"So, tell me about this 'Smith.'"
"Give me a break. That's two months ago. I couldn't tell you who was here this afternoon. In this business it don't pay to have a good memory, even if I did have one."
Dean tried to take the card but the manager protested, saying it was part of his records. He began to talk court order so Dean backed off, thanked him and left. Two more cars containing teenagers pulled in the as he drove away.
"Where the heck have you been?" Fred challenged as Dean entered the door. "You should have been here two hours ago. She's hardly a widow."
Dean answered in a voice as nonchalant as he could muster. "I've been up to the Whitney Motel."
"The hell you say!"
Dean took his sweet time before explaining it was police business. "Without Mrs. Byrne. And the next time you pull a fast one like tonight, I'm going to personally stick you in an old folks home! You haven't had 50 bucks to your name in a year! Now you blow four times that on one meal!"
"There are occasions in life when financial caution gets tossed out the window," he added, "son. That's all water under the bridge. Now, let's get down to this case."
"The 'case' is a police matter if it's a case at all. Come Monday morning, Anderson is going to make it a closed case." But before he could continue, Fred had launched into his opening statement.
"That's one fine woman back there and quite a looker. I'm hard pressed to figure why any man in his right mind would dump her. It's makes me falter a bit on the 'Churchy la Fam' theory."
"Well, don't quit on it entirely. The angel Jeffrey's halo may be rusty." Dean described his conversation with Randy Byrne and detailed his reason for visiting the Whitney Motel.
"Kinda puts matters in a different light, doesn't it?" Fred said as he sat in his rocker. Mrs. Lincoln hopped up, stretching her languid body and yawning, as if wondering why these two idiots were keeping such late hours. She jumped off in her graceful way, a ballerina in a black fur coat. Fred began to pick cat hairs from his blue suit.
"Even if he did fool around a bit, it doesn't mean he skipped," Dean said.
"It makes everything you've heard a tad suspect, doesn't it?"
"Just that maybe Sherwood Forest wasn't heaven for Mr. Byrne after all."
"Heaven's where cats don't shed and the Red Sox win in October-not a dead-end job and money problems," Fred offered.