Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“We’d only just met. How’d I know I could trust you? I had to think about that.”

“What made you decide to tell me?”

“I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut if it comes right down to it. Frankie’s a bad-ass. Word leaks out and my sorry butt is fried. He’s not a guy you fuck with and expect to live.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Did he say anything else?”

“Not that I remember offhand. Time, I didn’t pay much attention. Jail, everybody brags about stuff like that. It’s mostly bullshit, so I didn’t attach anything to it. I mean, I did, but then that’s the last I ever heard of it. Now you’re saying some girl’s body was dumped and right away I think about him.”

“You’re sure about this.”

“No, I’m not sure. He might’ve made the whole thing up. How the hell should I know? You said call and I did.”

I thought about it briefly. This could be a hustle, though for the life of me, I couldn’t see what Pudgie was getting out of it. “That’s not much to go on.”

“Well, I can’t help you there.”

“How’d he kill her?”

“Knife, I guess. Said he stabbed her, wrapped her up, and stuck her in the trunk. Soon as he got to Lompoc, he pitched her off the side of the road and hightailed it out of there. By the time the cops picked him up he figured he was safe. All they cared about was nailing him for Cathy Lee.”

“Did he know the girl?”

“I doubt it. He didn’t talk like he did.”

“Because I’m curious about his motive.”

“You gotta be kidding. Frankie doesn’t need a motive. She could’ve looked at him funny or called him a pencil dick. If she knew he was on the run, she might’ve threatened to turn him in.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I’ll have to give this some thought. Where are you calling from?”

“A place I hang out in Creosote. My sis drove up from the desert and brought me back to her house.”

“Is there any way I can reach you if I need to get in touch?”

He gave me a number with an area code.

I said, “Thanks. This could be a big help.”

“Where’s Frankie now?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve heard he’s in town.”

“You mean the fucker’s out?”

“Sure, he’s been paroled.”

“You never said that. Oh, shit. You have to swear you won’t tell him where you heard this. And don’t ask me to testify in court because I won’t.”

“Pudgie, you couldn’t testify in court. This is all hearsay. You didn’t see him do anything so quit worrying. I’ll tell the two cops I’m working with, but that’s the end of it.”

“I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”

“Relax. You’re fine.”

“You buy me those cigarettes?”

“No, but I owe you a bunch.”

Dolan picked me up at the office Tuesday morning at 10:00. I’d managed my usual 6:00 A.M. run, after which I’d showered and dressed. I had coffee and a quick bowl of cereal, making it into the office by 8:35. By the time I heard Dolan’s car horn, I’d finished catching up on all the odds and ends on my desk. Dolan had the good grace to toss his cigarette out the window as soon as I got in. Stacey’s biopsy had been scheduled for 7:45, but neither of us wanted to talk about that. After I’d wrenched open the car door on the passenger side and hauled it shut again, I told Dolan about Pudgie’s call.

He said, “Don’t know what to make of it. What do you think?”

“I’d love to believe him, but I’m not sure how credible he is for a jailhouse snitch. He did seem to have a couple of the details right.”

“Like what?”

“Well, he knew she’d been stabbed and he knew she’d been wrapped in something at the time she was dumped.”

“It’s possible he took a flyer, guessing at the fine points to make himself seem important.”

“To me? Why would he care?”

“Because he’s flirting with you. Gave him an excuse to call.”

“Is that it? Well, I’m thrilled.”

“Point is, what he says is useless. It’s all air and sunshine.”

“And hearsay as well.”

“Right.”

The next stop was Frankie’s to see what we could shake loose from him. Dolan had talked to Frankie’s parole officer, Dench Smallwood, who’d given him the address.