Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

One of Dolan’s IV lines had been removed and I could see the bruising in the crook of his arm. His one-day growth of beard already looked like the splayed white bristles on a toothbrush used to clean the bathroom grout. Two clear-plastic oxygen prongs extended from his nose. That aside, he was alert, his color was good, and some of his friskiness had been restored. He seemed tired, but he didn’t look half-dead. Any minute now, he’d get cranky about the absence of booze and cigarettes.

“Hey, Lieutenant, you look great. How’re you feeling?”

“Better. Almost human, as a matter of fact.”

There was a murmur behind me and I turned to find a nurse standing in the doorway. She was in her forties, with dark eyes and shiny brown hair streaked with gold. She wore civilian clothes, but her shoes were crepe-soled and her name tag announced her as CHRIS KOVACH, RN. She said, “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a fellow at the nurses’ station claiming he’s related to you. I checked your chart, but you don’t have him listed as an emergency contact or your next of kin.”

Dolan’s face went blank.

Chirpily, I said, “It must be your brother, Stacey. When I called and told him about your heart attack, he said he’d hop in the car and head right down.” I turned to Ms. Kovach. “I know the lieutenant’s not supposed to have more than one visitor at a time, but his brother’s just finished chemo for non-Hodgkin’slymphoma, and it’d be great if we could be together after all these months.”

I thought the medical angle was a nice touch, but the look she gave me indicated she heard tales like that, on average, three times a day. “His brother? I don’t see the family resemblance.”

“That’s because he’s bald. With his hair grown in, they look enough alike to be mistaken for twins.”

“And you’re his daughter,” she said, indicating Dolan with a tilt of her head.

“Uh-huhn.”

“So the fellow in the hall is your uncle Stacey, is that correct?”

“On my mother’s side.”

She wagged a warning finger. “Just this once, but not for long. I’ve got my eye on the clock. No cheating on the time.”

Piously, Dolan said, “Thank you, Nurse.”

His tone was what finally netted us the smile she’d been trying to suppress.

Stacey appeared in the doorway moments later. I was happy to see he’d doffed his watch cap, exposing an endearing patchwork of bald spots and fuzz. At least the nurse would know I hadn’t lied about that.

Dolan said, “How’d you get here? I thought you sold your car.”

“Rented one—a spiffy little Ford I drove like a bat out of hell. I’m surprised I didn’t get a ticket. How are you?”

“Especially driving without a license.”

Stacey pulled over a chair, offering it to me. “You want to sit?”

“You take that. I prefer to stand.”

Since the visit was being limited, we truncated polite talk in favor of a Jane Doe update. I said, “I think I may have a line on her.” I told them about the quilt with the daisy-print patches that led me to Medora Sanders. “From what Medora says, the girl’s name is Charisse Quinn. She was apparently a ward of the State, fostered out through Riverside County Social Services. Both Medora and her daughter said she was a pain in the ass: dishonest, promiscuous, and foul-mouthed. According to Medora, she lived with ’em five months or so and then took off without a word. This was in the summer of ’69. I should also mention that Wilbur Sanders, Medora’s husband, disappeared at about the same time. I asked if the two events could be related, but she hated that idea. Let’s hope Dr. Spears can confirm the ID when he pulls her old chart.”

“You know the date this girl left?”

“I’m still trying to pin that one down. The timing’s close enough to work, or so it appears. I hope to talk to Justine again and maybe she can narrow the frame. By the way, she’s married to Ruel’s son, Cornell, if that’s significant.”

Stacey piped up. “The auto upholstery guy?”

Dolan said, “That’s him. The Mustang was recovered from his shed.”

Stacey was squinting. “And this runaway. You’re sure the name’s Charisse Quinn?”

“Fairly sure,” I said. “Why?”

“Because she shows up in one of the old reports. You can check for yourself. Her mother called the Sheriff’s Department here a week or so into the investigation. She’d heard her daughter’d been reported missing and wanted us to know she was alive and well.”