Dolan offered me one chair and settled in the other. While the two of them chatted, I studied Stacey. He had small mild blue eyes, pale brows, and a long deeply creased face. His color was good, though it looked as though he hadn't shaved for days. He seemed to be in good spirits and he spoke with all the vigor of an active man.

After some preliminary conversation, Dolan brought the subject around to the Jane Doe investigation. "I gave Kinsey the file to read. We thought we should talk about where we go from here. The doc still talking about letting you out tomorrow?"

"Looks that way."

The two of them chatted about the case while I kept my mouth shut. I don't know why I'd expected Stacey to resist Dolan's proposition, but he didn't seem at all opposed to our resurrecting the case. He said to Dolan, "Speaking of which, Frankie Miracle got out. His parole officer, Dench Smallwood, called me and said Frankie found a place in town. By now, he probably has legitimate employment."

"That'd be a first."

I said, "How does Frankie Miracle fit in? I remember his name from the file."

Dolan said, "He got picked up in Lompoc August 1, two days before Jane Doe's body was found. We always figured he was good for it, though he denied it."

Stacey spoke up. "He killed his girlfriend in Venice July 29 during a meth binge. He stabbed the woman umpteen times, then he helped himself to her car, and all her credit cards and started driving north. She was found a couple days later when neighbors complained about the smell."

"Dumb-ass signed her name to the charge slips every time he stopped for gas," Dolan said. "You'd think someone would notice a 'Cathy Lee Pearse' with no boobs, a mustache, and a two-day growth of beard." He shifted in his chair and then rose to his feet. "You two go on and get acquainted. Time for me to step outside and grab a smoke."

Once Dolan left, I said, "You have a theory why Jane Doe was never identified?"

"No. We expected a quick match, someone who'd recognize her from the description in the papers. All I can think is she wasn't reported missing. Or maybe the missing-persons report got buried in the paperwork on some cop's desk. There's probably an explanation, but who knows what it is? By now, it's unlikely we'll ever find out who killed her, but there's a possibility we can get her ID'd and returned to her folks."

"What are the chances?"

"Not as bad as you might think. Once enough time passes, people are more willing to speak up. We might tweak someone's conscience and get a lead that way." He hesitated, taking a moment to smooth the edges of his sheet. "You know, Con's wife, Gracie, died a while back."

"He mentioned that."