Monday, May 10th 9:15 P.M.
Dean spent most of the evening flipping through TV channels, but as none of the inane programs held even minimal interest, he took out his voice recorder and began summarizing his notes for the detailed report on Jeffrey Byrne, adding as much minutia as he could muster, as Cynthia Byrne had requested.
The report methodically listed each person interviewed and what they said about Jeffrey Byrne. Mayer's assessment of Byrne's true abilities were kept to a minimum. Dean included the "walk on water" evaluation from Byrne's personnel file so he didn't have to lie. There was a detailed itinerary of Byrne's movements and information on Byrne's health, finances, personnel records and lifestyle. He included a picture of Jeffrey Byrne, recently forwarded from World Wide's personnel department. It showed a good looking, much younger man, as Dean guessed it dated from when Byrne was first employed, 15 years earlier. Dean tried to be as objective as possible and let the report speak for itself. He did not mention the March fourth date Byrne was absent from work. When he replayed his dictated first draft, the report seemed dry but the evidence produced an overwhelming endorsement that there was no logical reason why Jeffrey Byrne might skip. Dean even convinced himself as he listened to his unexciting voice. He hoped he wouldn't put Rita to sleep transcribing it when he was finished. Dictating it had certainly had that effect on him. He remembered Fred O'Connor left word for Dean to wait up for him but it was already 11:00 and he figured he could wake Fred in the morning.
Dean was knee-deep in a dream, trying to pull his Visa card away from Jeffrey Byrne, who was sitting on a cloud playing a harp, when his bedroom was suddenly filled with light. He jerked awake to see Fred O'Connor standing at the foot of his bed, in his Sunday go-a-courting clothes, a smirk upon his face. Arrested slumber was becoming a common occurrence in David Dean's bedroom.
"Sorry to wake you up, but we've got an important hot clue!"
Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Got what? What time is it?"
"It's only 1:15; Cora Abernathy's an early date. Listen, I checked out the names of the people who ordered the Sentinel and caught a winner! There's someone who had it sent to Scranton!"
"So?"
"Scranton, Pennsylvania! According to Byrne's expense account he was in Scranton for two days just before he shacked up at the Whitney Motel!"
Dean rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "He didn't shack up at the Whitney Motel." He mumbled a summary of his interview with the high school lover who'd lodged in the next room.