As I wondered what this was about, I also knew that Marino must have found something in Richmond. Otherwise, his coming to Norfolk made no sense. Ted Eddings' death was not Marino's jurisdiction unless the FBI had already gotten involved, and that would not make sense, either.

Both Marino and I were consultants for the Bureau's Criminal Investigative Analysis program, more commonly known as the profiling unit, which specialized in assisting police with unusually heinous and difficult deaths. We routinely got involved in cases outside of our domains, but by invitation only, and it was a little early for Chesapeake to be calling the FBI about anything.

Detective Roche arrived before Marino did, and he was carrying a paper bag and insisting that I give him gown, gloves, face shield, cap and shoe covers. While he was in the locker room fussing with his biological armor, Danny and I began taking photographs and looking at Eddings exactly as he had come to us, which was still in a full wet suit that continued to slowly drip on the floor.

"He's been dead awhile," I said. "I have a feeling that whatever happened to him occurred shortly after he went into the river."

"Do we know when that was?" Danny asked as he fit scalpel handles with new blades.

"We're assuming it was sometime after dark."

"He doesn't look very old."

"Thirty-two."

He stared at Eddings's face and his own got sad. "It's like when kids end up in here or that basketball player who dropped dead in the gym the other week." He looked at me. "Does it ever get to you?"

"I can't let it get to me because they need me to do a good job for them," I said as I made notes.

"What about when you're done?" He glanced up.

"We're never done, Danny," I said. "Our hearts will stay broken for the rest of our lives, and we will never be done with the people who pass through here."

"Because we can't forget them." He lined a bucket with a viscera bag and put it near me on the floor. "At least I can't."