Shadows Disinterred: Day 8

Word Count: 48,026

Summary of Events:
Dallas had a nightmare about his work during the weekend and then talked with one of his fellow officers who'd broken up his and Hackett's argument the week before. At lunch Dallas found a hopeful lead for his case, but the people looking into it didn't get back to him as fast as he'd thought, so he played Free Cell, talked to his half sister and another fellow officer, and realized he'd been moved out of his mom's house for nearly ten years while he waited.

Excerpt of the Day:
"Taking up his tray, Dallas walked over to a secluded two-person booth in the quietest corner of the restaurant. Conveniently, it seemed, there was a copy of the weekly paper sitting on the table.
Dallas set up his lunch on the tray before opening the paper and skimming through its contents. There wasn't anything really worth reading, but Dallas flipped through it anyways as he slowly ate his lunch.
Getting to the classifieds, Dallas kept flipping slowly through, even though he wasn't looking for work, a bachelorette, toasters, firewood, cattle, grain, obituaries, wedding announcements, or anything else that was being hawked.
A couple pages in, an ad caught Dallas' eye. It wasn't like the small little snippets that were many of the ads, nor was it large, gaudy, and logo-plastered. It was somewhat larger than the other generic help wanted classifieds, with a black border and chunky black type.
Its message was simple, and yet familiar: Wanted: Farm Labourer. Dallas had no idea where he would've read the message before. He looked at the phone number: 306-275-4258, four, two, five, and eight.
Mrs. Farquharson had said five, two, four, eight. Two digits were different, but it was so close, and the message was much the same as what Mrs. Farquharson had told Dallas the message was on the ad Thomas had responded to.
Dallas went ramrod straight. He was absolutely thunderstruck. Mrs. Farquharson had said she remembered the numbers, but she didn't remember the order! Was this the order? Was this it?
Taking up his phone, Dallas checked his Notes app and memorized Mrs. Farquharson's number before dialling it and putting his phone to his ear, his heart racing with anticipation.
"Hello?" Mrs. Farquharson answered, sounding perplexed.
"Mrs. Farquharson, this is Dallas Klybanowsky," Dallas said.
"Ah, that's why you are familiar," Mrs. Farquharson said.
"Oh! Sorry, I'm using my personal phone," Dallas apologized.
"Ah," Mrs. Farquharson said. "What can I do for you?"
"Could you look in the classifieds section of the paper, on the third page, second column, two thirds of the way down?" Dallas asked.
He remained silent to give Mrs. Farquharson time to find the page.
"Is that the number Thomas called?" Dallas asked.
There was more silence. Dallas waited, his muscles tight, his free hand clenching the table so hard it hurt. His heart pounded in his ears, anticipation trembled in his breastbone, the silence was killing him.
"Yes," Mrs. Farquharson said quietly — Dallas just about didn't hear her.
Dallas stared at the ad; he couldn't believe it. He'd found their bait. He'd finally found it! "Thank you Mrs. Farquharson," he said breathlessly before ending the call."