"Any word from Brunel-the World Wide employee who had the drink with Byrne?"
"Naw. My guys found a forwarding address someplace out west but there's no phone hooked up yet. A clerk at World Wide thought he was taking some time off before settling in out there. They're still ticked at him for not completing his paper work before he left. My chief says for us not to break our butts wasting any more time chasing him down." Dean asked Hunter for the address, just in case. "Just in case what?" Hunter asked.
Dean explained Cynthia Byrne's request for as much detail as possible in his report to help her obtain a death certificate. Then he added, "We recognize it's Norfolk's case-we're just investigating our end as a courtesy."
Hunter nodded, but seemed skeptical. Then he asked, "Did the inventory check out okay?"
"The only things missing were the swim suit and baseball cap."
Hunter smiled. "I wonder why a fella would go swimming with his hat on."
"Maybe he never intended to get his head wet-just paddle around a bit."
"Maybe he forgot he had it on-him being a little sloshed and all."
"He took off his t-shirt. He had to take off his hat first, then put it back on."
"Do I detect you're not 100 percent sure the old boy drowned?" Hunter asked.
Dean smiled. "Just turning things over in my mind. It gets to be a habit after all these years. Let's say I'm 99 percent, but it sure would be nice to find a body."
"You're gonna break your stick beating this here doggy so hard," was Hunter's response.
The coroner's report indicated Wassermann had been dead at least two weeks, the same length of time the morgue attendant had guessed. The twin had been tortured before being shot once through the back of the head. The bullet hole hadn't been visible at first due to Wassermann's long hair, the condition of the body, and the length of time in the water.
Dean called the Parkside Police Department and caught hell from Leland for not keeping him posted on the Wasserman autopsy and current details. Anderson was getting his news via the FBI. Dean didn't go into any detail explaining why he had not gone to the Norfolk Police Station the prior evening-he just mumbled that he had a very distraught widow on his hands. He wasn't in the mood to discuss Friday night in the Ocean Shore Motel with anyone. Efficient Rita, in spite of it being Saturday, arranged for a return flight north with reservations for early afternoon.
When Dean returned to the motel, the adjoining doors were open and Cynthia Byrne sat on the edge of her bed with one hand holding a phone and the other with a wet face cloth pressed to her forehead. She was dressed in a pair of light colored slacks, a pale blue blouse and was barefoot. As soon as she saw him, she ducked her head under a sheet to hide. She came up, motioning for him to come into the room. Putting a hand over the mouthpiece, she asked, "Do you know what time we'll get back?"