Stolen Diving Suit (George Bailey Series Book 2) Read online

  Stolen Diving Suit

  by

  Mike Hershman

  Table of Contents

  The chapters are pretty short!!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Dedicated to:

  My Grandsons and Editors

  James Miguel

  &

  John Michael

  Hamilton Island, California 1935

  1.

  My name is George Bailey Watson. I’m 14 years old and a straight A student a Hamilton Island High School. I have a girlfriend named Sharon and a friend named Walt – sometimes Walt gets pissed at me ‘cause I forget and call him Wally. Walt is more or less a straight C student except, of course, for P.E. where he always gets an A. I’m too small for the football team so I was the team manager—that’s how I got my A in P.E. – otherwise I’d probably get an F. I mostly carried a water bucket and put gauze up guy’s noses when they got nosebleeds. I also have other jobs besides team manager --- I deliver the Hamilton City News – oh, I’m also a detective.

  Wally, Sharon and I helped the F.B.I. catch a bunch of bootleggers last year. Some guy wrote a book about it --- it was mostly true, course he exaggerated here and there – mainly made Wally’s old girlfriend out to be prettier than Sharon.

  There was this policeman named Officer Hollis, who was one of the crooks. When they carted him off our island, they had to find a new policeman. They brought this new guy over –his name is Officer Keyes. He’s the Chief of Police in a way, but since he’s really the only policeman, and there’s no other police to be chief of, we just call him Officer Keyes.

  “George Bailey, there’s someone here to see you,” Mom said.

  I sat on the back porch folding my newspapers, I usually do it in the garage cause it’s cooler, but today was still a little chilly. It’s June, school’s out in a couple of weeks.

  “Hi George Bailey.”

  “Hi Officer Keyes,” I said, wondering, why is he here? I thought maybe he might need my professional advice. It was too bad Sharon wasn’t here – she’s really a good detective too.

  “I’ve been meaning to stop by and see you,” he said, “I’m sure it’s going to get real busy this summer with all the boaters drinking, poachers and other stuff.” He grabbed some of my papers, started folding them, putting on the rubber band and tossing them in a cardboard box. “I used to be a paperboy too --- I hope it pays better than when I was a kid.”

  “I can’t see how it could pay worse than now,” I said.

  He laughed. “Well look, George Bailey, I’m going to need some help in the office this summer, with the Depression still on, the city council isn’t bringing in enough tax money to pay a full time office secretary. I was wondering if you’d like to do my filing, help write reports and answer the phone.”

  “Would I have a badge?”

  “Well, I can’t see why not. I have an extra one that Officer Hollis surrendered. Since you and your friends are the main reason we caught him --- it seems like a good idea. Do you want to know how much you get paid?”

  I wanted to know, of course, but heck, if he said nothing --- I’d still do it and keep my paper route.

  “How much do they pay you to throw these papers?”

  “About $3.00 a week.”

  “I’ll give you $4.00 a week– course you’ll have to quit the paper – I’ll need you for about 5 hours a day.”

  “When do you want me to start?”

  “Why don’t we make it the first day after school is out – you can deliver the papers ‘til then?”

  I was going to quit soon anyway – I was getting pretty old for a paperboy. I couldn’t wait to tell Sharon ---and Walt.

  2.

  “So what’s your job going to be exactly?” Sharon asked, as she sipped on a coke. “What did he say?”

  “Well, I’m mainly a sort of junior detective, you know, if he gets too busy with a murder case or something, then I’ll handle the minor stuff – like a robbery.”

  “There’s only been one murder on Hamilton Island in the last 10 years,” she said.

  “Yeah, and we sure solved that one, didn’t we GB? Walt said.

  The bootleggers killed a guy too.

  “Junior detective, I’ve never heard of a junior detective.” Walt said.

  “Here’s my badge.” I said, showing it off.

  “It sure is shiny.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’d used up half a can of Mom’s silver polish – it should be shiny.

  “Don’t worry, when I get a case, I’ll let you guys help – just like last time.”

  “Oh great – last time you almost got us killed,” Walt said.

  I found another kid to take my paper route and rode with him the first few days – I gave him some hints like where the bad dogs lived and told him to always put Mrs. Wrendt’s paper on the porch – she’s a good tipper.

  On my first workday, I put on my clean blue jeans and a short sleeve beige khaki shirt that Mom bought on sale. I pinned my shiny badge above my pocket and put on a beige baseball cap to match. I thought about pinning the badge on the cap, but I figured I might look too much like a fireman.

  I was pretty proud and ran by Sharon’s house first. She came out and adjusted my badge. Her mom wanted to take a picture. Some of the older guys teased me as I walked down to the police station.

  “Hey George Bailey – will you throw me in jail if I spit on the street?”

  I laughed, most of the guys were on the football team and liked me OK. I knew that the guys who were really crooks were probably scared.

  3.

  “Welcome George Bailey,” Officer Keyes said, smiling at my uniform, “ I like your hat and shirt.”

  “Mom bought two of these shirts – I’ll wear it everyday if that’s OK.”

  “Heck yeah, it looks great. Let me show you around.”

  The station was on Oceanfront walk. It looked almost like a store, with a large glass window that said “Hamilton City Police” in gold arched letters. Underneath the letters was a 24-hour phone number. I went ahead and walked in. The front room had an L-shaped counter about chest high. Officer Keyes looked at me and smiled.

  “This is really the office,” Officer Keyes said, “I use that desk near the window and you can use the one over here,” as he pointed to big old oak desk.

  His desk had a wood name plaque, which said Stuart D. Keyes, Sergeant.

  “Go try out your desk,” Officer Keyes said.

  I sat down on the swivel chair. My desk was a roll top with a bunch of little cubbyholes and brass pull handles.

  “Open that drawer on the right.”

  I opened it, there was a wood plaque, just like his, I pulled it out – it said George Bailey, Police cadet. I couldn’t believe it – it looked really nice.

  “Go ahead and put it up on the top there,” he said, pointing. “We don’t want peopl
e coming in here saying ‘Hey Kid,’ do we?”

  He walked me in to the next room. There was a wood bench against one wall that would seat about five people. On the opposite wall was a high narrow table. Next to it was a wall with lines indicating height, 4, 4.5, 5, 5.5, 6 & 6.5. “Here’s where we book them. The table is used for fingerprints and the wall is for their photo.”

  He then unlocked a steel door, leading back to three jail cells. A man was sleeping in the back cell.

  “Morning Jim – say hi to George Bailey – he’s my new assistant.”

  “Morning George Bailey – man have I got a headache.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Officer Keyes said, as he opened up the cell. “Go on home, just be sure you’re here on Wednesday when the judge comes over – don’t make me send my new assistant after your butt.”

  “Heck, Officer Keyes, don’t do that,” he laughed, “ I promise to be good.”

  After Jim left, Officer Keyes showed me where the paper supplies were. I arranged my desk and re-positioned my name plague a couple of times.

  “George Bailey, why don’t you file our stolen property reports. Officer Hollis left them in a mess, course he was probably involved in half of them. We need some organized way of detailing these reports so in case we come across a large haul of stolen goods, we’ll be able to return them to the owner. I just haven’t had a chance to work on them.” He pointed to a stack of papers on top in a dusty cardboard box on the floor next to my desk.

  I worked my way through a large number, placing them in metal file cabinets. They were mostly reports --the usual stolen items: bikes, small boats, fishing gear, radios etc. We decided to file them in alphabetical order by type of property.

  After about an hour, Officer Keyes ran out on a call. I was shifting through reports from June of the prior year when a strange thing caught my eye. Last year’s reports for the week of June 1, 1934 included the theft of a diving suit from the garage of Warren Nolton, a retired abalone diver. Three days later there was a break-in at the Hamilton City Library along with the theft of a reference book on the early history of the island and ship’s logs of the Island Steamship Company.

  I went to the paper supply room and grabbed a small notebook. In both thefts, access to the property was made by prying open a side door with what appeared to be a crowbar. Nothing else was stolen–even though valuable tools in the garage and a week’s cash receipts in the library were in plain sight.

  When Officer Keyes came back I told him about the two reports.

  “This sure looks like it was done by the same guy,” I said.

  “That looks interesting, but I’ve got my hands full right now with summer coming on. Why don’t you and your friends see if you a figure anything out on that one.”

  I ran over to Sharon’s house after work and then we called Walt.

  4.

  “We’ve got a case.”

  “Whataya mean ‘We’ve got a case,’ ---- What case?”

  Walt was still out of breath after running over to my garage. Sharon sat in the only chair and I sat on top of the workbench.

  I opened the manila folder, which I had taken from the office and read the two short reports:

  Stolen Property Report

  Date June 4, 1934

  Victim: Warren J. Nolton

  Address: 345 Yellowfin Road – H.C.

  Victim reported a navy diving suit was stolen from his garage sometime yesterday evening while he was at the movies. Access was made by prying open a side door. There was nothing else taken. Officer noted some valuable tools still on the workbench.

  Signed: Officer Hollis.

  Date June 6, 1934

  Victim: Mrs. Florence Quigley

  Address: Hamilton City Library

  Librarian Quigley reported a large reference book on Hamilton Island history as well as ship’s logs from 1897 for the Island Steamship Company, were stolen from the locked reference case.

  Access was made by prying open a side door.

  “Why the heck would you steal those from the library?” Walt asked, “Couldn’t you just check them out?”

  “They’re reference books,” Sharon said, “You can’t check out reference books.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I figured Walt had maybe been in the Library once – the time we visited it on a 4th grade field trip. Sharon practically lived there during the school year. I spend a lot more time there these days too.

  “This isn’t much of a case,” Sharon said, “ nobody died.”

  “That’s exactly what I like about it.” Wally said.

  “Let’s take the first one,” I said, “Why would someone steal a diving suit?”

  “They wouldn’t be too practical for Halloween, ‘sides it’s only June.” Wally said.

  Sharon looked at him like he’d just farted or something.

  “You would steal a diving suit if you wanted to go diving,” Wally said.

  “Well, what kinds of people want to go diving?” I asked writing down notes.

  “Abalone fisherman like the guy who owned it.” Wally said.

  “Right.” I said.

  “Lobster fisherman maybe?”

  Nah they use traps. You’re too slow in one of those suits—the lobster will run away.”

  “Salvage operators?” Sharon said.

  “Huh.”

  “You know, guys who dive on buried treasure or sunken boats.”

  Walt and I looked at each other.

  “Why don’t we go take a look at the door at the Nolton’s house and the door at the library?” Walt said.

  “I have to go home,” Sharon said, “ but I wonder what happened in 1897 – why did they need the ship’s log from that year.”

  So Walt and I ran over to the library and went to the side door entrance. We noticed that a section of the door jam had been replaced and repainted the same dusty red color of the door. As we walked around to the back of the library we saw a pile of scrap lumber next to the trashcans. The old red jam was still there. I picked it up and looked at it. There was a one and one-half inch indentation in the side of the jam.

  “That’s wider than a crowbar,” Walt said, “What’re ya doing?”

  “I’m taking it back to the garage for evidence. We’ll match it up with Nolton’s tomorrow.

  “Oh my God – here we go again – please don’t get us killed this time.”

  5.

  “What’ll ya have, Officer Bailey?”

  “Cinnamon roll and an orange juice.” I said handing Betty a dime.

  “Donuts are free for law enforcement – you just pay for the orange juice.”

  “Gee thanks – are you sure?”

  “Just so long as you don’t abuse it like that jerk Hollis, he used to load up, the slob.”

  When I got to the office, Officer Keyes was working at his desk writing a letter. I waved and walked back to my desk.

  “Why don’t you sweep out the back cells real quick,” he said, “we’re empty right now, but we might as well get our little hotel ready for weekend guests. You might need to mop ‘em out too – sometimes our guests are a little messy – especially if they tried to drink their way through all the bars.”

  I grabbed the broom and the dustpan and swept under the metal bunk beds, there were two in each cell, which were bolted to the floor. Fortunately, I didn’t have to use the mop. When I came back, I sat down and resumed filing the old reports.

  “I’m going to take a stroll down Oceanfront Walk,” Officer Keyes said, “it’s still pretty quiet –the big crowds come in tomorrow. Say, did you guys make any progress on that case?”

  “Sharon’s got some ideas.”

  “She’s not putting on that little girl dress again like she did in the last one, I hope?”

  “Not yet.”

  In our bootlegger case last year, we had Sharon dress up like a little girl so she could sit next to the bootleggers in a restaurant and write down what they said. It worked great!


  “If she’s on the case – you’ll solve it for sure.”

  After work I stopped by Sharon’s house. You couldn’t believe how big Sharon’s smile was when I told her what Officer Keyes said. As we walked over to my garage to meet Walt, she talked about the case.

  “I’m going to go through the old Hamilton City News reports for 1897 and see what I can find.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure, doesn’t Walt’s mom work for the steamship company?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe they have those logs too.”

  “I don’t think so, Sharon,” I said, opening the garage door, “ the steamship company now is called the Hamilton Island Steamship Company. The old one, then, was the Island Steamship Company.”

  “Maybe they bought the old company.”

  “What company are you talking about?” Walt said as he came in the garage.

  “The Steamship Company.” I said.

  “Oh--- hey, lets walk over to the Nolton’s and ask if we can see the side door on their garage. Maybe the marks are the same.

  “Yeah I’ll take my piece of wood.”

  “Just cut the part out that’s indented, so we don’t have to walk around town with an 8 foot stick.” Walt said.

  I grabbed the stick and an old rusty saw of my Dad’s and cut a one-foot section, which included the indention mark.

  “I hope they didn’t fix their door yet.” I said.

  “You guys go do that—I’ll go to the Library – I’ll start going through the newspapers.”

  “That’s a lot of papers.”

  When we got to the Nolton’s house, I knocked on the door. Mr. Nolton came out. He was about 65 with a tan, lined face and long white hair. He was holding a glass of whiskey –smoking a cigarette with about a half-inch ash on the end. Mrs. Nolton was back in the kitchen.

  “What can I do for you boys.” He said.

  I still had my uniform on so I told him we’d like to take a look at the garage side door.

  “Sure,” he said, “ man the police are getting younger every year.”