Each time Dean put the Byrne disappearance to rest in his mind, another nagging item popped up to renew his attention. He silently chastised himself for even caring that some guy named Cleary had spent a few weeks in Scranton and now was traveling off in the sunset in a blue-white-or-lavender motor home. He even considered not mentioning Mrs. Glass's phone call to Fred but dis­missed the idea as being too dishonest with the old man. He pledged to himself to refuse any further urge to "beat this dog," as his Norfolk detective friend had so aptly put it. But all his good intentions and promises went up in smoke minutes later with another phone call.

"This here's Chip Burgess-from Scranton." The voice sound­ed nervous to Dean's ear. "I got that picture you sent me. The one of the guy you're looking for?"

"Yes," Dean answered, holding his breath.

"Cleary looked a lot older."

"It's not a new picture-ten or fifteen years old."

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"Yeah, well...I think it's the same guy."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I mean, I didn't pay much attention those times I saw him but it looks like the guy." Then he added, "Is there a reward?"

Dean wasn't sure how to respond. "I'll have to check," he answered after a pause.

"Is the guy dangerous?"

"I understand from Mrs. Glass he was back in town but has moved out, so you don't have to worry. You didn't see him today, did you?"

"Naw. I was on the job. How about I call you in a few days to see if there's maybe a reward." He hung up before Dean could question him further.

Fred was surprised Dean was still up when he opened the front door a little after 12:00. His shirttail was out and he looked like the lady friend had put him through his paces.

"Kind of a wild night?" Dean chided with a smile.

"None of your business," Fred replied. "How come you're up this late?"

Dean eased into the latest news by first telling of Winston's unsuccessful inquiry about a Post Office forwarding address before mentioning his conversation with Mrs. Glass.

"Damn!" said the old man, sinking into his chair. "Her and her big mouth. Why did she have to go and tell Cleary we were hot on his trail asking about him?"

"It's my fault," said Dean. "I never cautioned her to keep quiet about us."

Fred shook his head and chuckled. "Cleary must be going bonkers wondering how we got on to him."

"Whoever he is," Dean muttered. Fred said nothing and Dean finally dropped the bombshell-Chip Burgess's telephone identi­fication of Cleary-Byrne. Fred was ecstatic.




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