The trip between Baltimore and Norfolk was in a much smaller aircraft than the first leg of the journey. The little plane danced and swayed in the turbulence, constantly buffeted by the increasing wind. It was the roughest flight Dean had ever taken. Many of the passengers were ill and others whimpered and whined as the plane dropped, rose and rolled in the churning gusts, riding the heavy winds like a cork in a whirlpool. Cynthia Byrne never opened her eyes and clung to Dean's right arm with such a tenacious grip he thought he'd be permanently scarred.
The first sign of the ground Dean spotted was a rain puddle reflecting the glow from the lights of the plane as the wheels touched the runway-one, two, three times before the tired aircraft glided to the taxiway. All of the passengers sighed deeply and many clapped.
The weather in Norfolk was frightful. Waves of wind-driven rain pummeled the terminal with a fury. The pair was further delayed securing a rental car, and it was after 5:00 by the time the two tired travelers pulled away from the airport grounds. There would be no chance of leaving Norfolk that evening.
While Dean wasn't familiar with the city, the rental-car agent marked directions to the hospital morgue and he had no trouble locating it. He parked in a no-parking zone, figuring even the police wouldn't be out on a night like this.
As Dean shut off the engine he turned to his companion. "Do you want to sit here a few minutes and calm down?"
"No," she answered, trying to control the tremble in her voice. "I just want to get it over with."
Cynthia Byrne was shaking so badly had he not supported her with an arm about her waist he doubted she could have made it into the building on her own. He nearly broke both their necks when he slipped on the wet tile floor as he made his way to the receptionist who directed them to a flight of metal stairs that led downward to an empty hall. The chemical smell suggested they were going in the right direction. When Cynthia saw the word "Morgue" in gold letters on the frosted window, Dean thought he was going to lose her completely.
Inside, a white-jacketed attendant, who looked like a highschooler, casually checked Dean's credentials while Cynthia waited, not quite out of ear shot.
"The doctor isn't here. A tree blew down on his house and he got called home. The police figured you weren't coming, with the storm and all. There's just me and an intern upstairs. I'm just filling in. You want the John Doe they fished out of the bay, huh?"