Q Is for Quarry

couch. "For starters, in the small-world department, it turns out C. K. Vogel was Melvin Galloway's brother-in-law." I went on, summarizing the information C.K.'d given me about the red convertible. "He could be confused. Frankie's car was red."
    "I know, but he was very specific about it's being a convertible with black leather seats."
    "Let's run that by Stacey and see what he says. It can't hurt to check." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the three doctors emerge from Stacey's room. I pointed in their direction as they rounded the far corner and disappeared. "Looks like they're done. You want to go down and find out what they said?"
    "No. But I will."
    I let Dolan take the lead as we entered Stacey's room, thinking that if Stace was upset, I could ease out without calling undue attention to myself. He was in bed, having cranked up the head so he could see the view. He had his knit cap off and I was disconcerted by the sight of his bare head. His hair was wispy, a cross between duck down and baby fuzz, scarcely half an inch long. The watch cap had given him an air of manliness. Without it, he was just a sick old man with a scrawny neck and ears that protruded from the bony shell of his skull. He turned from the view with a smile that came close to merriment unless you knew him. "Never let it be said God doesn't have a sense of humor."
    Dolan said, "Uh-oh."
    "It's really not too bad. No meningioma or neurofibroma; in other words, there're no metastatic tumors along my spine. The business with my back's benign. Probably a herniated disc, which is the result of degenerative changes not uncommon in a man my age. I'm quoting the doc here just in case you think I've started talking strange. The treatment of choice is bed rest, which is something I'm already well acquainted with. Analgesics, a mild tranquilizer, possibly Valium as you suggested. That doesn't work, they go to plan B, which they haven't laid out as yet. I'm guessing surgery, but they haven't actually said as much. Doctor did suggest exercises to strengthen my back once the pain subsides. Fair enough. Unfortunately, the very same X-ray that showed my back problem's no more than a pain in the ass also revealed a lesion. I'm supposed to be in remission, free and clear."
    "What's he think it is?"
    "She, goddammit! And don't interrupt. I was just getting to that. Doc says it could be scar tissue, it could be the remains of a dying tumor, or it might be our old friend lymphoma cropping up again. They can't tell from the film. So first thing tomorrow morning, I'm scheduled for a biopsy. Lucky I'm here is how they put it to me. Lucky my back feels like shit, they said. Without back pain, no X-ray. Without the X-ray, this whatever I've got would have gone undetected until the next follow-up appointment, which isn't on the books for months." He pointed at Dolan. "And don't say 'I told you so' because I don't want to hear it."
    "I'd never say that – though I'll admit I did mention it."
    I thought he was pushing his luck, but Stacey laughed.
    Dolan said, "So when do you get out?"
    "They haven't told me yet. Meantime, I'm not lying here idle. I put in another call to the Sheriffs Department. Joe Mandel's made detective so I'm hoping he'll let us take a look at the Jane Doe evidence."
    "Kinsey and I can do that."
    "Not without me. You want to keep me alive, you better do what I say."
    "Bullshit. That's blackmail."
    "That's exactly right. So tell me about Rickman. I could use a good laugh about now."
    I had dinner that night at Rosie's, so grateful to have her home I could have kissed the hem of her muumuu. Since the tavern had been closed 1 for two weeks, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke had nearly faded from the air. In her absence, she'd had a cleaning crew come in and scrub the place down. Floors now gleamed, wood surfaces were polished, and the mirror behind the bar reflected the rows of liquor bottles with a sparkle that suggested expensive handblown glass. The crowd that night was light, the usual patrons perhaps still unaware that the restaurant was open for business again.
    William stood behind the bar, pulling beers and pouring drinks for the smattering of customers. Henry sat at his usual table, amusing himself with a book of anagrams. At his invitation, I took a seat across from him. I looked over as Rosie emerged from the kitchen with an armload of what appeared to be slim binders. She crossed the room, heading in our direction, clearly pleased with