"I suppose that's the 64-dollar question. At first everyone was positive he'd taken a hike, but personally, I haven't seen a thing yet to tell me he didn't just do something stupid and pay the price for it. We're about ready to close our end of the case unless you've found something that looks fishy."
"I haven't got any smoking gun down here," answered Hunter. He added, "but I haven't seen any body float up either. The ol' boys at the station are about split down the middle but we're not privy to Byrne's lifestyle and I suppose that's the key. Some of the guys figure a dumb trick like a midnight swim ain't so surprising for a Yankee with a snoot full. No offense intended."
"None taken," Dean answered, with a smile. "But the wife claims he wasn't much of a drinker. I'd like to see a body wash up and put an end to the argument. What are the chances it'll turn up?"
"Pretty good, I'd say. The tide was coming in the time of night he was supposed to have drowned so the body would drift up the bay. If it sank up there, it'd most likely float up to the surface after a few days or a week and then drift back down this way with the tide. If the tide had been going out, he'd be in the Atlantic by now."
Detective Hunter pointed out the sights as they left the airport and drove toward the center city police headquarters. Although Hunter had been born in North Carolina-on 16 acres of red mud, as he described it-he'd moved to Norfolk in high school and never left. To hear him tell, Norfolk was God's chosen paradise. There was no place like it, anywhere. Dean smiled at Hunter's adoration for a location where the weather alone would turn him around, scurrying back north. But the detective's enthusiasm was contagious and Dean was content to not interrupt the friendly officer's nonstop chatter.
The level of activity at Norfolk Police Headquarters made Parkside's much smaller operation look like the front porch of an old folk home. Hunter chuckled as they threaded their way around cluttered desks and scores of busy bodies. "You ought to see it on Saturday night," he said.
Hunter' desk was on the second floor, tightly squeezed between two others where uniformed offices sat with telephones pressed to their ears. It reminded Dean to check in with Lieutenant Anderson and call Cynthia Byrne. Hunter connected him to an outside line before leaving to get them both coffee.
"Hello, beautiful," Dean said to Rita who answered the phone. "The eagle has landed."