Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“He’s not kicking up a fuss,” Justine said. “He’s asking why we have to agree to this crap.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘crap,’” Stacey said. “Left up to me, I’d let the matter slide, but Dolan seems to think it’s a good idea. He’s the boss on this one. Only takes a couple minutes and the place can’t be any more than ten blocks away. If you want, I’ll drive you over and bring you back when you’re done.”

“It isn’t that,” Cornell said.

“Then what?” Adrianne said. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I want your opinion, I can ask.”

“Excuse the heck out of me.”

“Look, I’ll go down there, okay? I just don’t like being told what to do.”

Stacey said, “Tell you what. I’ve got an inkless pad in the car. Inked prints are superior, but I can see your point. We can take care of it right now if you’d prefer.”

“Skip it. I’ll go. It just bugs me, that’s all.”

“We appreciate that. I’ll tell the detective the family’s coming in.”

“Wait a minute. Mom and Dad have to go, too?”

“Since the vehicle belongs to your dad, it wouldn’t be unusual to find his prints on it. It’s the same with your mom. No point in chasing our tails if there’s an obvious explanation.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Cornell said. He tossed the dish towel on the counter and went out the back door, letting it bang shut behind him. I’d have bet serious money he’d be lighting a cigarette to calm himself.

His sister stared after him. “What’s his problem?”

“Just drop it. He’s in a bad mood,” Justine said.

Adrianne caught my eye briefly and then looked away.

Stacey and I went to Long John Silver’s for lunch, this time swooning over crisp-fried fish and chips doused in puckery vinegar the color of iced tea. Afterward, we stopped by Quorum General to visit Dolan. I hadn’t seen him since Friday night and I was amazed at his progress. He was out wandering the hall, wearing a pair of paper slippers and a light cotton robe over his hospital gown. He was freshly showered and shaved, his hair still damp and neatly combed to one side.

As soon as he saw us he said, “Let’s use the waiting room at the end of the hall. I’m sick of being cooped up.”

I said, “You look great.”

“I’m lobbying the doc to let me out of here.” Dolan seemed to shuffle, but it may have been the only way to keep the slippers on his feet.

“What’s the deal at this point?”

“Possibly tomorrow. I’m supposed to start cardiac rehab and he thinks I’m better off doing that on home turf,” he said. “Joe Mandel called me this morning with good news. They picked up the guy on that triple homicide.”

Stacey said, “Good dang deal. Now they can concentrate on us.”

We had the waiting room to ourselves. Up in one corner, a wall-mounted color TV was tuned to an evangelist, the sound turned down low. There was a white-robed choir behind him and I watched the vigor with which they sang. Lieutenant Dolan seemed restless, but I thought it was probably the lack of cigarettes. For him, work and the act of smoking were so closely connected it was hard to do one without the other. We chatted about the case. None of us ever tired of rehashing the facts, though there was nothing new to add.

He said, “Right now, Pudgie’s our priority. Time to lean on that guy.”

“Waste of time,” Stacey said. “He’s an old family friend. His prints are easy to explain. Might be bullshit, but nothing we can prove either way.”

We moved on to idle chitchat until Dolan’s energy began to flag. We parted company soon afterward.

Stacey and I spent the remainder of Sunday afternoon in our separate rooms. I don’t know how he occupied his time. I read my book, napped, and trimmed my hair with my trusty pair of nail scissors. At 6:00, we went out for another round of junk food, this time Taco Bell. I was beginning to crave alfalfa sprouts and carrot juice; anything without additives, preservatives, or grease. On the other hand, the color had returned to Stacey’s cheeks and I’d have been willing to swear he’d gained a pound or two since he arrived.

Dolan was released from the hospital late Monday afternoon just as the dinner trays were coming out. Stacey and I arrived on the floor at 5:00 and waited with patience while Dolan’s doctor reviewed his chart and lectured him at length about the importance of staying off cigarettes, eating properly, and initiating a program of moderate exercise. By the time we saw him, he was dressed in street clothes and eager to be gone.