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stories that I had done time, or had even been a cop, worked undercover, and because of a difficult case which threw off my mental equilibrium, had disappeared for a while. The fact that a homicide detective for the Edmonton Police Service was part of from before would add more ammunition to these stories.
    “Okay, then, did Whitford give you any indication about why he let you into the tent?” Maurizo asked after a couple of seconds.
    “He only said he wanted to give a face to this victim, to remind people that victims of crime are human beings, not just dead bodies without personality.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s it,” I said, although I didn’t say that Whitford had said any media outlet would have done, and that I was just lucky to have been the first on the scene. I wanted to give my scoop more journalistic credibility than the fact I was lucky enough to arrive before everyone else did.
    “Okay, let me run this by you guys and see what you think,” Larry said, which meant, This is what is going to happen, I’m just being polite asking for your opinions.
    “Leo, you’ll write the main story about the body in the field, expanding on your online piece. And we’ll run that A-1, above the fold, unless a plane crashes or the Oilers make a trade.” Which was unlikely because the hockey season was just starting and it was too early for the finger-pointing to begin. A-1 above the fold meant front page at the top, which made it the top story of tomorrow’s paper. Everyone around was shocked, even me.
    “A-1? You sure, Larry?” Whittaker asked. “No disrespect, but found bodies rarely make the front page of the city section, and the fact that Leo found out she was female and native when everyone else didn’t, doesn’t rate front-page coverage.”
    Everyone nodded, even Larry did, because it was true. Just because someone was dead and found in a field didn’t mean it was big news. Sure, death was a bigger story than life, which was why I was sent to cover this story and why it would run in tomorrow’s paper, but it didn’t rate being the top story of the day.
    Then Larry spoke. “That’s true, but what makes this story different is Leo going into the tent. And since nobody ever gets into a crime scene tent unless they’re police, Leo here is also going to write a sidebar about what it’s like in a crime scene tent, who was there, what it looked and felt like, and why he was invited. We’ll call it a rare, exclusive story to show those other news bastards that we’re still ten times better than them at covering the news of this city. In fact, the first words of your lead will be In a rare, exclusive blah blah blah. You can do that, Leo, give me that lead and about four hundred words on that, writing it as a major exclusive?”
    “Yeah, I can do that, but—” I didn’t get the chance to finish because Larry interrupted.
    “And if you use the word I or the expression this reporter I will personally fire you and kick your ass out the door, but before that I will take you down to the pressroom and stick your right hand into the press so you’ll never write again, you understand?”
    I should have been insulted by that comment, but I couldn’t help but smile. “You forget who you’re talking to, Larry. Those are the exact words Neil told you during your first month of work in Olds.”
    Larry paused for a second, recalling the memory, and he, too, couldn’t resist smiling. I knew this exchange would be repeated throughout the newsroom and my mystique quotient would rise within the editorial staff. “And do you remember what I told him in response?”
    “Yeah, and I see that despite your rise in power, you haven’t changed that obnoxious part of your nature,” I told him. Whittaker and Anderson visibly cringed when they heard that, and it would also be repeated often.
    “I’ll be even more obnoxious if you say you can’t write this sidebar for me.”
    “No worries about that, Larry. I can