and clothes. Many of the passengers were really rich.”

  “Guys must have tried to dive on the wreck after it happened.” Walt said.

  “Yeah, but nobody really had an accurate idea where it was, and most of the water out there is too deep.” I said while munching on a donut. “I think if we can study all the stuff we have, maybe we can figure out where it is. There’s a pretty big high spot, and based on what Thaddeus said in his letter to Mr. Jensen, it could be on that spot. I think the guys who took the suit and book are trying to find the right spot too -- but we have something they don’t have.”

  “What?”

  “We know about Thaddeus and the light at Grady’s shack.”

  “ George Bailey, why don’t we ride out tonight and try to find Grady’s shack – it doesn’t get dark ‘til 8:30.” Sharon said.

  “It’s an old shack and long gone,” Walt said, “we were up near there last year George Bailey, and we didn’t see anything.”

  “Yeah, but we were looking for bootleggers, not building foundations.”

  “You think that shack had a damn foundation --- you’re nuts.”

  “What about your parents?” I asked Sharon. “Will they let you go?”

  “They like you George Bailey – I’ll just tell them we’re going for a long bike ride and we’ll be back by 8:30 –they won’t care. It’ll just be getting dark.”

  “Your parents like GB --- they’re nuts too.”

  “Yeah –nuts like me.” Sharon said squeezing my arm.

  “Oh god.” Walt said.

  16.

  We all agreed to meet at the garage. I was oiling the chain on my bike when Walt came in the side door.

  “Sharon’s just coming up the alley,” he said.

  “I have some sandwiches my Mom made in case we get hungry – they’re meatloaf.”

  I pushed my bike out into the alley. We bought new bikes last year with part of the reward money from the bootlegger case. Mine was red, Walt’s black, and Sharon’s was a blue girl’s bike. Walt took the chain guard and fenders off – Sharon and I left ours on.

  We walked the bikes up the hill to Skipjack Road. When the road leveled out, Sharon and I started off side by side with Walt just behind us.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to find anything?” Sharon asked.

  “I don’t know, it was a long time ago, and people probably took most of what was out there – but it’s worth a try.” I said.

  “This reminds me of that movie “The Thin Man” last year.” Walt said.

  “Why does it remind you of that?” Sharon asked, looking over her shoulder at Walt. “ Nick and Nora always just lounged around drinking martinis.”

  “No I mean the three of us, just like Nick, Nora and Astro.”

  “I told you Walt – the dog’s name is Asta.” I said.

  “Yeah, Asta --- that’s me Arf Arf.”

  Sharon laughed and shook her head. Walt was always kidding around, but I knew he liked our detective work almost as much as Sharon did.

  “We should probably fan out a little when we get there,” Walt said. “We can cover more ground.”

  We rode on out to Skipjack Point – it was easy with no traffic on the road.

  “Let’s head up that trail over there,” I said, when we got there, pointing to an old dirt road.

  “Yeah, that’s the same one we took last year when we staked out those bootleggers.”

  I remembered last year, and how scared we’d been, hoping that no one would see us. At least this year we weren’t afraid of being caught, plus it was still very light. It was only around 6:00 and wouldn’t be dark for another two hours.

  “Where should we start? Walt said, after finally reaching the top of the hill.

  “Thaddeus said he saw a light on the top of a hill. They were down in the water and close enough so he could swim to shore,” I said. “ The shack was probably fairly close to the edge.”

  There were high cliffs, which rose up from narrow beaches on this side of the island. We walked uphill toward the coast.

  “That shack had to be right near the edge, or he wouldn’t have seen the light as he swam towards shore, remember, he kept seeing it move to the right as the current pulled him toward Skipjack Point.”

  “The current would normally pull him away from Skipjack, George Bailey.”

  “I know, but the storm was coming from the south that night, it doesn’t happen very often – but it happens.”

  When we got near the cliff edge, we decided to walk along spaced about 15 feet apart. Sharon was near the edge where the there wasn’t as much shrubbery, while Walt and I fought our way through the bushes and stuff.

  “There ain’t nothin’ out here but old dried up rabbit turds – Jeez.” Walt said.

  We stumbled along for a while.

  “I see something,” Sharon said, pointing down between a couple of bushes. There was an old railroad tie buried in the dirt. It only stuck up about one inch or so. I ran over, bent down and started wiping the dirt away.

  “It keeps going this way,” I pointed. “Over there Walt.”

  “Yeah, here’s where it end’s,” Walt said. “It’s Grady’s shack for sure.”

  “How do you know that,” Sharon said.

  “Well mainly caused he carved his name right here,” Walt said, looking down. “Musta been his front porch.”

  Sharon and I looked down at the barely visible roughly carved letters.

  “Hell, maybe it was his front porch.” Walt said.

  I stood on the wood and looked out to sea, and at Skipjack Point.

  “I think we can figure out where that boat was that night.” I said.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Sharon said. “What do you think Walt?”

  “Arf arf.”

  17.

  That night, in bed, I tried to figure out a plan. I wanted to find exactly where the Bolivia sank. I knew the location of the light Thaddeus had talked about. He also said there was a point of land directly behind the stern of the boat. It had to be
Skipjack Point. I wondered what caused the loud noise that Thaddeus heard that night.

  I was pretty sure the guys who took the suit and broke into the library were the same guys that looked at the map at the library.

  What did I know that they didn’t know?

  I knew about Grady’s Shack.

  I knew about Thaddeus.

  What did they know that I didn’t know?

  They had the ship’s log from the Steamer that went to rescue the boat and picked up the drowned crewman. They know whatever the Captain of that steamer saw.

  I thought and thought. I couldn’t sleep. I had to try to think like the thieves and work with what they knew, but I didn’t know what the ship’s log said. Where could I find another copy of the ship’s log?

  What would the crooks next move be? They must be about ready to dive on the wreck. Where would they look based on the information they had? The paper only mentioned that the ship picked up the crewman.

  Of course the other thing I thought about was the silver on board “Bolivia.” If it was still somewhere along the shallow underwater section we might be able to find it. I didn’t know what I should do about that. I was a sort of policeman now and I found out all this stuff while investigating a crime. I didn’t think it was right for a policeman to take that information and then try to make himself rich. It was my job to catch the crooks first. I didn’t know if it was right for me to go after the silver bullion. If Waldo Conklin had stolen it from the bank – didn’t it still belong to the bank?

  If it did belong to the bank, then it was still my job to find it. I decided to try to solve two crimes, but to solve the second one I had to know where the ship was. I was pretty sure the crooks wouldn’t find it. I turned on the light by my bed and reached for my notebook and pencil. I had to make my plan -- there were some things I needed. I wrote them down: a tall stepladder, some white paint, binoculars and fishing line with a heavy sinker. Oh yeah, and red paint too. There was a tall old rickety ladder in the garage and some paint.

  I needed to meet with Sharon and Walt so I could tell them the plan -- maybe they would have some ideas too.