Friday, May 14th 7:00 A.M.

Friday morning had a yellow cast about it as if something omi­nous was about to take place. When Dean struck out at the alarm clock, he sent it flying across the room. It lay there, under the bureau, ringing away, as if out of spite for the mayhem he'd thrust upon it. It had an industrial size spring and continued its metallic scream for what seemed like five minutes as Dean buried his head beneath the pillow. No sooner had it expired when the phone took up the chorus. Dean clawed out a hand and answered it.

It was Leland Anderson. "Get your ass out of bed and down here. That guy Byrne's body floated in." He hung up, giving no further details.

Dean showered Ethel Rosewater from his body, shaved and dressed in a daze. Before leaving, he rapped on Fred's door and yelled the message, not waiting for a response. Finally, there was a nice, solid brick wall ending speculation on this matter. The pho­tograph of Jeffrey Byrne he'd mailed to Chip Burgess in Scranton yesterday had been unnecessary. Mr. J. Cleary was safe to shack up with whomever he pleased, be it Pat Corbin or anyone else! Jeffrey Byrne had finally put it all to rest by making his appearance on the incoming tide.

It was only 7:20 when Dean entered the squad room but Rita Angeltoni was already glued to her keyboard as if she'd spent the night. Two airline tickets were on Dean's desk. Without looking up or pausing in her typing she issued directions.

"Norfolk called but there aren't any details. Some guy out on a yacht with his family spotted the body floating in the middle of the bay and hauled it in like Hemingway's fish. Leland wants you to go down there with Mrs. Byrne so she can identify her husband. There's two tickets. The weather's shitty so you'd better stop by your place and pick up some clothes in case you get stuck and can't fly back tonight. Your buddy Detective Norman Hunter is off fish­ing somewhere so you're supposed to go directly to the morgue on your own. It was too late to get a non-stop flight so I have you going out of Allentown and changing planes in Baltimore. At least you skip the Philly traffic. Someone already called Mrs. Byrne. She's waiting for you at her house. The flight's at 10:00 and they say it's on time, in spite of the weather."

"How come Parkside is springing for this trip? This is 'way above and beyond."

"It's all part of our huggy-feely PR campaign so Leland won't have to take any more crap from the Ice Lady at the Sentinel," Rita answered, still without a break in the rapid fire typing.




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