Chapter 28
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Police Station—Juneau, AK
The moment Marco dropped the brown bag full of gold onto the desk, he knew it was a mistake.
The officer looked suspiciously at Marco and Bill, down at the burlap bag, then back to the two men again. He reached for the bag, then pulled his hand back, as if afraid to touch it.
Marco didn’t like the vibe he was getting, and he decided to expedite things.
He tore a blank piece of paper from a notepad and placed it on the desk, gently untied the drawstring, and carefully lifted the fragile sack from one corner, pouring the gravelly bits of gold into a neat pile on the slip of paper.
The deputy’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. He sat quietly staring at the gold.
Marco studied the tile on the floor.
“Lemme get this straight,” the officer said.
Marco heard a hint of a grin in the voice.
“You found some gold on an island near Chichagof, and you decided to bring it here to Juneau, a hundred miles away, and give it to me?”
Marco picked up the empty bag and straightened it into a neat square, laying it back on the desk.
“We, uh, you see, Deputy Willard—I didn’t find the gold until we got to Juneau.
I found an old radio in a dilapidated shack.
I thought the radio was junk. We found the gold when we got it here and took it apart, and—”
“We knew there were treasure-finding laws and we didn’t want to run afoul—” Bill interrupted.
Marco didn’t like where Bill was going with this and jumped back in.
“Hang on, Bill. So, we googled and it wasn’t clear if the place where we found it was public land or private; sounded like the best course of action was to turn it in.
” He picked up the bag again and wrapped the drawstring around his index finger.
Willard leaned forward in his chair, removed his reading glasses, and seemed to study the two men.
“Well, I guess I can treat it as unclaimed property,” he said, noisily scratching the stubble on his chin.
“I’ll give you a receipt, and if it isn’t claimed in three years you can come back and get it.
” He paused for a moment, chewing the temple tip of his reading glasses.
“Are you sure you want to go that route? I’m fine if you want to hang on to it and consider your options.
Maybe you wanna check with a lawyer first?
What do you think the value of this is?”
Marco wished he hadn’t let Bill talk him into coming here. It wasn’t worth enough money to risk trouble. “Not like winning the lottery or anything. A few hundred bucks maybe?”
The officer frowned, twirled his reading glasses in one hand, then reached into a card holder on his desk and took out a business card.
Marco placed the bag back down on the table, fingering the rough texture of the burlap as he smoothed it into a square again. He hoped he hadn’t offended Bill, who was shaking his knee nervously and seemed to have checked out of the conversation.
Willard’s face brightened. “So, this is quite a story. You say it was inside an old radio? I’ve got a buddy at the local paper who would love to get his hands on this. Mind if I give him a call?”
Marco didn’t like the idea of publicity one bit, but he didn’t want to get on the officer’s bad side. “Sure, that’s fine. Our boat’s at Auke Bay, but we are about to be out of cell range for a week or so, so tell your buddy we aren’t avoiding him if he doesn’t reach us.”
Willard cautiously reached a finger to the pile of gold and gave it a tentative stir. “I don’t even know what forms I’d need to fill out for something like this. How about you hang on to this gold and figure out what you’re gonna do.”
Marco lifted the paper, poured the gold carefully back into the bag, and dropped it into the pocket of his blazer. “Hey, has your department heard anything about the woman overboard off Chichagof?”
“Oh, God, the Pykes.” Willard wiped his hand over his forehead. “Her husband’s family. Super rich. Super sketchy.”
Marco was intrigued. “What’s their deal?”
“The father-in-law, Ezra Pyke, is a real piece of work—a senator or something,” Willard lowered his tone. “They’re mixed up with all kinds of things—including organized crime. I think they have influence in law enforcement. We have to watch our step around that family.”
“Any word on the search?” Marco asked.
Willard nudged his office door closed. “Old man Pyke contacted us—wanting to offer some big reward.” He adjusted his collar. “The sea doesn’t give a shit about his money. Not in our jurisdiction, either.”
“I heard other women have been lost overboard as well?” Marco asked.
“That’s the third one in the last couple years,” Willard said.
“We were briefly involved with the second one. State police asked us to take a look at the husband. They lived here in Juneau in the off-season and apparently had a bit of a feisty relationship.” Willard stood and opened the door.
“Turned out he wasn’t even on the boat when she went overboard. ”
“I thought I heard this latest woman on the radio,” Marco said. “Maybe she made it to shore, but they called off the search.”
“Sad, but realistically they never find them.” Willard shook his head. “Water’s too cold. Coast’s too rugged.”
Marco started to reply, then stopped himself. He pocketed the business card Willard had given him, then reached to shake the officer’s hand. “We’re heading down to Tracy Arm.”
Willard ushered the men toward the door. “Okay, well, have fun. Stay in touch, I’d really like to hear how this turns out and what you decide about the gold. Oh, can I have a phone number to give my buddy at the paper? Strictly voluntary—you’re not obligated. It’s just a favor for a friend.”
Marco handed the officer one of his boat cards with his name, email, and cell number on one side and a photo of Radio Flyer on the other.
Marco and Bill were unloading their groceries into a dock cart when Marco’s cell phone rang. Area code 907—Alaska.
Damn, must be that reporter. That was fast.
Marco considered letting it go to voicemail but decided to answer anyway. “This is Marco.”
“Hey, Mr. Franco, I’m a reporter with the Juneau Empire. I hear you had an interesting experience and I wanted to see if I could get a quick interview.” The man on the other end of the line spoke at a frantic pace. “It’ll just take a minute, and it could make a great local interest story.”
Marco mouthed “reporter” to Bill. “Could we do this in a few days? We’re at the harbor, just loading up to head out.”
“I just happen to be in the harbor office right now.” The reporter’s voice was way too chipper. “Where are you?”
Marco mouthed “He’s HERE!” as he pointed down at the asphalt. Marco didn’t see a way out. “Must be a slow news day in Juneau. Sure, we’re in the parking lot at the top of the ramp. I’m wearing a blue blazer and XTRATUFs.”
Marco disconnected the call. “Last thing I want is a bunch of publicity. People come up here for privacy.”
Bill shrugged and dropped the last bag of groceries into the dock cart. “Well, don’t talk to him, then.”
A short man in a plaid flannel shirt and khaki cargo pants emerged from the harbor office and came toward them, walking fast with tiny steps. “Mr. Franco!” He beamed, his right hand outstretched even though he still had about fifteen feet to cover.
Marco rolled his eyes at Bill, then grabbed the handle of a dock cart.
“Hey there, uh, I didn’t get your name. We’re just headed down to the boat with our supplies.
We can chat as we walk.” He kept his stride swift, forcing the reporter to follow.
The three continued down the ramp to the dock and to the slip where Radio Flyer was tied up.
The reporter pulled out a notebook. “The name’s Jake.” He readied his pen. “Your full name is Marconi Franco? I understand you found gold in a radio?”
Marco stepped onto Radio Flyer and opened a storage locker. “Yep. I go by Marco.” He took out his freshwater fill hose and began connecting it to a hydrant on the dock.
The reporter stepped aside. “How exciting! Can you tell me more about that?”
Marco opened the fill port on the side of the boat with a tool that looked like a flat metal fish. “Well, I was helping with the search for the missing woman off Chichagof when I found an old radio near an abandoned shack. Turns out there was a small bag of gold inside.”
The reporter wrote something in his book, flipped a page, and looked back at Marco. “Can you tell me more about that?”
Marco turned on the hydrant and began filling Radio Flyer’s freshwater tank. He had a watermaker on board that could purify seawater into drinking water, but he liked to leave the harbor with his tank full anyway when he was headed out for several days.
Bill had apparently found a hiding place and was not coming to bail him out.
Marco decided to get it over with. He told the reporter about hearing the distress call, stumbling onto Radioville, finding the old radio chassis, and he and Bill discovering the bag of gold hidden inside.
The reporter made a couple more notes and turned another page in his notebook. “So, what was it about finding this old radio that got your attention?”
Marco wanted to get rid of the reporter, but figured the fastest way was just to finish.
“I was out there listening for distress calls from the…Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?
You see, my father was a ham—an amateur radio hobbyist—since back in the sixties.
He taught me about radio. I’m actually named after Marconi—the guy who invented radio.
Anyway, I’ve been a ham since I was a teenager.
Somebody told me about Radioville, and it matched something in the distress call…
This guy Joe Baxter who ran Radioville had been in World War I in the Signal Corps.
After the war was the first time radio was used at all for public or commercial use.
It would have been a pretty cutting-edge thing back then to set up a radio link between that kind of remote operation, the mines, and the rest of civilization.
I thought it was really interesting history—or radio history, anyway. Maybe I should write a book about it.”
The reporter looked up from his notebook. “Oh, are you a writer?”
Marco chuckled. “No, not really. I’m a widowed, retired boater with too much time on my hands, but I do think that radio enthusiasts would find it interesting.”
“What are you retired from?” The reporter wouldn’t stop.
“I really need to get going,” Marco replied, trying to project his best bug-off face at the man.
The reporter closed his notebook. “Okay, thanks. I can see you’ve got your hands full here. I’ll make sure to let you know when the article comes out.”
The freshwater tank was already full and water overflowed out the vent.
Marco waved to the reporter, turned off the valve, and began to coil the hose.
After the reporter was out of earshot, Marco shouted toward the boat, “Okay, Bill, it’s safe.
If you wanna come untie lines, I’ll start er up and we can get underway. ”
Bill’s voice emerged from an open porthole, as if he’d been standing there listening the whole time. “Be right with you, Cap’n.”
Marco tried to look stern as Bill appeared at the rear door. “Marco will do just fine. We are not the navy.”
Bill laughed and climbed down onto the dock. “Ready for duty, Mister Captain. Sir. Marco.”