Dean kept his silence lest he have to hear why Uncle Henry and/or his automobile was considered the epitome of stubbornness. He didn't bother to point out that Bala Cynwyd, Cece Baldwin's address, was near Philadelphia, the opposite direction from Parkside. But their little sojourn to Scranton had not yielded once and for all what Dean had hoped for, a dead end to close off speculation on this business.
The return trip took them past Bascomb Place and as they rounded the corner, Fred yelled "Stop!" so violently Dean thought he was about to run down an unseen nun. After a frenzied honk and finger from a following motorist, Fred pointed out a man alighting from a bicycle and climbing the steps of 137. Dean pulled to the curb.
The man was about Dean's age, shorter, with dark hair and moustache and dressed in full biking attire. Fred was out of the car and had introduced himself and Dean before Dean could open his mouth.
"Nice bike," Dean said as he stuck out his hand.
"Chip Burgess," the man answered. "Yeah, this is one slick pair of wheels."
Fred O'Connor looked peeved that Dean delayed the interrogation by taking time to discuss biking. Fred could have Mrs. Glass and her ilk-Dean was now in his element. He and Burgess learned they'd both biked in the same 100-mile fund raiser two years earlier, before Dean caught a case of the lazies.
"We're interested in one of the tenants," Fred finally broke in.
"He croaked," Burgess answered as he turned to show Dean his gearing derailleur.
"The second floor tenant."
The statement caught Burgess's attention. "That's me."
"No. We mean the other guy-J. Cleary."
Burgess turned his full attention to Fred, a concerned look on his face. "Why?"
"Police business," Fred said before Dean could answer. The statement didn't reduce Burgess's concern an iota. He looked totally unnerved.
Dean stepped forward. "No big deal. We're just following up on a missing person. We thought it might be this Cleary fellow. Has he been around?"
Burgess stepped back, holding up his hand in a halting motion. "Whoa! What's this all about?"
Dean produced his identification as Burgess bit his lip.
"What's the problem?" Dean asked, trying to keep it light.
"I don't know. Like, I don't want to get someone in trouble. How did you know he's here? Has he done something?"
Dean ignored his question. "Can you describe him?"
"I don't really know the guy."
"You've seen him, haven't you?" Fred asked.
"A couple of times. He ain't around much."
"Look," Dean said. "If he's some married guy shacking up with his honey, we don't care. This is really pretty routine."