Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“Everybody knows Grayson. It’s been there for years.”

“It seems like quite a coincidence.”

“That I was six miles away? Bullshit. I have family in the area. My dad’s lived in the same house forty-four years. I was on my way to visit.”

“After killing Cathy Lee.”

“I hope you aren’t here coughing up that old hair ball. I’ll tell you one thing, they never should have nailed me for murder one. That was strictly self-defense. She came at me with a pair of scissors—not that I need to justify myself to you.”

“Why’d you run? Hardly the actions of an innocent man.”

“I never said I was innocent. I said—oh hell, why should I tell you? I was in a panic, if you want to know the truth. You do meth, you don’t think straight. Temper runs hot and you think everybody’s after you.”

“No need to be defensive,” Dolan said.

“Please forgive me. I beseech you. People wake me up, I get cranky sometimes.”

Dolan smiled. “You get cranky, you fly off the handle, is that it?”

“You know what? I’ve done my time. Not a mark on my record in seventeen years. Credit for time served, good behavior, the whole shootin’ match. Now I’m out, I’m clean, and I’m gainfully employed so you can go fuck yourself. No offense.”

“Prison did you good.”

“Yes, it did. See that? Rehabilitation works. I’m living proof. Went from bad to good and now I’m free as a bird.”

“Not quite. You’re still on parole.”

“You think I don’t know that? All the fuckin’ rules they lay down? Tell you something, you won’t catch me in violation. I’m way too smart. I’m willing to play fair because I don’t intend to go back in. And I mean, ever.”

“You know the problem with you, Frankie?”

“What’s that, Lieutenant? I’m sure you’ll spell it out in great detail.”

“You may be righteous today, but back then you didn’t know enough to keep your big mouth shut.”

“Come on. What is this?”

“I told you. We have an unsolved homicide with circumstances similar to Cathy Lee’s.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help you there. I don’t know jack about that. You want anything else, you can talk to my attorney.”

“And who’s that?”

“Haven’t hired one yet, but I’ll let you know. Where’s this horseshit coming from, or is that classified?”

“We got somebody willing to put the ju-ju on you.”

“Ju-ju, my ass. What have you got, some ex-con having lunch on my expense account? I didn’t kill the chick. You’re full of shit.”

“That’s not what our witness says. He says you bragged about it afterward.”

“You’re blowin’ smoke and you know it. You had anything on me, you’d’ve showed up with a warrant instead of this hokey song-and-dance routine.”

Dolan shook his head. “I don’t know, Frankie. I figure you had a hard-on for the girl and when she wouldn’t put out, you lost control of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Frankie made a gesture like he was whacking off.

“Why don’t you own up to it? You could really help us out.

Show your heart’s in the right place now that you’ve turned over this new leaf.”

Frankie smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I’d be dumb enough to sit here and confess? To what? You got nothing on me. I don’t even know who the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I’m not here to hassle you.”

“Good, because I’m trying not to lose my cool. You want a urine sample, I’ll piss in a cup. You want to search the place, have at it. Whatever it is, just be quick about it. Otherwise we’re done. Pull the door shut behind you on your way out.” He slid the mask down over his eyes and turned his back to us.

“Well, that was unproductive,” I said when the two of us were back in the car again.

“I wanted you to have a look at him. It’s always best if you know the players firsthand. Besides, it’s good to let him sweat a bit, wondering what we have.”

“That won’t take long. We don’t have anything, do we?”

“No, but he doesn’t know that.”

Dolan was going to go back over to St. Terry’s as soon as he dropped me at the office, but when we pulled onto Caballeria Lane, we caught sight of Stacey sitting on the curb in front of my place, a brown paper bag at his feet. He wore his red knit watch cap, short-sleeve shirt, chinos, and shoes with no socks. His perforated plastic hospital bracelet still encircled his wrist. His arms were bone thin, his skin translucent, like the pale tissue overlay on a wedding invitation. Dolan parked two cars away. While we walked back to Stacey, Dolan took out a pack of cigarettes and his matches and paused to light up. He tossed the match aside and drew deeply, sucking smoke down as though he were using an asthma inhaler. “How’d you get here?”