His fingers became still and then he pulled at a thatch of beard growing under his chin. "What makes you ask?"

"No reason. I'm just curious."

"I don't really care to say."

"Ah. My fault. Sorry. It's your business, of course. I didn't mean to step on your toes." I gave him my card, offering the standard line. "Thanks for your time. If you think of anything, will you let us know?"

"Sure."

"Can I ask one more thing? You think you're out for good?"

He considered my question and then smiled to himself. "I doubt it."

I stopped off at the hospital on my way into town. Stacey was back on 6 Central, in another private room located down the hall from the room he'd had before. When I glanced in, his bed was empty. Beside it, a wide window looked out on a view of the ocean, maybe two miles away, across the shaggy treetops. An occasional glimpse of a red-tile roof punctuated the thick expanse of green. The room was airy; spacious enough to accommodate a forty-eight-inch round table and four captain's chairs, where I found Dolan sitting with a tattered copy of Road & Track.

"Oh, hi. Where's Stace?"

"In X-ray. He should be back in a bit."

"How's he doing?"

"Don't know yet. What'd Rickman say?"

"Regrettably, not much." I filled him in on my conversation. "I think we can safely write him off. Probably Pudgie as well. He's cagey, but dumb, and I don't trust the combination. So now what?"

Dolan set his magazine aside. He wore a dark blue windbreaker and a Dodgers baseball cap. "Stacey never got a chance to call Joe Mandel to see if he can lay hands on Jane Doe's effects. Soon as he's got a minute, he's going to do that. Meantime, we thought you might have a phone chat with this C. K. Vogel fellow that Arne was talking about. You might try Directory Assistance –"

"Dolan, this is what I do for a living."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"I'll go down to the lobby and find a public phone. You want anything while I'm there?"

"I don't suppose they sell Camels in the gift shop."

"I don't suppose they do." When I got to the door, I hesitated. "What was Rickman in prison for?"

Lieutenant Dolan picked up his magazine and wet his index finger. He turned the page, paying close attention to a full-page ad for a fuel additive that required the presence of a blonde in a bathing suit. "Well, let's see. Molestation, sodomy, oral copulation, lewd and lascivious acts with a child. I'm surprised he wasn't killed in prison. As a rule, inmates don't have a lot of tolerance for guys like that."