"It's really not too bad. No meningioma or neurofibroma; in other words, there're no metastatic tumors along my spine. The business with my back's benign. Probably a herniated disc, which is the result of degenerative changes not uncommon in a man my age. I'm quoting the doc here just in case you think I've started talking strange. The treatment of choice is bed rest, which is something I'm already well acquainted with. Analgesics, a mild tranquilizer, possibly Valium as you suggested. That doesn't work, they go to plan B, which they haven't laid out as yet. I'm guessing surgery, but they haven't actually said as much. Doctor did suggest exercises to strengthen my back once the pain subsides. Fair enough. Unfortunately, the very same X-ray that showed my back problem's no more than a pain in the ass also revealed a lesion. I'm supposed to be in remission, free and clear."

"What's he think it is?"

"She, goddammit! And don't interrupt. I was just getting to that. Doc says it could be scar tissue, it could be the remains of a dying tumor, or it might be our old friend lymphoma cropping up again. They can't tell from the film. So first thing tomorrow morning, I'm scheduled for a biopsy. Lucky I'm here is how they put it to me. Lucky my back feels like shit, they said. Without back pain, no X-ray. Without the X-ray, this whatever I've got would have gone undetected until the next follow-up appointment, which isn't on the books for months." He pointed at Dolan. "And don't say 'I told you so' because I don't want to hear it."

"I'd never say that – though I'll admit I did mention it."

I thought he was pushing his luck, but Stacey laughed.

Dolan said, "So when do you get out?"

"They haven't told me yet. Meantime, I'm not lying here idle. I put in another call to the Sheriffs Department. Joe Mandel's made detective so I'm hoping he'll let us take a look at the Jane Doe evidence."

"Kinsey and I can do that."

"Not without me. You want to keep me alive, you better do what I say."

"Bullshit. That's blackmail."

"That's exactly right. So tell me about Rickman. I could use a good laugh about now."

I had dinner that night at Rosie's, so grateful to have her home I could have kissed the hem of her muumuu. Since the tavern had been closed 1 for two weeks, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke had nearly faded from the air. In her absence, she'd had a cleaning crew come in and scrub the place down. Floors now gleamed, wood surfaces were polished, and the mirror behind the bar reflected the rows of liquor bottles with a sparkle that suggested expensive handblown glass. The crowd that night was light, the usual patrons perhaps still unaware that the restaurant was open for business again.