Q Is for Quarry

said, "It must 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's lymphoma, 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 ill 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 Sheriffs 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."
    "I remember now. You're right. I knew I'd read the name, but I couldn't think where."
    Dolan said, "Well, she couldn't be Jane Doe unless she rose from the dead. You said she called in a week or so after the body was found."
    "The caller said she was Quinn's mother. Might have been someone else," Stacey said.
    "I don't guess those old phone records still exist," I said.
    "Probably not," Dolan replied. "Too much time's elapsed. All we can hope is the deputy took down her number when the call came in."
    Stacey said, "Let's see what this dentist says. If the records match, then we know the victim's Quinn and the call's a fake."
    "Any word on the Mustang?" Dolan asked.
    Stacey smiled, holding up three fingers. "Three blond hairs caught in the hinge of the trunk. Characteristics are similar to Jane Doe's hair. Not conclusive, of course, but it shores up the theory she was stowed in the Mustang for transport. Someone made an effort to wipe the car clean, but the techs picked up a few latent fingerprints, including a partial palm print on the jack.
    The guy must have moved it when he was clearing space in the trunk." I said, "What about the stains, were those blood?"
    "We sent the carpet to the DOJ lab in Colgate, but we won't get results on that for weeks.