"This is Detective C. T. Roche with Chesapeake," said another male voice I did not know. "I understand you're covering for Dr. Mant, and we need an answer from you real quick. Looks like we got a diving fatality in the Inactive Naval Ship Yard, and we need to go ahead and recover the body."

"I'm assuming this is the case one of your officers called me about earlier?"

His long pause was followed by the rather defensive remark, "As far as I know, I'm the first one notifying you."

"An officer named Young called me at quarter past five this morning. Let me see." I checked the call sheet. "Initials S as in Sam, T as in Tom."

Another pause, then he said in the same tone, "Well, I got no idea who you're talking about since we don't have anybody by that name."

Adrenaline was pumping as I took notes. The time was thirteen minutes past nine o'clock. I was baffled by what he had just said. If the first caller really wasn't police, then who was he, why had he called, and how did he know Mant?

"When was the body found?" I asked Roche.

"Around six a security guard for the shipyard noticed a johnboat anchored behind one of the ships. There was a long hose in the water, like maybe there was someone diving at the other end. And when it hadn't budged an hour later, we were called. One diver was sent down and like I said, there is a body."

"Do we have an identification?"

"We recovered a wallet from the boat. The driver's license is that of a white male named Theodore Andrew Eddings."

"The reporter?" I said in disbelief. "That Ted Eddings?"

"Thirty-two years old, brown hair, blue eyes, based on his picture. He has a Richmond address of West Grace Street."

The Ted Eddings I knew was an award-winning investigative reporter for the Associated Press. Scarcely a week went by when he didn't call me about something. For a moment, I almost couldn't think.