Skip Case (David Dean Mysteries)

Dean couldn't believe how calm he felt. It was six weeks today since Jeffrey Byrne's disappearance and ever since, Dean's world had revolved around that happening like a long-playing record. He'd become obsessed with finding the man. Now that he knew the story he was as cold and precise as if he were giving out a speeding ticket to an out-of-state Caddy.

The sun was warm and he walked with a slight limp but an easy stride, past the shops of the small central section to the west side of the quiet town. The majority of the bikers remained on the course and with college recessed, the streets held only a few locals, waiting for the later rush of the 2,000 riders who'd roll into town. Dean found the motel without difficulty and with the use of his police badge, he obtained access to the empty room. Thank good­ness for Colorado hospitality-the friendly room clerk was more than willing to oblige a law enforcement agent.

Dean sat on the bed and waited. It seemed more of the inves­tigation time of this case had taken place in motel rooms than any­where else. And they all looked the same. This one smelled of over cleaning with a telltale aroma of cigarette smoke. It was dark with the shades drawn and Dean felt a desire to nod off as he waited.

While he'd considered bringing his revolver to Colorado, he had no official reason to do so and was reluctant to lie about being on police business. Now as he sat and waited he wondered if the decision had been a prudent one. He would soon know.

The wait lasted less than an hour before Dean heard the metallic sound of a key in the lock. He felt a wave of apprehension and accelerated heart beat as the door opened. There, standing sil­houetted in the brightness behind him stood the pride of the FBI, Jonathan Winston. Winston seemed to sense someone sitting on the bed but he could not recognize Dean in the darkened room. True to form, he showed no reaction to the surprise visitor as he casually flipped on the switch, flooding the room in light. A broad smile crossed his face.

"Well, I'll be damned! David Dean! What a small world it is!" He crossed to the bed and held out his hand as casually as a con­ventioneer. Dean declined the offering and said nothing. "Sorry," said Winston with a slight frown. "I suppose you're pissed off and looking for an explanation."

"I'm not sure most of the answers aren't obvious," Dean said in a level voice.