A bunch of gangsters chasing after Byrne was always a hard pill to swallow.
A suit jacket and pants were laid out across the bed, and underwear was dropped on the floor next to it, apparently discarded by Byrne when he changed to his bathing suit.
According to Byrne's expense account he was in Scranton for two days just before he shacked up at the Whitney Motel!
According to Byrne's expense file, his prior trip to Norfolk had been in late January and, earlier, in October of last year.
According to Detective Norman Hunter of the Norfolk Police Department, Byrne's bed had not been slept in.
According to sources at the Ocean Shore Motel, Byrne was last seen on his way to the beach shortly after midnight by Leo Sutter, a waiter at the motel.
According to the time-stamped dinner receipt, Byrne had dined on fish, and had two beers as Hunter had remarked.
Admittedly, Cleary was an enigma, but there remained no real connection to Byrne.
After offering his condolences, Dean asked if it might be convenient for him to come by and speak with Mrs. Byrne.
After offering his condolences, Dean asked if it might be convenient for him to come by and speak with Mrs. Byrne.
Albeit none of it definitely proved to be duplicity by Byrne beyond strong circumstantial evidence, but together the coincidences were compelling.
All he needed was a nice brick wall to halt the nagging speculation Byrne might have skipped—like a body or something equally definitive.
All he needed was a nice brick wall to halt the nagging speculation Byrne might have skipped—like a body or something equally definitive.
All I'd need is a little DNA and Byrne would certainly be cooperative.
All would have been peace with the world if his mind hadn't remained doggedly fixed on his search for Jeffrey Byrne.
And as Dean left Sherwood Forest behind, he had a strong feeling Cynthia Byrne wasn't telling stories.
And he still thinks you're Jeffrey Byrne.
And there was no sign of Jeffrey Byrne, in person, in conversation or in spirit.
And what Cynthia Byrne might have become in a different century, under different circumstances, without a David Dean beside her.
And where'd Byrne get the money to buy them?
And yeah, I'm Jeffrey Byrne to him.
Any hint that we're looking at Byrne or anyone else as having taken that money stops the war and our leverage goes out the window.
Any word from Brunel—the World Wide employee who had the drink with Byrne?
Any word from Brunel—the World Wide employee who had the drink with Byrne?
Anyone would have known that tub of lard wasn't Byrne, Hunter fumed as he paced up and down the room.
Are you talking about the Byrne case?
As long as there wasn't a body, Dean could never be sure Jeffrey Byrne wouldn't jump out of the past and yell, "April Fool!" dragging Cynthia Byrne back to home and hearth.
As soon as Dean hung up, he telephoned the Byrne home.
As to the booze, Byrne only had two beers here with dinner.
Aside from the anticipation of locating Jeffrey Byrne and the uncertainty surrounding it, Dean felt pretty damn good.
At first Dean didn't recognize the name but then remembered Fletcher Brunel as being the missing Norfolk employee of World Wide, one of the last people to speak with Jeffrey Byrne the day he disappeared.
At first he lay awake, conscious of every sound the motel uttered, fearful that Cynthia Byrne might waken to God knows what thoughts and fears.
At least if Cynthia Byrne's phone rang Sunday, it wouldn't be Arthur Atherton calling—he was on the menu with the Wassermann twins and tic-face Home Flanders in the big barbecue down below.
Before leaving, Hunter showed Dean the beach across the road where it was presumed Jeffrey Byrne took his last steps on land.
Before returning to his room, Dean stopped to adjust the remaining towel beneath Cynthia Byrne's damp head.
Besides, Jeff Byrne's health was good.
Both drank their coffee black and although both took a doughnut, Mrs. Byrne simply picked at hers, lifting the tiniest of crumbs with dampened fingertips.
Both recognized it as the same headgear Jeffrey Byrne was reported to have been wearing when he crossed the road to the beach in Norfolk.
Brunel answered that he'd just received the message—he'd been "on the road," and only recently learned Jeffrey Byrne drowned.
But after two hours with Cynthia Byrne, he had to fight the inclination to take all of her comments at face value, thereby kissing off any degree of objectivity.
But Anderson was quick to point out that the Byrne case was still closed as far as Parkside was concerned.
But being around Cynthia Byrne was worth all the aggravation of these mixed emotions.
But he's gotten some wild idea about the Byrne case.
But here was twenty-year-old Randy Byrne, at the threshold of life, batting .362 with seventeen home runs, a slew of RBI's, and a glove that could stop a freight train, being offered the world!
But I know where Byrne is and he ain't dead.
But it didn't have anything to do with Byrne.
But it wasn't Jeffrey Byrne.
But some specter in his fitful half-sleep wouldn't even give permission for him to dream about Cynthia Byrne, sleeping restfully just yards away.
But the description of Cleary is a dead ringer for Byrne.
But to Fred's mind, Cleary was Byrne, and nothing could dissuade him.
But what made him most uncomfortable was the large four-poster bed Cynthia and Jeffrey Byrne had shared in love.
Byrne came out for the moving-in party—the night the money turned up missing.
Byrne came out for the moving-in party—the night the money turned up missing.
Byrne could read his own copy for at least another month.
Byrne didn't even know they were there until he got home.
Byrne didn't know what to do with me so he rented me a motel room—I didn't have any money with me 'cause I was supposed to stay with my wife.
Byrne disappeared in Norfolk's jurisdiction and if they're satisfied, let's drop it.
Byrne disappeared on May fourth, almost two weeks earlier.
Byrne had no reason to subscribe to it weeks before the skip date.
Byrne just telephoned and said he wouldn't be coming in.
Byrne probably needed a day off.
Byrne took the dough, not me.
Byrne was a day-to-day guy.
Byrne was a loner and super cautious.
Byrne was a simple skip case.
Byrne was an outstanding employee who was thorough, conscientious, a self-starter and had missed but one day in the 15 years with the company.
Byrne was in Scranton on the sixth and seventh of April.
Byrne was the only recent missing person in the file.
Byrne wasn't near in shape to be looking into this tour and had no reason to write for information on it.
Byrne would come into town, do his business, but that's all.
Byrne, a nine-year resident of Parkside, was born in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
Byrne's description was far too common to stand out but no one recalled a man hurriedly leaving the city in the middle of the night, Tuesday-Wednesday.
Byrne's that guy who was supposed to have drowned!
Certainly his ties to Ethel helped, but Ethel herself knew little and Dean had never told her he was chasing down the possibility that Byrne was alive.
Complicating the picture was Baratto's tip to the mob—probably via Arthur Atherton—that Byrne might be involved with the missing money.
Complicating the picture was Baratto's tip to the mob—probably via Arthur Atherton—that Byrne might be involved with the missing money.
Confusing a Wassermann twin with Jeffrey Byrne was inexcusable.
Cynthia Byrne answered in a tentative voice on the first ring.
Cynthia Byrne apologized for not answering the phone.
Cynthia Byrne asked to talk to Randy again and Dean returned to the living room, his head in a whirl.
Cynthia Byrne called saying he needn't be concerned about the burglary as nothing had been stolen and it was probably just kids.
Cynthia Byrne clutched the armrest firmly during take off and landing, reacting to each noise anew.
Cynthia Byrne explained, in nervous little spurts, how she had heard the news of her husband's disappearance.
Cynthia Byrne handled the finances.
Cynthia Byrne held out her hand and said, with what Dean hoped was at least a hint of reluctance, I guess I won't be seeing you again.
Cynthia Byrne looked worse with each passing hour and just before their flight was called, excused herself and went to the ladies' room.
Cynthia Byrne needed a little time on her own before he barged back into her world.
Cynthia Byrne never opened her eyes and clung to Dean's right arm with such a tenacious grip he thought he'd be permanently scarred.
Cynthia Byrne thanked Dean.
Cynthia Byrne was shaking so badly had he not supported her with an arm about her waist he doubted she could have made it into the building on her own.
Cynthia Byrne was standing at the edge of her driveway when Dean pulled up.
Cynthia Byrne, in spite of reddened eyes and trembling nervousness, was a very attractive woman.
Cynthia Byrne's breasts stood firm against the lacy fabric covering them and he draped a towel across her chest as he struggled to unhook her bra from beneath her comatose body.
Dean also asked Mayer about the one day Byrne had been absent—a Thursday the fourth of March—about two months earlier.
Dean also asked Mayer about the one day Byrne had been absent—a Thursday the fourth of March—about two months earlier.
Dean asked Harrigan to work up his end of the report on the Byrne matter and make a few last minute return phone calls to neighbors, just to dot the I's.
Dean asked, still upset at Cynthia Byrne's unnecessary ordeal.
Dean assumed it was Jeff Byrne's son, Randy.
Dean considered relating to Jonathan his suspicions that Nota had contacted Mrs. Glass but he was hesitant to even mention the Byrne matter to the FBI, nor did he wish to volunteer information on Fred's clandestine trip to Scranton.
Dean could not tell from the writing if it compared to the signature Jeffrey Byrne left on the many expense forms Dean had reviewed—it was only a scrawl.
Dean could not tell from the writing if it compared to the signature Jeffrey Byrne left on the many expense forms Dean had reviewed—it was only a scrawl.
Dean could now see Cynthia Byrne was unconscious though her arms remained tightly about his neck.
Dean couldn't think of more than 20 names—Ethel Rosewater, Cynthia Byrne, David Dean, even Jeffrey Byrne, not to mention half of Arthur's gay friends and lovers and most of his ex-clients.
Dean couldn't think of more than 20 names—Ethel Rosewater, Cynthia Byrne, David Dean, even Jeffrey Byrne, not to mention half of Arthur's gay friends and lovers and most of his ex-clients.
Dean described his conversation with Randy Byrne and detailed his reason for visiting the Whitney Motel.
Dean detailed what he'd learned from speaking with Cynthia Byrne and meeting with Byrne's boss in Philadelphia and gave the detective a written copy of his interviews.
Dean explained about his visit from Byrne's fellow employee and the young man's story about the possible girl friend.
Dean explained Cynthia Byrne's request for as much detail as possible in his report to help her obtain a death certificate.
Dean explained he'd promised Cynthia Byrne a report, detailed beyond the usual, in an effort to help her in obtaining a death certificate.
Dean felt ill at ease in Cynthia Byrne's bedroom, spying on her world, seeing the small rainbow of dresses hanging in her closet, sharing space with suits and shirts looking as if they were awaiting the return of Jeffrey Byrne.
Dean filled in Lieutenant Leland Anderson on the happenings of the day, detailing his conversations with Cynthia Byrne and her husband's employer.
Dean finished the interview by obtaining the names of Jeffrey Byrne's doctor and insurance agent although, according to his wife, Byrne seldom visited a doctor and the only life insurance he carried was whatever his employer provided.
Dean found himself able to predict for instance, it was time to visit Baltimore again, and a week or two later, Byrne would travel there.
Dean grabbed his coat, glad to be doing something that took his mind off Vinnie Baratto, Arthur Atherton and the fact he and Cynthia Byrne were items of interest to some very nasty people.
Dean had already overstayed his visit, so with promises to return if he had any more questions and to keep in telephone contact, he took his leave, shaking Cynthia Byrne's hand and waving to Janice Riley, who was again on the phone.
Dean had forgotten the waiter saying Byrne also wore a baseball cap when he left the room.
Dean had had no direct contact with Cynthia Byrne after their acrimonious separation at the Jersey shore restaurant's parking lot.
Dean had no way of checking Byrne's mileage and if by chance he had detoured east on Interstate 84, probably 30 miles further, instead of taking the more direct south-easterly route between Scranton and Parkside.
Dean had used a less intrusive pad and pencil with Cynthia Byrne.
Dean hadn't thought much about Cynthia Byrne's reaction to the ever growing possibility that her husband might be alive.
Dean ignored his stepfather and instead pointed out Jeffrey Byrne's belongings and suggested Mrs. Byrne might want to check them over before signing a receipt.
Dean included the "walk on water" evaluation from Byrne's personnel file so he didn't have to lie.
Dean introduced himself and told her he was interested in discussing Jeffrey Byrne.
Dean knew if he were honest with himself he'd admit he was tickled pink during those few hours that it appeared Jeffrey Byrne's body had been found.
Dean let Cynthia Byrne rest a while longer while he telephoned the news to Parkside.
Dean made a note to ask Cynthia Byrne about the incident and, after promising Mayer he'd keep in touch, hung up.
Dean made a note to ask Cynthia Byrne about the incident.
Dean made a note to check into the evaluation with Mayer, but Byrne's Philadelphia boss called Dean first to see if anything new had developed.
Dean made no mention to Harrigan of his promise of more detailed documentation to Cynthia Byrne.
Dean poured the coffee while Cynthia Byrne rubbed her hands on her skirt as if to smooth out the nervous quiver she couldn't seem to shake.
Dean remained silent for a moment, and then asked how well he knew Jeffrey Byrne.
Dean returned to the room where Cynthia Byrne was slowly returning to the world of the living.
Dean rubbed and blotted Cynthia Byrne's body briskly with the towel and wrapped her head turban-like in a smaller one.
Dean saw no reason to trouble Mrs. Byrne with this nebulous sighting.
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.
Dean spent the remainder of the workday sorting reports and more closely reviewing the Byrne papers.
Dean still managed to pick out eleven riders he considered could possibly be Jeffrey Byrne.
Dean telephoned Cynthia Byrne next, but Randy answered.
Dean tried to picture Byrne from his photograph but nothing came to mind.
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.
Dean was left standing there, Cynthia Byrne's picture in hand, a report in another.
Dean was sure Fred simply wanted to meet Jeffrey Byrne's wife and had suggested Cynthia Byrne come by the house for her husband's belongings.
Dean wished he'd brought the picture of Jeffrey Byrne that World Wide had recently sent but it remained in the case file at the office.
Dean's eyes questioned and Mrs. Byrne clarified, The Mark Hopkins Hotel, in San Francisco—it was our little joke.
Dean's eyes questioned and Mrs. Byrne clarified, The Mark Hopkins Hotel, in San Francisco—it was our little joke.
Did you find the bags the way you told me this afternoon— when you were pretending to be Byrne?
Do you think Byrne skipped?
Does it look like Byrne skipped?
Does swimming alone late at night strike you as in character for Byrne?
Each time Dean put the Byrne disappearance to rest in his mind, another nagging item popped up to renew his attention.
Even though some of the destinations might have been more efficiently visited by plane, Byrne always took a company car, often resulting in very long workdays.
Every time we're a whisker away from nailing Byrne, something crops up to slam the door in our face.
Everything points to Byrne skipping.
Evidently it was Randy Byrne.
Finally, Dean asked if Byrne planned to finish the bike tour.
Forget Jeffrey Byrne and forget his grieving wife.
Fred made a professional recovery with the help of a gulp of lemonade as Dean continued to address Mrs. Byrne.
Fred prattled excitedly about the Parkside newspaper and baseball cap and how the two finds represented proof Jeffrey Byrne was alive.
Fred stage-whispered to Dean that the sixth was one of the dates when Byrne was in Scranton.
Fred's level of interest was sky-high when he learned Dean had been assigned the Byrne disappearance.
Further questioning revealed that Byrne had signed out a pool company car for the seven-hour trip to Virginia.
Given Byrne's job at World Wide, I don't think he was in a position to embezzle anything but the coffee money.
Had Jeffrey Byrne skipped or drowned?
Harrigan was out interviewing Byrne's doctor and Rita's printed version of Mayer's interview was on Dean's desk when he returned.
He also asked for and received Byrne's department personnel file.
He also mentioned the files missing from Rosewater and Atherton but was silent on Arthur's note to Cynthia Byrne.
He assumed Cynthia Byrne was a few minutes late, but when he descended the stairs, there she sat, opposite Fred O'Connor, who was decked out in an elegant blue pinstripe suit complete with pocket handkerchief and bow tie.
He attributed his pleasant disposition to memories of the prior evening with Cynthia Byrne, the sweetheart of Maid Marian Lane.
He brushed off the idea it could be Byrne and justified his interest as only appeasing his elderly stepfather.
He did mention his interview with Cece Baldwin, describing Byrne's relationship with the young lady as that of a compassionate mentor.
He did not mention the March fourth date Byrne was absent from work.
He directed his words directly to Cynthia Byrne with a smile of sticky sweetness that made Dean want to pop him.
He felt a momentary tightness until he recognized Randy Byrne behind the wheel.
He fished around until he found his copy of the bicycle magazine he'd seen at the Byrne home.
He grasped the handle of tray number six but, before opening it, glanced down at Cynthia Byrne.
He had finished his portion of the Byrne report and the interviews he'd conducted with Byrne's friends and associates.
He had nearly forgotten the young lady, the recipient of Jeffrey Byrne's kindness.
He included a picture of Jeffrey Byrne, recently forwarded from World Wide's personnel department.
He knew he owed Cynthia Byrne the truth in spite of what it would do to their fledgling relationship.
He knocked off Byrne and took the loot.
He might start thinking if Cynthia Byrne's and David Dean's bodies show up.
He needed a lot of dough in a hurry so he started putting the squeeze on everyone in sight, including Cynthia Byrne.
He opened to the article and handed it to Fred, explaining how Jeffrey Byrne had circled the request for information.
He ran down the receipt that was found in Byrne's car.
He remembered Saturday night's overindulgence in beer that made him far too loquacious with Cynthia Byrne, who incidentally had not called back.
He remembered some of the comments of Byrne's World Wide boss.
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 saw you and Jeffrey Byrne having lunch.
He seemed uncomfortable without the usual casket before him but was quite skillful in referring to Jeffrey Byrne's present status in sufficiently ambiguous terms as to not quite acknowledge Byrne was dead.
He spoke of Jeffrey Byrne's modest contributions to country, town, family and society in general, information probably learned only hours earlier.
He then carried Cynthia Byrne's limp but still drenched and shivering body through the connecting door to her bed and laid her on one of the towels.
He ticked off the items he had learned about Jeffrey Byrne during the course of the day, as much for his own review as to answer Fred's rapid-fire questions.
He took the opportunity to casually pump Hunter on the Byrne disappearance.
He tried to appease the Norfolk detective by saying no permanent harm had been done and even Mrs. Byrne seemed to have made it through the ordeal.
He turned on his heels and left, making Dean sorry he'd mentioned Ethel Rosewater to Cynthia Byrne in the first place.
He used to do some work for World Wide Insurance—where Byrne worked.
He used to do some work for World Wide Insurance—where Byrne worked.
He wants to close up that Byrne case unless you've found a real good reason to keep it open.
He was already topping Jonathan Winston's list by even suggesting a connection between Byrne and the money.
He was interested but perplexed about the March date when Byrne was excused from work—without his wife's knowledge.
He was interested but perplexed about the March date when Byrne was excused from work—without his wife's knowledge.
He was sitting there a few moments later with Cynthia Byrne still unconscious when the attendant reappeared with Mr. Cole, a young intern, in tow.
He was the husband of Cynthia Cosgrove Byrne and the father of Randy Byrne, a Parkside High School senior.
He was the last person to spend any time with Byrne.
He was Vinnie Baratto's attorney, so presumably Vinnie told him of his suspicions that Byrne might have taken the drug money.
He'd be at the service next week and not to see if a missing man would turn up in veiled drag, but simply because Cynthia Byrne told him she'd be pleased with his presence.
Hells bells, why would they bop me on the head when all I'm doing is leading them to someone who's supposed to know where Byrne is?
His emerging feelings for Cynthia Byrne only added complications to the equation.
His last day was Friday but he stuck around because Byrne was coming down from the head office with his last paycheck.
His mind kept thinking, not of Ethel, but of Cynthia Byrne.
His mind pictured Cynthia Byrne, perhaps awake and alone with her grief, listening to Mother Nature's fury.
His mind was awhirl with the pending confrontation, not to mention the magazine article with one more arrow pointing toward bicycling, the motor home, a trip west, the Rocky Mountains and Jeffrey Byrne, all rolled into one very plausible package.
How often was Byrne out of the office?
Hunter opened the drape, painting Jeffrey Byrne's sparse belongings in early afternoon sunlight.
Hunter pointed out where Byrne's things were found but Dean learned nothing from the excursion.
Hunter showed the clerk a picture of Byrne but he couldn't identify him—it was too long ago.
Hunter showed the clerk a picture of Byrne but he couldn't identify him—it was too long ago.
I can't believe sweet Cynthia Byrne, hitting people!
I didn't get diddly-damn from a one of 'em. This guy Byrne was so ordinary, talking about him put me to sleep.
I didn't have wheels and Byrne offered to take me to Blooming Grove.
I didn't sic Nota on anyone—that came from Vinnie Baratto by way of Arthur Atherton and it didn't have a damned thing to do with the Byrne case.
I didn't sic Nota on anyone—that came from Vinnie Baratto by way of Arthur Atherton and it didn't have a damned thing to do with the Byrne case.
I don't know why, but Byrne agreed to drive you out of his way—that's why he was out on Interstate 84 where you two found the money.
I don't much like getting out foxed by Byrne, whether he's alone or with someone else, but if he's gone, I can't for the life of me think of what to do next to track him down.
I even read the list to Mrs. Byrne over the phone.
I followed Jeffrey Byrne and you followed David Dean.
I found out where Byrne bought the motor home.
I get to clean up the crumbs on the Byrne business and you get to play chauffeur for the federal guy—take him up to meet your old football buddy.
I get to clean up the crumbs on the Byrne business and you get to play chauffeur for the federal guy—take him up to meet your old football buddy.
I haven't heard from the Burgess fellow yet on the picture of Byrne's you sent him.
I managed to push the picture of Byrne in his face and he says the guy didn't look nothing like that and I should get lost.
I recognized her from the picture in Byrne's wallet and saw her leave the room and go to the restaurant.
I spotted the number right away and as soon as I saw him I knew danged well it wasn't Byrne.
I talked to your Mrs. Byrne this afternoon.
I told Mrs. Byrne you were bicycling.
I understand from Anderson the other case is closed...the Byrne matter?
I want to know why Arthur Atherton is interested in Jeffrey Byrne.
I want to talk to your Jeffrey Byrne.
I was the one who spotted the suitcases while Byrne was around the corner doing his business so I pitched them in his trunk without opening them.
I'd like to hear how much Byrne had to drink.
I'm a bit fuzzy on some of the details but I'm sure Jeffrey Byrne is dead and you played his part so well, even Jonathan Winston never considered he was chasing someone else.
I'm not going to open this up—to anyone— and cause Cynthia Byrne years of doubt on suspicions, no matter how strong our feelings become.
I'm not going to open this up—to anyone— and cause Cynthia Byrne years of doubt on suspicions, no matter how strong our feelings become.
I've got a couple of last minute things to check out on Byrne....
I've had one of my men checking on Fletcher Brunel, the last guy to see Byrne.
If Byrne was tanked, they should have stopped him.
If this is Byrne we're chasing, he's cautious as a clam.
If you're an honest, law-abiding guy, like everyone says Jeffrey Byrne was or is, why don't you just turn it in to the closest police station?
If you're Byrne, why order the Parkside paper way back in April?
Imagine me giving Cindy Byrne a call and telling her she's cut off, at least until ol' Jeff floats in?
In spite of his lingering and totally unfounded doubts that it was Jeffrey Byrne he was pursuing, there were far too many coincidences pointing to Cynthia Byrne's husband.
Instead he played travel guide, pointing out various sights along the way—the occasional abandoned mine building, steep slopes, and the ghost town of Sneffles where Dean had experienced yet another adventure, this one before marrying Cynthia Byrne.
It contained 78 dollars, a half-dozen credit cards, a few business cards and two pictures, one a duplicate of the desktop photo of Cynthia Byrne and the other a grade school picture Dean assumed to be of Byrne's son, Randy.
It didn't make him feel warm and fuzzy to speculate after the lawyer's letter to Cynthia Byrne.
It doesn't fit with Byrne's lifestyle.
It is clear from literary evidence that the helmet (helm) and coat of chain mail (byrne) were also in common use.
It looks like it was Byrne's.
It reminded Dean to check in with Lieutenant Anderson and call Cynthia Byrne.
It showed a good looking, much younger man, as Dean guessed it dated from when Byrne was first employed, 15 years earlier.
It was a day made for biking and in spite of his body problems, he gave Cynthia Byrne a call to see if she wanted to join him.
It was a mistake typing the note—Jeffrey Byrne's office said he didn't type.
It was an unforgettable day and Dean never once thought of the missing Mr. Byrne until mid-afternoon while they were taking a short break and Cynthia mentioned his name.
It was as if this separation was by miles only, and not the great chasm created by the disappearance of Jeffrey Byrne.
It was beginning to look more as if Jeffrey Byrne pulled a stupid stunt after a few too many drinks in a lonely motel, leaving a widow and a teenaged son to fend for themselves.
It was dated Monday, the day before Byrne's disappearance.
It was Dean's second meal with Cynthia Byrne and in spite of the gut-wrenching happenings earlier in the day, no less enjoyable than the first.
It was just a silly game— unless of course, you'd played it like Randy Byrne.
It was just a silly game— unless of course, you'd played it like Randy Byrne.
It was my big mouth mentioning Byrne in front of Baratto that caused most of this problem but God knows what an open investigation would unfairly do to Cynthia Byrne.
It was one of the branches offices Byrne serviced, that's all.
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.
It was still early when the group left Café Richard, but to Dean's surprise Fred suggested Dean drop him off before taking Cynthia Byrne back to Sherwood Forest.
It was total nonsense to even consider the million-to-one-shot coincidence that Byrne was somehow involved with the missing money but his mind wouldn't leave it alone.
It was unreal rocketing down this mountain, in pursuit of an unknown someone, one minute, surely Jeffrey Byrne, the next minute someone else.
It was you who put us on to Byrne in the first place.
It would have been much more convenient if the customer under the sheet had been Jeffrey Byrne.
Jeff Byrne had worked for World Wide for 15 years and seemed at least content with the work he was doing.
Jeff Byrne is the last of the straight arrows.
Jeffrey Byrne asked about Randy's ball game and inquired about the mail.
Jeffrey Byrne had contacted his wife and like a fool she was going off somewhere to meet the son-of-a-bitch.
Jeffrey Byrne had finally put it all to rest by making his appearance on the incoming tide.
Jeffrey Byrne had telephoned home in early evening, his usual practice when he was traveling on business trips.
Jeffrey Byrne is dead and Brunel killed him.
Jeffrey Byrne spent Tuesday and Wednesday in early March in Scranton.
Jeffrey Byrne spent very little time there—far too few hours to accomplish all of that business.
Jeffrey Byrne was a boringly precise man.
Jeffrey Byrne was employed in a regional marketing position by The World Wide Insurance Company of Philadelphia.
Jeffrey Byrne, age 38, of 156 Maid Marian Lane, Parkside, apparently drowned in the early morning hours of Tuesday, May fourth while on a business trip in Norfolk, Virginia.
Jeffrey Byrne's wife was in far better physical shape than she had let on, and the pair managed 20 miles before finally calling it quits, not because she was tired, but because, as she said, her what-sis was so sore.
Just as quickly, a picture of Cynthia Byrne began crowding his mind.
Just because Byrne might have gotten a quickie two months ago doesn't mean he faked his drowning and skipped.
Just like Jeffrey Byrne's didn't.
Just that maybe Sherwood Forest wasn't heaven for Mr. Byrne after all.
Just then the third round of drinks arrived, apparently as a result of a nod to the waiter by Cynthia Byrne.
Later that evening, while Dean and his stepfather were filling their faces with apple pie and ice cream and feeling sorry for themselves about their lack of progress in finding Byrne, a young man strolled up to them with a smile on his face.
Leland wants you to go down there with Mrs. Byrne so she can identify her husband.
Like maybe Jeffrey Byrne was just stupid enough to drown himself—half-drunk or sober.
Like maybe Jeffrey Byrne was just stupid enough to drown himself—half-drunk or sober.
Maybe Byrne said some words of wisdom you can pass on to the missus.
Maybe Corbin is just another name—a nom de plume—another alias for Byrne, just in case.
Maybe Corbin is just another name—a nom de plume—another alias for Byrne, just in case.
Maybe someone who wants us to think Byrne swiped the millions.
Mayer added that Byrne was back to work the following day, but made no reference to his absence.
Mayer did not think Byrne had carried any additional coverage because, according to Mayer, Byrne hardly had enough money to blow his nose.
Mayer promised to send the full file with Byrne's picture from the now near-closing personnel office, located in another building.
Mayer's assessment of Byrne's true abilities were kept to a minimum.
Mayer's telephone rang and he excused himself to answer it, leaving Dean at Jeffrey Byrne's grey steel desk.
More importantly, Cynthia Byrne was dead right in saying he had no business being chauvinistic in trying to protect this woman from his suspicions.
Most trips commenced early in the week if the destination was closer, and Byrne was home by late Wednesday or Thursday.
Mrs. Byrne asked that you call her and the lady lawyer you ball on Thursday nights telephoned.
Mrs. Byrne sat on the sofa and Dean took the chair to her left.
Mrs. Byrne was dressed in a black jersey dress with a single strand of pearls around her neck.
Mrs. Byrne will probably just come to the door anyway.
Mrs. Byrne, looking embarrassed at the confusion, suggested that she and Dean might be better off talking on the back deck.
Mrs. Byrne's son drove her over but the lad had an engagement so I suggested she join us for dinner and allow us to drive her home.
Much as Dean wanted to telephone Cynthia Byrne, he knew it wasn't appropriate—suicide was a better word.
Much as Dean wanted to telephone Cynthia Byrne, he knew it wasn't appropriate—suicide was a better word.
Much as I still think Byrne is dead there are too many unanswered questions.
My read is you've got feelings for Cynthia Byrne, but not being up-front with her is like walking a tight rope on a windy day.
My stepfather was looking for Byrne.
Next to it was a full-face picture of Cynthia Byrne.
No activity was more natural than spending the day like this biking the Pennsylvania countryside—with Cynthia Byrne.
No activity was more natural than spending the day like this biking the Pennsylvania countryside—with Cynthia Byrne.
No one said anything about you and Byrne except Rudman and we can discount anything out of his mouth, can't we?
No, Byrne's just scared to death now.
None of the names sounded familiar, nor were the addresses in areas where Byrne was thought to have traveled.
Nothing led Dean to believe she was more than someone befriended by Byrne but he was anxious to learn if this new phone message would change this opinion.
Nothing, unless you count a tire patch kit and a half a receipt for $59.95, neither of which probably even belonged to Byrne.
Now I have to give Leland a night of unforgettable pleasure just because you couldn't prove that jerk Byrne skipped out on his wife.
Now that Jeffrey Byrne was still among the missing, Leland Anderson promised to send someone to the Byrne residence to let Randy know the body in Norfolk was not his father.
Now you have a clean shot at Byrne's wife.
Now, let's work on the premise Byrne didn't drown and start trying to find where he is instead of pretending he didn't skip!
Now, the way I see it, there's three ways to prove Byrne's alive—fingerprints, positive ID, or handwriting.
Now, the way I see it, there's three ways to prove Byrne's alive—fingerprints, positive ID, or handwriting.
On Sunday, June 6, Randy Byrne graduated from high school.
Once again there was no evidence to make Jeffrey Byrne's death anything but an accidental drowning.
One minute he'd be drinking in the beauty of the countryside and the next feeling a wave of anxiety, realizing what had begun as a mild suspicion was close to culminating in a face-to-face confrontation with Jeffrey Byrne.
Or maybe he'll find Cleary, learn he isn't Byrne, and put this whole business to rest.
Over a mile south of Mold, on the right of the road to Nerquis, is the "Tower" (15th century, but perhaps restored in the 18th), where, in 1465 or 1 475, the royal chieftain, Rheinallt ab Gruffyd ad Bleddyn, hanged Robert Byrne, mayor of Chester, and subsequently burned alive some 200 Chester folk who tried to 'arrest him.
Overwhelming evidence demonstrated it was totally out of character for Jeffrey Byrne to discard his world like yesterday's trash, and yet, piece by piece, the picture was emerging that he'd done just that.
Perhaps Byrne was afraid someone would connect him to the theft, a fear that would be eliminated by his "death"—a fear that was turning out to be well founded.
Perhaps Byrne was afraid someone would connect him to the theft, a fear that would be eliminated by his "death"—a fear that was turning out to be well founded.
Perhaps his continued attachment to the case was simple curiosity or his promise to Cynthia Byrne to be thorough, or, he reluctantly admitted, a reason to maintain contact with the attractive woman.
Perhaps it was just Dean's unsatisfied Thursday night urge for female companionship, but he found he wanted very badly to see Cynthia Byrne.
Pumpkin looked at the picture of Randy Byrne, one leg up on a boulder, an I-own-the-world smile on his young face and Jen smiling at him with a look of love.
Randy and Cynthia Byrne were in the front row seated next to a white-haired lady Dean assumed was Cynthia's mother.
Randy Byrne answered the phone and seemed surprised to hear Dean's voice.
Randy Byrne managed a smile but a fool could tell he wasn't buying.
Randy Byrne was Cynthia's twenty year-old son from her first marriage.
Randy Byrne was dressed in jeans and sweater and seemed at ease around adults, more so than most his age.
Randy Byrne was in his usual place at shortstop, but the young man was much more subdued than the last time Dean had seen him play.
Randy Byrne was joyously married with mother Cynthia in proud attendance, attired in her Radisson original dress.
Remember, Mrs. Byrne said Jeffrey wasn't much of a drinker.
Rita typed the second expanded Byrne report, with only a mildly raised eyebrow after Dean explained more would be added later.
She added, "Leland Anderson's wife Marian says you're a schmuck for not solving the Byrne thing and causing her to lose her bet."
She opened her purse and took out a picture of Randy Byrne and Jen.
She's tougher than Cynthia Byrne used to be.
Should I toast Jeffrey Byrne, or at least his memory?
So why was he at the Byrne memorial service?
So you bought the theory that Byrne had stumbled on the dough.
So you called all the local dealers to find out if anyone named Cleary or Byrne or Corbin bought a new motor home?
So you followed Byrne to Norfolk and met with him.
So you were just as happy to see Jeffrey Byrne get away with stealing it?
So, that's when we stake it out and spot Byrne!
Someone already called Mrs. Byrne.
Someone besides Dean and Fred was dogging Byrne across the country.
Someone is out there and for my money it's Byrne.
Standing there, in the afternoon sun, with a look of shock on her beautiful face, stood Cynthia Byrne.
Strangely, Fred made no further mention of Monday night's revealing identification of Jeffrey Byrne by Chip Burgess.
Suddenly a flash of lightening illuminated the crouched figure of Cynthia Byrne several yards away.
Sunday was a sleep-in-late kind of day, followed by a Phillies game on TV and a few naps in between mental re-hashes of the prior late-night conversation with Cynthia Byrne.
Tell me about Jeffrey Byrne.
That guy Byrne's body floated in.
That was exactly how Dean felt after he dropped off Cynthia Byrne at her empty house.
That was just one more way you tried to make us believe Byrne was still alive.
That was you who came out of his room and waved to the busboy—wearing Byrne's baseball cap.
The afternoon was a blur as Dean's mind alternated between the task at hand and the sobering fact that he might be within miles, or perhaps yards, of Cynthia Byrne's missing husband.
The annoying little details of the Byrne case were still squirming around in the morning, and in an effort to put one of them to bed Dean stopped by the Parkside Sentinel on his way to work.
The Byrne address was on the east side of town, but as Dean had time to kill, he decided to drive west to what the locals called the beltway, a loop road around the city.
The Byrne case was closed but in spite of Winston's admonishment, the matter wouldn't leave his mind.
The Byrne family had finally scraped aside enough for Cynthia to go back to school.
The concerned look on Randy Byrne's face told Dean that Cynthia's action, while not of itself so unusual, was totally out of character for the boy's mother.
The date was April 7—the date Jeffrey Byrne was in Scranton!
The date was April 7—the date Jeffrey Byrne was in Scranton!
The doctor had taken his sweet time seeing him, but had finally confirmed that Byrne was in excellent health.
The ghost of Jeffrey Byrne, who had spent his final hours in the same dining room, was nowhere in evidence.
The Jeffrey Byrne Mayer eulogized was a far different man than Mayer had described in his Philadelphia office.
The job evaluations of Jeffrey Byrne in the personnel file surprised Dean, as they were considerably more glowing than the picture Mayer had painted of the missing man.
The knee injury Mayer mentioned had occurred a year before and while it might have kept Byrne from jogging, it was no more than a temporary ailment.
The last three days had slid by without anything unusual transpiring, at least on the Jeffrey Byrne matter.
The lecherous bastard didn't waste any time getting Byrne off the payroll and now he's trying to hustle his wife before the body even floats in.
The lieutenant motioned for Dean to follow into his office at the end of the hall where Anderson reiterated the meager details of the Byrne case.
The most enjoyable part of the meal was Cynthia Byrne.
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.
The office confirmed he and Byrne went out to have a drink or three, just the two of them.
The ol' boys at the station are about split down the middle but we're not privy to Byrne's lifestyle and I suppose that's the key.
The one that gnawed at him, blocked out but begging consideration, was the possibility that Cynthia Byrne was somehow involved.
The only decision he'd made was to do nothing until there was clear evidence tying Byrne to the money.
The other one was at Mrs. Byrne's place, out in Sherwood Forest.
The past few days had done much to improve Cynthia Byrne and she beamed with pleasure when Dean presented a bottle of wine, the same brand and year they were served at Café Richard.
The photograph of Jeffrey Byrne he'd mailed to Chip Burgess in Scranton yesterday had been unnecessary.
The report methodically listed each person interviewed and what they said about Jeffrey Byrne.
The service ended in 40 minutes with the priest extending an invitation for friends to return to Mrs. Byrne's home.
The sound of running water in the next room told Dean that daylight had finally arrived and Cynthia Byrne was up and around.
The two had shared Dean's bachelorhood for fifteen years until Dean, an ex-Pennsylvania police detective married Cynthia Byrne seven months earlier.
The two men compared the cyclists' numbers each had listed as possible Byrne look-alikes.
The uniformed guys downstairs had drawn lots to see who got stuck informing the next of kin, and since that time, speculation on the disappearance of Jeffrey Byrne had been the chief topic of conversation at the Parkside Police Department.
The wind made short work of Cynthia Byrne's dainty umbrella, wrenching it to a mass of twisted wire and ripped fabric as they scrambled into the car.
Then he added, Maybe I'll look up this Ridner kid and ask him if the car was still there when he finished, but I'm just checking it out because I promised Randy Byrne I would.
Then Hunter added, They wanted to see the file on your pal Jeffrey Byrne as well.
Then there was the apartment rental with Burgess's identification of Byrne, however tenuous, followed by the newspaper subscription and the motor home purchase.
Then we played tag across the country chasing Byrne.
Then we started hearing all this nonsense about Byrne until it got us wondering if there might be something to it, so we did a little detecting ourselves.
Then why was it each time he was around Cynthia Byrne the question kept coming back?
Then, this afternoon, you didn't act or sound like the Jeffrey Byrne everyone described.
There in the blur of a passing auto and mirrored in descending waves of rain was the huddled figure of Cynthia Byrne stumbling across the parking lot toward the road and the beach beyond.
There isn't a lick of evidence to put Byrne anywhere near that dough.
There was a detailed itinerary of Byrne's movements and information on Byrne's health, finances, personnel records and lifestyle.
There was far more to learn about Jeffrey Byrne before he could report an informed opinion on the happenings in Norfolk two nights earlier.
There was no police case, nothing official about the person he was pursuing—Byrne or Brunel, or some unknown soul who was simply the culmination of a series of incredible coincidences.
There was no sign of Cynthia Byrne or another car.
There was nothing new on the Byrne case—just a comment to that effect.
There was nothing new on the Byrne case—just a comment to that effect.
There was total absence of mention of the disappearance of Jeffrey Byrne, Dean's trip to Norfolk, or any real-life matters for the entire evening.
There were ten cities serviced by Byrne, all on the eastern seaboard, and his itineraries were detailed on practically an hour by-hour basis.
There's still not a shred of proof tying Byrne to Scranton, the money, or being alive.
They both agreed—Dean still reluctantly—that the money was one more indication that Jeffrey Byrne was among the living.
They both agreed—Dean still reluctantly—that the money was one more indication that Jeffrey Byrne was among the living.
They broke in Cynthia Byrne's place too.
They decided against it, cautious about frightening off Byrne if he should get wind of the search and realize someone was this close to finding him.
They had considered showing Jeffrey Byrne's picture to some of the bike tour workers, especially those volunteers manning the frequent rest stops where every biker would pass sooner or later.
They had vaguely remembered Jeffrey Byrne from his repeat trips, but Byrne hadn't made much of an impression on anyone.
They never had a sniff Byrne was connected to the money.
They reminded Dean of Jeffrey Byrne, doing the same thing a week earlier.
They were on the same team, only Cummings rode the bench and Byrne was the star—he played shortstop.
They were on the same team, only Cummings rode the bench and Byrne was the star—he played shortstop.
They're going to hold a memorial service for Byrne at the Catholic Church.
They're holding a memorial service for Jeffrey Byrne next week.
This convinced Fred the man was Byrne but Dean gave the item little merit.
This term was used by Oliver Byrne in a series of works published between 1860 and 1870.
Three more telephone calls to Cece Baldwin were as unsuccessful as the first and Dean spent the rest of the evening poring over the Byrne file.
Unlike the priest, Mayer made no pretext that Byrne wasn't as dead as a Jacob Marley's knocker and, as Mayer described, was "walking the streets of gold with the angels."
Until we can prove Cleary isn't Byrne, let's assume he is.
Vinnie, this guy Byrne's life was as far away from yours as the Pope's from a whorehouse.
Was there anything unusual about Byrne's demeanor the afternoon the two of you were together?
We even paid off his stolen escrow account and talked him into backing off Cynthia Byrne.
We even scared off the fellow who sold Byrne his first motor home.
We're not the only ones chasing Jeffrey Byrne and by the looks of things, they'd blow his head off as soon as spit on him.
We've done a damned good job covering our tracks—painting the Scranton Apartment, swiping motel receipts with Byrne's signature on them....
What in God's name ever made anyone think this tub of blubber was Jeffrey Byrne?
What made you think Byrne would believe a cock-and-bull story like that?
What was it exactly Byrne did for World Wide?
What was their opinion of Byrne?
When Byrne came, no one got out of his chair.
When Byrne failed to answer a wake-up call the following morning, a clerk finally opened his room.
When Cynthia Byrne finally stopped crying, she wiped her eyes on the corner of the red blanket.
When Dean described Jeffrey Byrne's quiet life style, Hunter nodded in agreement.
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.
When did Byrne discover the suitcases and the money?
When did you start trying to blame the missing money on Byrne?
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.
When I considered it might not be Byrne who rented that apartment in Scranton, I began to wonder how come you identified him from his picture.
Where did you catch up to Jeffrey Byrne?
Where was Fletcher Brunel, the last person to meet with Byrne in Norfolk?
While Dean hadn't heard from Cynthia Byrne, it didn't mean she wasn't on his mind.
While Dean was out of contact with Cynthia Byrne during the first two weeks of June, it didn't mean she was out of his thoughts.
While Fred had chatted amiably during the course of the two weeks, he confined his discussions to methods that might be used in finding and identifying Byrne, and never complained about having to remain in Parkside.
While he knew he should report his suspicion of being bugged, he feared having to answer questions about his clandestine work in the Byrne matter.
While spending the day with Cynthia Byrne was of itself a pleasant contemplation, accompanying relatives to identify corpses, especially those that had been under water for a week, was, in Dean's estimation, right up there with root canals and swift kicks in the you-know-whats.
While the case might be officially closed, Dean felt an obligation to Randy Byrne, as well as his own curiosity, to follow up the March fourth Whitney Motel incident.
Who says Byrne bought them?
Why did you let Byrne stay in the bike tour if you knew we were close to him?
Why wait to find out about Jeffrey Byrne's little escapade?
Why would they be responsible because Byrne acted like a jerk and decided to go for a midnight swim—drunk or sober?
Why would they be responsible because Byrne acted like a jerk and decided to go for a midnight swim—drunk or sober?
With all other thoughts lulled from his mind by the steady cadence of the wheels, he moved step by step through every facet of the Byrne case.
With each passing day the possibility that Jeffrey Byrne's corpse might not be found became more realistic.
Without the specter of Jeffrey Byrne hanging over him, Dean could have enjoyed the festivities even more.
Yeah. It said 'Stick with school' so I decided it was worth a thousand to send her some money—like something Byrne would do.
Years later Dean would think back to this first time he saw Cynthia Byrne.
You can never be sure Byrne won't get a conscience...
You can't prove I killed Byrne.
You gotta admit, it gives me a lot better chance of checking out the crowds for Byrne.
You killed Jeffrey Byrne.
You may be right about Byrne not showing up at his funeral next week.
You mean where Byrne drowned?
You should have been at Byrne's house tonight and seen the warmth of that family.
You sicced those gangster sons-of-bitches on Cynthia Byrne too!
You think maybe Byrne might have swiped the dough?
You wanted to know what was happening back in Parkside—if there was any mention of the money or Byrne reporting it.
You'd just have to know Jeff Byrne to appreciate it.
You're a biker, so Byrne and you struck up a conversation—and I suppose shared a few drinks.
You're Byrne and you've found the dough—more than you'll see in a lifetime.
You're Byrne and you've found the dough—more than you'll see in a lifetime.
You're making some broad jumps just because Jeffrey Byrne visited in the Scranton area.