Q Is for Quarry

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?"
    Stacey shaded his eyes, looking sideways at him. "Called a cab. They do that. Pay 'em money, those guys'll take you anyplace you want."
    "I didn't think you'd be released until they ran more tests." Stacey waved that notion aside. "Hell with 'em. I got tired of waiting for the doc to pull a thumb out. I packed my things and took a hike. I don't have time for nonsense. It won't change anything. Meantime, I got a call from Mandel and he says come on out. He's pulled the Jane Doe evidence and we can take a look. Speaking of which, what'd our friend Frankie have to say for himself?"
    "Don't change the subject. How'd the biopsy go?"
    "Piece of cake. They've stuck me so often, it's like a bug bite."
    "How soon do you get the results?"
    Stacey's hand was so small he managed to ease his bracelet off without breaking it. "Day or so. Who cares? We got work to do. Now give me a hand here. My age, you get down, you can't get up again. Tell me about Frankie."
    "He's completely innocent."
    "Of course. We should have known."
    Dolan extended a hand and pulled Stacey to his feet. He seemed to totter fleetingly and then he regained his balance. Dolan and I exchanged one of those looks, which Stacey caught.
    "Quit that. I'm fine. I'm tired is all. I've been in bed too long."
    The Santa Teresa County Sheriffs Department is located near Colgate off El Solano Road in the same general vicinity as the county dump. I guess land out there is cheap and there's room to expand. Behind the building, I could see rows of black-and-whites, county cars, and assorted personal vehicles belonging to the Sheriffs Department personnel. The one-story structure is a creamy beige and white stucco, with a series of arches across the front. The main jail is just across the road. We parked and went in the front entrance, letting Stacey lead the way. I could tell he missed working. Just the sight of the facility seemed to give him strength.
    To the left, in the tiny lobby, was a counter with a glass partition, probably bulletproof, though it was impossible to tell. The civilian clerk, a woman, looked up when we came in. Stacey said, "We're here to see Sergeant Detective Joe Mandel."
    She pushed a clipboard across the counter. "He said he'd be right out."
    All three of us signed in and she gave us each a visitor's badge, which we fastened onto our shirts. There were three chairs available, but we elected to stand. Through the locked glass door, I could already see someone approaching from the far end of the corridor. He pushed the door open from his side and let us in. There were the usual introductions and a round of handshakes. From the flicker in his eyes, I could tell he recognized me from our meeting in his kitchen, but if he thought it odd, he never let on. He knew Stacey well, but I gathered he hadn't seen Dolan for many years. They exchanged pleasantries as he held the door open and let us into the corridor.
    We turned left and followed him down a long hallway, a dogrun of beige carpeting and beige walls, with offices opening up on either side. Joe introduced us to Sergeant Steve Rhineberger, in the Sheriffs forensics unit. He unlocked a door and showed us into a room that looked like a