"Q" is for Quarry (29 page)

“That’s okay. People treat him badly all the time. He’s used to it.”

I waited until he’d disappeared and then I set to work. In movies, thieves tend to pop the locks in no time flat, often with the use of a credit card, a method I avoid. I don’t trust the process. I knew a guy once whose credit card snapped off in the door he was trying to open. A neighbor spotted him breaking in and called the cops. When he heard the sirens approach, he hightailed it out of there, leaving half his card behind. The cops picked up his surname and the last six digits of his account. He was busted within a day.

In reality, picking locks takes practice, great patience, and no small measure of dexterity. Though most lock mechanisms are similar, there are variations that would drive the novice burglar insane. It usually takes me a few tries. I manipulated my little torque wrench with one eye on the parking lot. If Dolan was out, I didn’t want him to catch me breaking into his room. And I was not all that keen on having the cops called if one of the other occupants was watching me from behind the drapes. At the same time, if he was in there, it was time to find out what was going on. I felt the last gate give way. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped in. “Lieutenant Dolan?”

He was lying on the bed, fully dressed, his shoes off. He turned toward me. His breathing was shallow and his face was a pasty gray. I flipped off the TV and crossed the room.

His voice was hoarse and raspy. “Heard you knocking, but I was in the bathroom being sick. I’m not doing so good.”

“I can see that. You look awful. Are you having chest pains?” Up close, I could see a fine sheen of clammy sweat on his forehead and cheeks.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Tightness across here. Hard to breathe. Feels like an elephant sitting on my chest.”

“Oh, shit.” I picked up the phone and dialed 911.

The Emergency Medical Services crew seemed to take forever, though in truth it was no more than six minutes. I alerted the front desk and then waited in the parking lot so I could flag them down. I heard the sirens before I saw the Fire Department Rescue van speed into view. I waved and the vehicle veered toward me and pulled in with a chirp of brakes. The woman driver and two other EMS techs emerged, wearing bright yellow jackets with FIRE DEPARTMENT written across the backs. They carried their equipment with them as they followed me into Dolan’s room.

I stood to one side, watching as the two guys moved the furniture aside, clearing space to work. Their manner was efficient but conversational, taking care not to further alarm Dolan, who was doubtless already aware of the depth of trouble he was in. One tech loosened his shirt and then placed a stethoscope against his chest. He took Dolan’s pulse and jotted notes on his clipboard, then attached a blood pressure cuff, pumped it, and took a reading, his gaze fixed on the dial. He asked Dolan a series of questions designed to assess the symptoms and events preceding the episode. I was surprised to hear Dolan admit he’d experienced something similar the night before, though the feeling had been less pronounced and had passed within minutes. The woman tech stepped in. She administered two sublingual tabs of nitroglycerin, and then started an IV line while the third technician secured an oxygen cone across Dolan’s nose.

I went outside. A minute later, the crew emerged from the room. Dolan had been loaded onto a gurney. They rolled him as far as the back doors of the ambulance, which they opened to slide him into the rear. A few people passing through the parking lot paused to stare, but most moved on as soon as they realized what was happening. I appreciated their discretion. It’s hard enough to be ill without feeling as though you’ve made a spectacle of yourself.

One tech climbed into the van with Dolan. The rear doors were slammed shut. The hospital was seven blocks away. I got directions from the second tech before he got in the cab of the van on the passenger side. The woman took the wheel again. She backed out and made a beeline for the street, sirens warbling, bar light flashing. I made sure Dolan’s motel room door was locked and followed in his car.

When I arrived, the ambulance had already pulled into the emergency entrance. I parked in the main lot and by the time I entered the waiting room, he’d been rolled into the rear. I spoke to the desk clerk, telling her who I was. She asked me a few questions about Dolan, making me aware how little I really knew about him. I told her he had insurance coverage through the STPD and she said she’d pick up the remaining data from him. She got up and left her desk, clipboard in hand, indicating that the ER doctor would be out as soon as she was finished with him.

I took a seat in the waiting room, which was spare and reasonably pleasant: pale green carpet, fake plants, and piles of tattered magazines. An assortment of children’s toys was scattered on the floor. Lines of interlocking chairs had been arranged, cotillion-fashion, around the edges of the room. In the corner, the face of a television set was blank. Someone had brought in Easter decorations; a basket filled with plastic eggs nestled in impossibly green paper grass. I wasn’t even sure when Easter fell this year, but it was doubtless coming up soon, unless these were left from last year. Two patients came in while I was waiting: a man with superficial contusions and abrasions from a bike accident (judging from his shaved legs and his bun-hugging Spandex shorts), and a woman with her right ankle sandwiched between ice packs. Both were taken into examining rooms in the rear, but probably placed on hold while the doctors dealt with Dolan.

Outside, the sun was shining and the town of Quorum was going about its business as though nothing unusual had occurred. It was odd having a medical emergency in the middle of the day. Somehow, in my life, crises of this sort always seem to happen in the dead of night. I couldn’t tally the number of times I’d been sitting in waiting rooms like this one while outside, city streets were deserted and shrouded in darkness.

Restless, I left my seat and wandered into the hall, where I asked a passing nurse for the nearest pay phone. I was directed to the hospital lobby, two long corridors away. I dialed Stacey’s home number, charging the call to my credit card. Two rings later, he was on the line and I was filling him in.

“How’s he doing?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t talked to the doctor yet. I wish I’d busted into his room when I first got there. I’m telling you, Stacey, his face was gray. He should have dialed 911 himself, but I think he was in denial. You know him.”

“This is ridiculous. You can’t do this alone. I’m coming down.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not well yourself. Just stay where you are. I’ve got enough on my hands.”

“I’m fine. Didn’t Dolan tell you? The docs showed my X-rays to some big muckety-muck and she says the shadow’s insignificant. I forget now what they call it, but it’s bullshit. Biopsy came back negative too so I got a clean bill of health.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. Why would I lie about a thing like that? I’m in remission. At least for now.”

“Lucky you didn’t blow your brains out last week. Wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“I just wish I hadn’t gotten rid of my all personal possessions.”

“I could have told you as much.”

“Speaking of which, I’d like to have my family photos back.”

“Forget it. Find another bunch. Those are mine.”

“Come on now, Kinsey. I’ll get duplicates made.”

“Quit wheedling. I don’t want duplicates. I want those. Anyway, you shredded Cousin Mortimer and he was my favorite.”

“You never even met him.”

“I know, but he had a good face.”

“You’re tough.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

“How about joint custody. Shared visitation. One week on, one week off.”

“Maybe,” I said. “You shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.”

“At least I had the good sense not to shred my tax returns. I could be in jail for life, however much of it I got left.”

“What about your clothes?”

“Those went last week. I’ll have to scour the Goodwill thrift store and buy ’em back.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Dolan swore you’d be fine. You should have listened to him.”

“What does he know? The man’s a mess. Didn’t I tell you he was heading for another heart attack? Talk about a time bomb.”

“I know. I told him the same thing, but there was no stopping him. What about you, are you really feeling okay?”

“Terrific. Full of beans. I’m determined to come down. Don’t know how I’ll get there, but I’ll find a way.”

“The doctor’s letting you drive?”

“Of course. It’s no business of hers. Problem is, I sold my car and let my license lapse.”

“Oh, no.”

“Well, I didn’t want to take the test again. I was sure I’d be dead.”

“What about the lease on your house?”

“Shit, I’d forgotten about that. Healthy, but homeless. What a turn of events. By the way, did Dolan tell you what happened here?”

“We never had a chance to talk.”

“Triple homicide this morning—woman, her boyfriend, and her kid shot to death. The ex-husband’s fled into the back-country, where he’s hiding out. All the SO guys have been pulled into the search. This guy’s a wilderness expert, a paramilitary type. No telling how long it’s going to take to flush him out. Forensics is still at the crime scene, which means they won’t get to us again until they wrap that up. Could be days.”

“So why hang around down here? Once Dolan’s out, I can drive us home in his car and that’ll save you the trip.”

“No way. I’m bored to tears up here. I got cabin fever so bad, I’m about to go insane. Besides, if you two come home, we’ll just have to turn around and go back again.”

“Assuming there’s a link between the Mustang and Jane Doe,” I said.

“Trust me, it’s there and Dolan thinks so, too. You been in business as long as we have, you develop a feel for these things. We’re getting close.”

“Actually, I’d agree. I talked to a dentist this morning who remembered her—someone like her, at any rate. He thinks she was one of the last patients he treated before he had to retire. The guy’s ninety-three now and couldn’t give me the name, but everything else he says seems to fit. I checked with the principal at Quorum High and he referred me to the alternative high school for problem kids. I haven’t had a chance to deal with that—I’d just stopped by the motel to give Dolan the news when I found him in the throes of this heart attack.”

“You hang on ’til I get there. Then we’ll put our heads together and decide what’s next. How will I find you?”

“I’ll be around somewhere. If I’m not at the motel, you can try me here. You know Dolan’s car. Just keep an eye out for that. This town’s so small you can hardly miss.”

“Let me get a pencil and paper and you can give me that address. As soon as I find wheels, I’ll be on my way.”

I gave him the name and address of the motel.

He said, “Do me a favor and reserve a room in my name.”

“Why not take Dolan’s? He’s already forked out the bucks for it.”

“Good plan. Let’s do that.”

“While we’re at it, I need you to do me a favor. Could you stop by my apartment and pick up my leather jacket before you hit the road? It’s hanging in my downstairs closet. I’ll tell Henry to let you in and he can show you where it is.”

“It’s that cold?”

“To me it is. You better be prepared.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman in scrubs come out of the treatment area with a manila folder in hand. “I think the doc just showed. I’ll call you back if there’s anything to report.”

Dr. Flannery, the ER physician, was in her late forties, small, with short, pale brown hair, a broad forehead, thin lips, and deep lines in her face. Her nose was a raw pink, as though she’d blown it a few times since she’d applied her makeup. She had a tissue in her pocket and she dabbed at it before she held her hand out. “Sorry. Allergies. I’m Dr. Flannery. Are you Mr. Dolan’s friend?”

We shook hands. “Kinsey Millhone. It’s actually Lieutenant Dolan.”

She checked his chart. “So it is.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s been stabilized, but he has a serious left coronary arterial blockage. We’ll be admitting him as soon as his paperwork’s done. I’ve spoken to his cardiologist in Santa Teresa and he’s suggested a cardiac surgeon he knows in Palm Springs. Dr. Bechler’s on his way now. As soon as he’s seen the patient and reviewed the EKG, the two of them will talk. I’m guessing they’ll insert a stent. The choice is Lieutenant Dolan’s, but that’s what I’d do if I were in his shoes.”

I made a face. “They’ll open his chest?”

The doctor shook her head. “They’ll run a catheter through a small incision in his left inguinal area and go up through the vein.”

“How long will he be in?”

“That depends on his progress. Not as long as you’d think. Two days.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course. I’ve plugged him full of morphine so he’s feeling no pain. The effect is about the same as a four-martini lunch.”

“Not unusual for him.”

“So I gathered. We had a little chat about that. I told him the smoking and heavy drinking would have to stop. He has to clean up his act around food as well. If you eat like he does, you should do the same yourself. QP’s with cheese?”

“He ratted me out?”

She smiled. “Make sure we know how to reach you. He’s listed you as next of kin, which means you’re cleared for visits if you keep it brief. You want to follow me?”

I tagged after her as she pushed through the door and padded down the highly polished corridor. When we reached Dolan’s cubical, she pulled aside the curtain on its overhead track. “I have a visitor for you.”

Dolan mumbled a reply. Dr. Flannery held up five fingers, signaling a five-minute visit. I indicated I understood and she withdrew. I looked down at Dolan. “How’re you feeling?”