33 #JetLagged

In his twenties Connor travelled a lot, but he had given up on long-haul flights by his mid-thirties as it took him longer and longer to recover. He remembered reading somewhere that President Ronald Reagan was almost incapacitated by jet lag. As a young man, Connor had failed to understand the concept. Now he knew exactly where Reagan was coming from. Even sleeping much of the journey in business class, the five-hour time difference left Connor feeling physically sick.

Instead of being fresh to hit the ground running as he hoped, Connor felt groggy, lead-footed and disorientated. ‘This is why I holiday in Europe,’ he said to himself as he waited for his luggage. He knew he’d better shake his malaise fast. His first stop would be the hotel where his old friend and boss had been murdered. He suspected the place would be swarming with reporters, but it would at least allow him to touch base with some of the local journalists. It would also give him some colour for his copy describing what the hotel looked like.

But something was nagging Connor even through the fug of his jet lag-muddled mind. Just what the heck was Bryce Horrigan doing in Baltimore, anyway? His bosses at ABT News hadn’t released any information in their statements to explain why their anchorman had come to Maryland. There weren’t even any off-the-record briefings about Bryce being on an assignment, or being due to interview someone here. A quick check through an online what’s-on guide confirmed there was no one of note in the state the weekend Bryce died – neither a well-known actor nor a world-famous band that Bryce had arranged to interview mid-tour. In fact, nothing appeared to be happening in Baltimore that weekend at all. Bryce would normally hang out in the top celebrity joints of Los Angeles and New York, to make sure he was seen and to also try to personally pick up some big names for his TV show, knowing the ratings boost that they’d bring.

Yet something had brought him to Baltimore. Connor corrected himself: ‘Not something. Someone.’

He picked up his battered old man bag, containing his recorder and notepad, and headed out into the Maryland capital to do his job. He would contact his boss, Big Fergie, in the taxi to say he was in situ then start asking around to see if anyone knew why Bryce had been in town.