THE CASE OF THE DISASTROUS DIVE

	     The inspector stepped aboard. "What have we got, 
	Lieutenant?" 
	     "A woman, dead. A man, missing." 
	     "Missing?" 
	     "Yessir. I have a dive team looking." 
	     The inspector surveyed the other three people in 
	the boat. "Who are they?" 
	     "This is Rob and Jenny Dyke. Friends of the, uh, 
	victim and her husband. The man with the tattoo is Cory
	Mathesian. He owns the boat." 
	     The inspector lifted a canvas sheet, revealing the 
	body of an Japanese woman in a wetsuit, her face white and 
	contorted. The inspector noted a gash on her cheek, bruises 
	around her mouth, and blood in the face mask hanging 
	around her neck. The lieutenant spoke up. "Erika Medic. 
	Drowned, sir. And an embolism from coming up too quickly." 
	     "Yes, Lieutenant. How did you get here?" 
	     "I received a Mayday, sir, at 1334 hours. I was here 
	in twenty minutes. Only Mrs. Dyke was here. She knew 
	nothing about the Mayday. I called for a dive team. At 
	1401, he--" pointing at Cory, "surfaced with the victim. 
	She was dead." 
	     "His statement?" 
	     "He said that about twenty minutes ago, the victim 
	surfaced, in agony from what he thought were the bends. He 
	radioed a Mayday, grabbed a tank of fresh air for each of 
	them, and went down to try to recompress her. But she was 
	already losing consciousness and eventually she drowned." 
	Pause. "That seemed right, sir. He had no wetsuit, just a 
	weight belt, mask, and swim fins. He was blue with cold. He 
	had a tank on, and was holding one for her." 
	     "What about Rob Dyke?" 
	     "We sighted Mr. Dyke at 1422. He was swimming to 
	the boat from downcurrent. The dive team had to bring him in." 
	     "No sign of the victim's husband." 
	     "Mr. Goofy Medic. Goofy. No sir, not on the 
	surface. I have two boats searching." 
	     The inspector lowered his voice. "Is he out of air?" 
	    "Probably, sir. By at least forty minutes now." 
	    "Who organized this dive?" 
	    "I did," said Rob Dyke defiantly. 
	     The lieutenant looked at her notes. "Dive to the Ptarmigan 
	wreck, sir. It's a tug that went down in '68. About a hundred 
	feet down. Supposed to be a dive of forty minutes. Mathesian 
	says they entered the water at about 1300." 
	    "Diving separately or together?" 
	    "Husband and wife teams, sir. That was the plan." 
	    "Mr. Dyke, tell me about your dive." 
	    Rob Dyke remained silent. After a moment, the lieutenant 
	read from her notes again. "Both he and Mrs. Dyke gave the 
	same story. They were separated before they even reached the 
	wreck. Visibility was very bad. They searched but never found 
	anyone. Mrs. Dyke says she explored the wreck a little on 
	her own." 
	    "That could be dangerous, Mrs. Dyke. You could get--" 
	    "-- stuck. Or snag your air hose on a jag. Spare me the 
	safety lecture," said Jenny Dyke, who was a trim 
	woman in her early twenties. She tossed her wet hair back. 
	    "Your friend Mrs. Medic might be alive if she listened 
	to safety lectures." 
	    "She knew the risks," rumbled Rob Dyke. He surveyed 
	the tarpaulin, then looked out to sea. 
	     "And Mr. Medic? Did he know the risks too?" 
	     Jenny Dyke glared at the inspector. "You talk as 
	if he's dead." 
	     "It's certainly possible." 
	     "Goofy's not dead. He's just down-current, I'm sure. 
	We should pull anchor--" 
	     "Let him drift." Rob Dyke flicked his eyes over to 
	his wife. "If he knew Erika was dead, he'd prefer to drown." 
	     That got her. She lashed back. "You just want to get him 
	out of our partnership." 
	     "Partnership?" the inspector asked. 
	     "Yeah." Rob Dyke looked off toward the coast this 
	time. "All four of us are partners in a surf and dive shop." 
	     "It's doing great." Cory  spoke up suddenly. 
	"We were going to open another shop. We had champagne." 
	     The inspector raised an eyebrow. "We?" 
	     Rob said, "The Medics wanted to open one in 
	Sausalito. Bart was going to manage it for us." There was 
	disapproval in Rob's voice. 
	     "Sausalito," the inspector said. "Sounds expensive." 
	Rob grunted but said nothing. 
	     The lieutenant interrupted. "Divers, sir." Two divers 
	came up right near the boat. The droop of their shoulders 
	signaled the bad news. 
	     "He's on the bottom, about ten feet away from the wreck on 
	the lee	side," the lead diver gasped, his voice too loud. "Got 
	a weight belt in his lap. Air hose cut right through." There was 
	a little gasp from Jenny Dyke, and then she fumbled at 
	her ankle. But by the time she brought her dive knife up to 
	point at Rob Dyke's throat, the lieutenant was ready and 
	took it away from her without much trouble. "Put it away," the 
	inspector warned Rob Dyke, who by now held his own 
	razor-sharp knife in a shaking hand.