Fred had called in both Monday and Tuesday evenings but had little of importance to say. He'd made a courtesy call on Mrs. Glass who had promptly donated a vacant furnished apartment for his use. Fred did say Chip Burgess was gone, his contracting job now completed. Dean knew if his stepfather had developed any worthwhile information he would have blurted it out immediately. The conversations were brief and the trip apparently uneventful, however Dean continued to have second thoughts about allowing Fred to dig into the matter on his own. He cautioned Fred to be on the lookout as they were not the only ones poking around after the past occupant of the Bascomb Place apartment.
By Wednesday afternoon police business had fallen back to routine. Andy Sackler and Dean responded to a call crosstown at Ralph's Barber Shop, where they found a crowd milling around the sidewalk and a half dozen customers seated inside. The beat cop pointed to the rear room where they found Ralph hanging from a ceiling water pipe by a thin nylon cord, slowly turning until the twist of the line tightened and reversed his direction. There was an overwhelming stench in the room. Ralph's bowels had let go. Scrawled across the wall in magic marker was his two-word epitaph, Why not?
When Dean returned to the outer room of the shop, everyone looked at him expectantly.
"No haircuts today, guys." He told them what they already knew. There was no telling by the blank stares on their faces if they were shocked, disappointed or just plain bored.
A short, balding man, who looked as if a haircut was more a social event than a necessity, rose to leave, and with a glance at the back room said, "Ol' Ralph always was a bit weird."
"Is someone going to tell us what happened?" asked Andy Sackler.
A younger man in a plaid shirt spoke up. "Ralph finished cutting Harry Toomey's hair and went out back. We didn't hear nothing and Phil got sick of waiting-he was next-so he went out and looked." Phil just nodded. "Harry called you guys."
Dean and Sackler took names, shooed the men out of the shop and left the back room to the medical examiner. They stepped outside for a breath of fresh air to wait. Blue skies, spring breezes, little girls playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. Not the kind of day to slowly choke to death while you leave your customers waiting. No one knew of any next of kin to notify and Dean and Sackler were back at headquarters before four.