Page 36 of Untamed Coast

2017—Marconi Franco

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.”