Chapter 3

The sun was high in the sky when Roy and Clyde arrived at the pier; there wasn't a wisp of clouds in sight, the bright sun's rays danced across the water. Roy was busy untying the boat from the pier, when Clyde walked up from the old jeep.

"Mrs. Benchley said that Peter ran the boat route from here to the south-west direction," he scanned the horizon and looked at that sun, "which means, that from here we should probably only go out 20 or so miles at the maximum."

Roy looked at Clyde with a un-approving glance, he had done all that he asked him, but still 20 miles didn't seem like that far of a distance to look while looking for an old friend.

"We should probably tack a few more miles on that just to be safe," Roy said before taking a shaky step onto the medium-sized police boat.

Compared to some of the yachts in the harbor, this was little more than an old rusty dingy, but it was larger than that with a small observation platform at the bow of the ship. It also had a small roofed and wind-shielded area where the wheel and other instruments were thrown around. Roy didn't understand all the read-outs and gadgets on the ship, but he did his best to at least try to understand their machinery.

Clyde jumped onto the boat and woke Roy from his thoughts. The younger man readied the wheel as Roy sat on one of the bolted in stools near the small shelter. The engine murmured to life and the boat leapt from the pier with greater strength than Roy would have liked. It wasn't long till the two officers' eyes burned from the salty air, as well as from the glare of the sun stabbing at their eyes as they scan from the little white boat.

"I don't think he would have come out this far. What if Alice is just pulling our legs?"

"She wouldn't do that," Roy said rising from his chair and stepping past Clyde and the wheel-house, "there is something wrong. I can just feel it."

With that he walked to the edge of the railed observation pulpit and stared at the gloomy waters beneath him. "Ah, Roy you're probably just getting sea-sick," Clyde said trying to wave off his partner's remark.

No, Roy thought to himself, you're wrong Cly. I know this isn't something Peter would do. Before long the small crew of two attacked the cooler that had been prepped. They were surprisingly hungry as the small deli-sandwiches were gone in no time. Roy tossed a water bottle to Clyde and sat back on the boat, a beer bottle in his own hands.

"Wait a minute!" Clyde said as he swigged the water, "why do I get this and you get that?"

"You're driving," Roy said a little jokingly.

"Wow, really." Clyde muttered as he locked the wheel and joined Roy at the seats. It was monotonous work, staring at the glassy sea, on a frantic search to find an old man and a teenager. Clyde soon after lunch became rather agitated and hostile to Roy and the whole job itself. Most of the only dialogue between the two came down to: Clyde asking to turn in, while Roy constantly refused.

After another hour, Roy realized that they would have to turn in soon enough. Clyde began to revert to his old self as the sun sunk lower and lower. The motor had been turned off and the boat was moving with the tide, of course Roy kept a close eye on the distant shore and the small compass on the ship. Roy looked at his arm, 6 O'clock; he would have to have the ship brought in.

"Cly, when we get to those two rocks I want you to turn the boat around," Roy said as he pointed to a small gathering of fairly large boulders. He figured that would be a descent enough marker should the search resume. It took a while, but the ship drifted closer and closer to the black specs. It wasn't long before Clyde was on his feet and ready to fire the ship. Then there was a strange sound.

The sound was somewhat familiar to the two police officers, yet they were unsure if they had actually heard the noise. It was like the croaking of a frog, along with the coughing of a man. Roy looked at Clyde who returned the same questioning look. "What was-?" Clyde began to ask as the noise rose again. This time, Roy jumped to the edge of the railing and looked about the water. He was sure that it was either a person or some animal that didn't belong under their boat.

"He… Waa..Ttt…er!" came the croaking again. Clyde's eyes widened as he realized as well what he was hearing. Roy pointed to the other side of the ship not taking his eyes from the water.

"Hey!" the voice rang out clearer this time, "over her…"

Roy's eyes jumped to the front of the boat as the tip of the bow passed the rocks; he could make out a reddish skinned man lying on one of the smaller rocks, his muscular arms waving a weak greeting to the pair.

"Clyde!" Roy shouted as he stepped onto the railing, "Look here!" as Roy shouted the rest he flung his body into the water, under his arm was life-saver he had grabbed from near his perch. He quickly swam to the muttering teen and handed him the ring before the other officer began pulling the two back into the boat. Roy winced as he released the teen's forearm, both at the thought of the pain that he had cause on the sun-burnt figure as well as the chill in the ocean waters. Roy moved with the red figure as the rope pulled him in, he was not about to let this exhausted kid slip from the ring and drown after coming so close to being save.

With a final heave the boy was hauled on deck, draped in a layer or two of white towels and sat in the wheel-house. Roy gathered a few bottles of water and produced them to the now quivering boy. He drank hastily, before being reminded that that would cause more harm than good in this state. He coughed and drank slowly for a few moments before facing the police chief. His eyes looked over the older man quickly and then back at the water, after a second he looked back to the wooden planks of the flooring. Clyde had turned the boat and was heading back to port full speed while jabbering on the radio requesting medical personnel meet them at the pier. Roy couldn't wait any longer; he looked at the young boy and asked firmly.

"Where is Peter?"

The young man looked at him and shook his mess of blonde hair.

"He's dead man,"