Pacific Time

“Where are they, Mr. Jessup?”

“I told you. I don’t know. When I woke up, the boat was a wreck and I was all alone.”

“You had been sleeping on the abandoned boat?”

“What abandoned boat? We were fishing out in the Bay for stripers and to check out the comet.”

“The comet?” the policeman asked. “The one that everyone was trying to see yesterday?”

“Yeah. We decided to make a night of it. Jerry, Jim and Mateo all had their cameras with them and I always have spare fishing rigs on board because some of the folks who hire me are tourists out here on vacation.”

“Were there any drugs or alcohol on board?” Bob hesitated and looked down before answering the officer’s question.

“No. Of course not. I’d lose my Fishing Guide license if I…”

“We just need to know what happened that night. I’m giving you qualified immunity. You won’t suffer any consequences regarding your Fishing Guide license or applying for a new one, anyway. According to the Department of Fish and Wildlife, yours expired forty-seven years ago.”

“What? No it didn’t. I’ve got it right here in my wallet. It doesn’t expire until December.” He stood up, fished the green card out of his wallet and tossed it on the table in front of the detective, who picked it up and examined it.

“This is from 1973.”

“Right. Like I was telling you, it doesn’t expire until December.” The policeman spent a few minutes taking notes on a legal pad, then got out his cell phone to make a call.

“What’s that?” Bob asked.

“I’m calling somebody I know at the Bureau. They’ve dealt with similar cases.”

“No, what’s that thing in your hand?” Bob asked, nodding at the officer’s smartphone.  

“It’s a cell phone.” Bob looked confused.

“For talking to people in jail? How does it work? It’s only the size of a pack of cigarettes.” The detective held up his hand to quell Bob’s questions and then spoke into the phone.

“Jamal? It’s Dave Blessings. Yeah, I know you do and I’m calling it in now. Uh-huh. Okay. It’s like that case you told me about with that hunter up by Mount Shasta. No, this guy was out fishing on the Bay. Reported missing by friends and family back in 1973. Not a trace. Right. Well, he showed up yesterday. Looks just like the picture on his driver’s license. No. He’s eighty years old, but only looks like… Right. Exactly. He hasn’t broken any laws, so how… Right. National Security? I don’t think I have the jurisdict… You will? Okay. We’ll hold him here until your team arrives.”

“Bob, we’ve got one of your family members here who is dying to see you.” He signaled with his hand and a middle-aged man entered the room. Bob didn’t recognize him, but there was something quite familiar about him. Was he one of his fishing clients?

“Dad…” the man half-sobbed. “You look younger than I do.”