Free Free Fall by Robert Crais

the front yard and stepped out of the door to let me in. I guess visits by guys like Pete Simmons were an inevitable and expected part of her life.
    We went through the living room into an adjoining dining area off the kitchen. The girl who had come in before me was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, watching
Geraldo
and reading a copy of Sassy magazine. There was a hard pack of Marlboros beside her and a green Bic lighter and a big clay ashtray that looked like she’d made it in pottery class. She was smoking. Loud music came from the back of the house, but there was a muffled quality to it as if a door was closed. The music suddenly got louder, and a boy’s voice screamed, “I told you to stay out of my room, you little shit! I don’t want you here!” Then the boy came out of the back hall, pulling the younger girl by the upper arm. He was maybe sixteen now, with most of his father’s growth, and she was maybe six. The little girl’s face was screwed up and she was crying. The boy shouted, “Mom, make her stay out of my room! I don’t want her back there!”
    Margaret Riggens said, “Jesus Christ, Alan.”
    I said, “You’re holding her too tight. Let go.”
    Alan said, “Who in the hell are you?”
    The little girl was staring at me. “You’re hurting her,” I said. “Let go.”
    Margaret Riggens said, “Hey, I don’t need any help with my kids.”
    I was looking at Alan and Alan was looking at me, and then he suddenly let go and bent over the little girl and screamed, “I
hate
you!” He stomped back down the hall and the music went soft as the door closed. The little girl didn’t seem too upset by what had happened. Guess it happened so often she was used to it Probably even a game by now. She rubbed at her arm and ranback down the hall. The music didn’t change pitch, so I guess she went into her own room.
    Margaret Riggens said, “These kids,” then stooped down, took a cigarette from her older daughter’s pack, and turned away to sit at the dining room table.
    I said, “Maybe it’d be better if we had a little privacy.”
    Margaret Riggens used a book of paper matches to light the Marlboro, and put the spent match in a little beanbag ashtray she had on the table. “Is Floyd going to get fired?” Guess the privacy didn’t matter.
    “No, ma’am. This is just follow-up on a couple of things.”
    “That alimony is all I have. He pays it on time. Every month.”
    I took out the little pad I keep in my jacket and made a big deal out of taking that down. “That’s good to hear. The Department frowns on a man if he ducks his responsibility.”
    She nodded and sucked on the cigarette. Out in the living room, the oldest girl was sucking on a cigarette, too.
    I tried to look sly. “We hear enough good things like that, and it makes it easy to overlook a bad thing. Do you see?”
    She squinted at me through the smoke. “I don’t understand.”
    I made a little shrugging move. Conversational. “Everybody thinks we’re looking to chop heads, but that’s not true. We hear a guy does right by his family, we don’t want to throw him out in the streets. We find out he’s gotten himself into trouble, we’ll try to counsel him and keep him on the payroll. Maybe suspend him for a while, maybe demote him, but keep him employed. So he can take care of his family.”
    She drew so hard on the Marlboro that the coal glowed like a flare. “What kind of trouble?”
    I smiled. “That’s what I want you to tell me, Ms. Riggens.”
    Margaret Riggens turned toward her older daughter. “Sandi. Shut off the TV and go to your room for a little while, okay?”
    Sandi gathered up her things, then went down the same hall the other kids had used. Margaret turned back to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “You and Floyd talk?”
    “Maybe once a week. There’s always something with one of the kids.”
    “He’s supporting two households, Ms. Riggens. Kids need things. So do