Anyone would have known that tub of lard wasn't Byrne, Hunter fumed as he paced up and down the room.
The beast wounded at Borodino was lying where the fleeing hunter had left him; but whether he was still alive, whether he was strong and merely lying low, the hunter did not know.
Detective Hunter advised the Sentinel by phone that tidal conditions on the Chesapeake might make retrieving a body difficult.
Hunter took out a set of keys and unlocked the doors and trunk.
Hunter returned with the coffee while he was still talking and pulled over a chair with his toe.
"Move anything you like," Hunter said.
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.
Hunter chuckled as they threaded their way around cluttered desks and scores of busy bodies.
Even Detective Hunter down there.
"Glad to see y'all are still in a happy mood," Hunter said, an exaggerated smile on his face.
A hunter told me that he once saw a fox pursued by hounds burst out on to Walden when the ice was covered with shallow puddles, run part way across, and then return to the same shore.
"The wife wants you to give her a call," Hunter said, as he started up the automobile and turned on that miraculous invention, the air conditioner.
Hunter connected him to an outside line before leaving to get them both coffee.
Detective Hunter asked me what I wanted to do about Jeff's things.
"Okay," said Hunter as he rose.
Hunter and Dean exchanged information during the short drive to the Ocean Shore Motel.
When Dean described Jeffrey Byrne's quiet life style, Hunter nodded in agreement.
The two detectives entered the office, and the clerk, a bored and balding retiree, looked up from a crossword puzzle and, recognizing Hunter, frowned.
Dean began to fill the suitcase and Hunter helped him by folding the suits.
Vanished, Hunter said, his voice dripping with mock melodrama.
"...make sure someone else sees you leave your room, like Leo, the waiter," Hunter finished.
"That's why I'm hanging on to it," Hunter answered.
"The trunk's clean too," Hunter remarked as Dean moved around to look.
"Looks like Norfolk's finest missed something," Hunter mused as he examined the box.
They left the seashore and, after a quick bite to eat, Hunter drove Dean back to the airport for his return plane trip to Parkside.
Your buddy Detective Norman Hunter is off fishing somewhere so you're supposed to go directly to the morgue on your own.
The only halfway pleasant phone call came from Norm Hunter in Norfolk.
Dean told Hunter about his off-hand comment and how Baratto had jumped all over the Scranton connection.
In those days a little coloured girl, Martha Washington, the child of our cook, and Belle, an old setter, and a great hunter in her day, were my constant companions.
I rode a fiery hunter--I can feel the impatient toss of his head now and the quiver that ran through him at the first roar of the cannon.
But I see that if I were to live in a wilderness I should again be tempted to become a fisher and hunter in earnest.
According to Norm Hunter, the fisherwoman was so frightened she'd fainted dead away, while her 12-year-old son thought towing Willie two miles to port was super cool.
Hunter had personally interviewed the employees at the Ocean Shore Motel, but with little success.
Hunter opened the drape, painting Jeffrey Byrne's sparse belongings in early afternoon sunlight.
Hunter stood off to one side, nodding as if to say he too had done the same thing.
Dean tossed it back on the table as Hunter said, "If this were the movies, that matchbook would be to a Hootchy-Cootchy night club where some sexy broad would come on to us both and then get her throat slit by a gangster boyfriend."
He didn't have a Texaco charge card and they don't take Visa or MasterCard," Hunter replied, and then added, "but I've driven that route.
Hunter nodded in agreement.
After leaving the room, Hunter stopped by a green Ford with Pennsylvania license plates.
He lifted up the mat as Hunter added, The spare never touched the ground—usually doesn't nowadays.
According to the time-stamped dinner receipt, Byrne had dined on fish, and had two beers as Hunter had remarked.
Then Hunter added, "No credit card receipt either but there's a raft of places between the office and the motel and they could have stopped anywhere."