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Authors: Rick Boyer
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The boat, out of Marblehead, had
disappeared almost two weeks ago. It did not look good for the
skipper, a certain Andrew D'Corzo.
The article had set me to thinking. I had planned to
make contact with Daniel Murdock, the boatbuilder who had signed the
carpenter's certificate, as soon as I returned to Concord. But I
remembered what Lieutenant Ruggles had told me in his office about
vessels appearing and disappearing. Perhaps I should look for a boat
that had recently disappeared and would roughly fit the dimensions of
Penelope. If indeed the boat I saw wasn't new, then she had to have a
previous life: What better way to discover it than to check on boats
recently lost?
"How's the wrist?" asked Mary.
"Still hurts. And I can't drive golf balls. I
can't beat you at tennis. I can't swim. I can't practice my trade
except to remove stitches from previous extractions?
"What makes you so sure you'd beat me at tennis?
And anyway it's your left wrist."
"How could I serve?"
"Oh. That brat. Did you ever decide on an
appropriate torture, by the way?"
"Yes, I have in mind a dual program for the lad:
the Agony of the Thousand Cuts to be followed by Impalement. Well?"
She nodded approvingly as she popped the last forkful
into her mouth.
I got the number of Murdock's boatyard in Gloucester
and called all day without an answer. Then I called the Boston office
of the Coast Guard. At the Department of Marine Safety, they informed
me that the USCG kept a case log—a file—on all recently missing
boats, regardless of size or purpose. They had various investigative
procedures to track them down too, like phoning likely harbors and
boatyards. If the errant skipper left a float plan, or indicated even
vaguely his plans of destination, the Coast Guard cutters would
traverse the probable routes, looking for the vessel or wreckage of
same. After a "reasonable time," the files were closed,
with the vessel and crew presumed lost. I asked what a reasonable
time was, and was told it varied. If a vessel disappeared during a
violent gale, the reasonable time was not as long as under other
conditions. This seemed to make sense.
"Where can I get a list of vessels lost during
the last month or two?"
"From where, sir?"
"From the entire New England region, but
especially from the Cape and the Islands northward to, say,
Portsmouth."
"We have that information here. It's available
to the public."
I thanked him and hung up. Mary was in the hallway in
front of the mirror trying on a new straw hat. She canted it at
various angles and spun on her toe.
"Honey, I'm going to put my unexpected vacation
to use. I'm going to locate the Penelope ."
"That's good. How?"
"Tomorrow I'm going up to Boston and through
some files. Then I'm going to track down some boatbuilders and
reporters."
"You could work on the gutters and repair the
broken window in the garage."
"Can't. Are you
forgetting the wrist?"
* * *
I was at the outskirts of the city in a little over
an hour, and shortly thereafter was pulling Mary's car into the lot
behind the Boston Garden. I turned left on Causeway Street and went
right past the regional Coast Guard headquarters to the smaller
building next door that housed the Boston station.
There I was shown the files that contained the case
logs. I began to scan them, starting with cases that occurred in May.
Some of these were already marked for abandonment; the CG was
assuming the boat lost, the crew dead. Two of these were draggers
that disappeared in heavy weather over Georges Bank. I went through
all the files. As might be suspected, the recent cases were more
numerous. Presumably these would be whittled down as people gave up
hope and as boats were found. I imagined they found quite a few of
them tucked away in small coves and in big marinas, the owner with
his case of whiskey and his girlfriend explaining lamely that geez,
they just seemed to forget about the time. . .
One case caught my eye immediately. It stuck out like
Ayer's Rock.
disappeared almost two weeks ago. It did not look good for the
skipper, a certain Andrew D'Corzo.
The article had set me to thinking. I had planned to
make contact with Daniel Murdock, the boatbuilder who had signed the
carpenter's certificate, as soon as I returned to Concord. But I
remembered what Lieutenant Ruggles had told me in his office about
vessels appearing and disappearing. Perhaps I should look for a boat
that had recently disappeared and would roughly fit the dimensions of
Penelope. If indeed the boat I saw wasn't new, then she had to have a
previous life: What better way to discover it than to check on boats
recently lost?
"How's the wrist?" asked Mary.
"Still hurts. And I can't drive golf balls. I
can't beat you at tennis. I can't swim. I can't practice my trade
except to remove stitches from previous extractions?
"What makes you so sure you'd beat me at tennis?
And anyway it's your left wrist."
"How could I serve?"
"Oh. That brat. Did you ever decide on an
appropriate torture, by the way?"
"Yes, I have in mind a dual program for the lad:
the Agony of the Thousand Cuts to be followed by Impalement. Well?"
She nodded approvingly as she popped the last forkful
into her mouth.
I got the number of Murdock's boatyard in Gloucester
and called all day without an answer. Then I called the Boston office
of the Coast Guard. At the Department of Marine Safety, they informed
me that the USCG kept a case log—a file—on all recently missing
boats, regardless of size or purpose. They had various investigative
procedures to track them down too, like phoning likely harbors and
boatyards. If the errant skipper left a float plan, or indicated even
vaguely his plans of destination, the Coast Guard cutters would
traverse the probable routes, looking for the vessel or wreckage of
same. After a "reasonable time," the files were closed,
with the vessel and crew presumed lost. I asked what a reasonable
time was, and was told it varied. If a vessel disappeared during a
violent gale, the reasonable time was not as long as under other
conditions. This seemed to make sense.
"Where can I get a list of vessels lost during
the last month or two?"
"From where, sir?"
"From the entire New England region, but
especially from the Cape and the Islands northward to, say,
Portsmouth."
"We have that information here. It's available
to the public."
I thanked him and hung up. Mary was in the hallway in
front of the mirror trying on a new straw hat. She canted it at
various angles and spun on her toe.
"Honey, I'm going to put my unexpected vacation
to use. I'm going to locate the Penelope ."
"That's good. How?"
"Tomorrow I'm going up to Boston and through
some files. Then I'm going to track down some boatbuilders and
reporters."
"You could work on the gutters and repair the
broken window in the garage."
"Can't. Are you
forgetting the wrist?"
* * *
I was at the outskirts of the city in a little over
an hour, and shortly thereafter was pulling Mary's car into the lot
behind the Boston Garden. I turned left on Causeway Street and went
right past the regional Coast Guard headquarters to the smaller
building next door that housed the Boston station.
There I was shown the files that contained the case
logs. I began to scan them, starting with cases that occurred in May.
Some of these were already marked for abandonment; the CG was
assuming the boat lost, the crew dead. Two of these were draggers
that disappeared in heavy weather over Georges Bank. I went through
all the files. As might be suspected, the recent cases were more
numerous. Presumably these would be whittled down as people gave up
hope and as boats were found. I imagined they found quite a few of
them tucked away in small coves and in big marinas, the owner with
his case of whiskey and his girlfriend explaining lamely that geez,
they just seemed to forget about the time. . .
One case caught my eye immediately. It stuck out like
Ayer's Rock.
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