Dean wasn't sure he could greet the woman with a straight face. How could he console her for the loss of her husband while increasingly considering that the bastard's disappearance might not be as it seemed? Dean hadn't thought much about Cynthia Byrne's reaction to the ever growing possibility that her husband might be alive. While he reluctantly acknowledged his growing feelings for the lady, he couldn't help but wonder: What would she think if she learned her loving husband was a toad who'd dropped her like a rock for a measly 2.8 mil? And what would her opinion be of the guy who dug up this enlightening news and brought it to her doorstep? It was enough that he'd inadvertently set her up to be burglarized by two hoods who might have killed her had she been home. Better to stay away until the facts were known-or, hopefully, Jeffrey came in on the tide.
Dean spent the evening alone, drinking too much beer. He plugged in a Coltrane disc and then a Gerry Mulligan and laid back to commiserate with the perfect sound of it all while he closed his eyes and pretended he was happy. It was funny; he knew who blew horn with Coltrane, who played bass for Mulligan and even remembered the date Gerry's set was recorded-August 1955. When Snow stepped in on disc number three, he knew that too- the date of the jam, who was on vibes, snares and keyboard. Yet try as he may, he didn't know the names of the three little kids next door, who'd come trick-or-treating for a half dozen years, sold Girl Scout cookies and always smiled-and they knew his name. All he remembered was Ethel Rosewater's bra size and the price of beer at Delaney's Market. It made him feel incredibly sad, and worse, he wasn't sure why.
The next three days slid by, closer to the normal routine at both home and at the station than Dean had experienced since Jeffrey Byrne's midnight swim. Strangely, Fred made no further mention of Monday night's revealing identification of Jeffrey Byrne by Chip Burgess. There emerged a tacit agreement between the two men that Dean's position negated his direct involvement in officially pursuing the investigation. That was not to say Fred had given up on amateur detecting. His note pad was ever present and he spent a considerable amount of time on the phone. He reported his visit to the post-memorial service gathering at the Byrne's home as uneventful, adding Cynthia's mother was "a real charmer." He recounted unsuccessful calls to banks, credit bureaus and public bodies but refrained from eliciting Dean's help in these activities, nor did he seek any guidance.