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a graffiti artist, uses spray paint, dolled up his car so good it keeps getting stolen.”
    “He should take some color photos of the car, leave them stuck under a wiper blade. Maybe the thieves will be satisfied with a picture and leave the real thing at the curb.”
    “I’ll suggest that to Fedderman.”
    “Feds will understand.”
    “Like Occam.”
    Jody looked off to the side and thought for a moment. “No,” she said, “like Feds.”
    “Sometimes,” Quinn said, “you are eerily like your mother.”
    “That a compliment?”
    “A warning.”
    She took a long sip of her coffee. “Business will pick up,” she assured Quinn. “In this city, with all the dealing and stealing that has to be set right, Q&A will get its share. Maybe something by way of your friend Renz.”
    “I’d rather Renz not be involved. He complicates things.”
    “Still,” Jody said, “he’s the police commissioner.”
    “Occam with a beard,” Quinn said. “And unshaven scruples.”
    “Yeah,” Jody replied. “That’s more like normal life.”
    “If there is such a thing,” Quinn said, finishing off his orange juice. He licked his lips. “Any more of this in the fridge?”
    “Nope. Nothing cold except beer and bottled water.”
    “Let me think,” Quinn said.

3
    Medford County, 1984
    U mph! That couldn’t have been good for the baby. Abbey held onto the armrest and console so she wouldn’t bump around so much.
    Mildred turned the dusty white van onto a narrow dirt road, then hard left onto a gravel driveway that wound uphill through the trees. Clumps of dirt and stones clunked off the insides of the wheel wells.
    The driveway leveled off, and the van jounced over a yard that was mostly weeds and bare earth. Mildred parked in the shade near a ramshackle house with sagging gutters and a plank front porch. It needed paint so badly it was impossible to know what color it had been. Nearby, at the end of a curved walkway set with uneven stepping stones, was a wooden outhouse.
    “Don’t believe what ya see,” Mildred said. “We’ve had indoor plumbing a good while.”
    Abbey could only nod.
    “I’ll leave the motor running and the AC on so you’ll be comfortable,” Mildred said. She struggled down out of the van and slammed the door behind her.
    Abbey saw her go into the house, then emerge a few minutes later with a large cardboard box. The van’s rear doors opened. One of them squeaked loudly. Abbey craned her neck to glance back and see what was going on, only to find that the back of the van was sealed off by unpainted plywood, blocking her view. She could hear Mildred moving around back there, loading the box, or whatever it held, into the vehicle.
    After about fifteen minutes, gravel and leaves crunched and Mildred appeared outside the door on Abbey’s side. She opened the door.
    “C’mon down outta there, sweetheart. I wanna show you something.”
    “Is it important?” Abbey asked, remembering how difficult it had been to climb into the van.
    “I would sure say so.” Mildred smiled.
    Abbey didn’t have her seat belt fastened, because of the baby, so she swiveled her body awkwardly and controlled her breathing while Mildred’s strong hands helped her to back down out of the van.
    When she gained her balance, Mildred held her by the elbow and supported her while they walked to the back of the van. Both doors were hanging wide open.
    Mildred turned her so she could see into the back of the van.
    Abbey didn’t know quite what to think. The rear seats had been removed and there was black plastic covering the van’s floor. Clouded white plastic was stuck with duct tape to the sides of the van and to the plywood panel separating the rear of the vehicle from the driver and passenger seats. There was nothing else in the van except for a medium-sized cardboard box up front by the plastic and plywood.
    “Get in,” Mildred said.
    Abbey thought she must have misheard. “I beg your—”
    “In!”
    Mildred