Free Fall

I turned the sausage rings a last time, then took them off the grill and put them onto a maple cutting board. I sliced them at an angle, then put half the meat on my plate and a serious portion on a saucer for the cat. I blew on his to cool it. Pike went into the house and came out with two more Falstaffs and what was left of a loaf of rosemary bread. I took some of the salad and tasted it. Pike had made a dressing of soy sauce, rice vinegar, and minced garlic. I nodded. "Good."

He nodded back.

We ate without speaking for several minutes, and Pike didn't look happy. Of course, since Pike never smiles, it's sometimes tough to tell when he is happy, but there are ways. I said, "What?"

Pike picked up a piece of tuna with his fingers, took a small bite, then held out the rest to the cat. The cat stepped forward and ate with enthusiasm. Pike said, "I haven't seen Eric in many years."

"Was he good?"

"Yes."

"Was he honest?"

Pike turned his head and the dark lenses angled toward me. "If I saw it any other way, I wouldn't have ridden with him."

I nodded. "But people change."

Pike wiped his fingers on his napkin, then turned back to his meal. "Yes. People change."

We ate the rest of the meal in silence, and then we brought the dirty dishes into the kitchen and flipped a nickel to see who would wash. I lost. Midway through the load the phone rang and Joe Pike answered. He said, "Je

I took the phone and said, "Elvis Cole, Personal Detective to Je

Je

"Are you all right?"

"I called Mark, but he's not home."

"What about you? Are you all right?"

I could hear her breathe. She didn't say anything for a time, and then she said, "I'd like someone with me, I think. Would you mind?"

"I'm leaving now."

I hung up. Pike was staring at me, his glasses reflecting the kitchen lights. "Riggens paid her a visit. I'd better go over there."

Pike said, "This isn't going to work out the way she wants it to."

I spread my hands. "I don't know. Maybe we can make it work out that way."

"If Dees and Thurman and these guys are mixed up with Akeem D'Muere, it'll be ugly. She may find out something about him that she wished she didn't know."

I spread my hands again. "Maybe that's the price for being in love."

Pike said, "I'll finish the dishes."

I told him thanks, then I put on the Dan Wesson and drove to see Je

CHAPTER 14

Twenty-six minutes later I parked on the street across from Je

"Elvis Cole."

The door lock buzzed open and I went in and took the elevator to the third floor.

Je

Apartment 312 was down a long hall with a lot of shag carpeting and textured wallpaper and cottage-cheese ceilings. Je

I gave her the benevolent detective smile. "It's no trouble and you did the right thing by calling me." Maybe it was the six-pack-of-Falstaff smile.

She stepped out of the door and led me through an entry past her kitchen and into the living room. She was wearing an oversized white sweatshirt that hung low over black tights and white Keds te

"Okay."

"There was another man with Floyd, but I don't know his name. He was a police officer, also."

"What did he look like?"

"Bigger than Floyd, with very short hair. Blond."

"Pinkworth."

She nodded. "Yes, that's right. Floyd called him Pink but I didn't realize that was a name." She was trying to be brave and she was doing a good job.

"Did Floyd threaten you?"

She nodded.

I said, "Did they hurt you?"

"Not really." She made an uneasy smile, as if she didn't want to say anything that would cause trouble. "He sort of grabbed me a little, that's all. I think he'd been drinking." When she said it, she sort of brushed at her right arm. She wore the sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed above her elbows and on her forearm where she brushed there were angry red marks, the way there might be if someone grabbed hard and twisted.

I touched her forearm and turned it to look at the marks and a sharp pain throbbed behind my eyes. I said, "Floyd."

She took her arm back, and made a sort of dismissive laugh. "I don't think he meant to. It just surprised me, that's all."

"Of course." The throbbing pain was worse.

It was a nice apartment, with inexpensive oak furniture and the kind of large overstuffed couch and matching chairs that you would buy on sale at Ikea or Home Club. A Sony television sat on a long white Formica table opposite the couch, along with a lot of plants and a portable CD player. A little forest of photographs stood between the plants and Mark Thurman was in most of the photographs. Many of the shots were duplicates of ones I had seen in Mark Thurman's album but many were not. An enormous stuffed Garfield stood sentry by the dining room table and a half-dozen smaller stuffed animals rested on the couch. Everything was neat and clean and in its proper place. I said, "Why don't you sit, and I'll get something for us to drink, and then we can figure out what to do."

She shook her head. "I'm not helpless. Besides, the activity is good. Would you like a diet Coke or a glass of wine? I've got a Pinot Grigio."

"The Pinot."

She said, "You sit, and I'll be right back."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and went into the kitchen.

There was a pass-through between the kitchen and the living room so you could see from one into the other. I sat in the overstuffed chair at the far end of the living room and watched her get the wine. Je