Free Free Fall by Robert Crais Page A

adults.”
    “Jesus Christ, have you seen where he lives?”
    I spread my hands. “Has money seemed a little easier to come by?”
    “Ha.”
    “Has Floyd maybe hinted around that he has something going?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    I leaned forward and I lowered my voice. “If an officer crosses the line and someone aids and abets in that crossing, they can be charged. Did you know that, Ms. Riggens?”
    She drew on the cigarette and now her hands were trembling. “Are you telling me that Floyd has stepped over the line?”
    I stared at her.
    She stood up, dribbling cigarette ash. “I’ve had enough with that sonofabitch. I really have. I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”
    “Sit down, Ms. Riggens.”
    She sat. Breathing hard.
    “I’m making no accusations. I’m just curious. Floyd has a problem with the drinking. Floyd has a problem with the excessive-force complaints. Floyd has moneyproblems. Pretty soon problems become a way of life. You see how these things add up?”
    She crushed out the cigarette in the little beanbag ashtray and lit another. The first continued to smolder.
    “I’m not accusing Floyd, and I’m not accusing you. I’m just wondering if maybe you’ve heard anything, or noticed a change in Floyd’s behavior, that’s all.”
    She nodded. Calmer, now, but with eyes that were still frightened and weak. The look in her eyes made me feel small and greasy, and I wanted to tell her it had all been a mistake and leave, but you don’t learn things by leaving. Even when the staying smells bad.
    She said, “He’s been out of his mind ever since that guy died. The past couple of years have been tough, but since then has been the worst. That’s when he went back to the bottle.”
    I nodded like I knew what she was saying.
    “He was in AA before that, and he was getting better, too. He’d come over sometimes, we’d have dinner, like that.”
    “But then the guy died?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Well, everyone’s still thinking about Rodney King and this black guy dies when they’re trying to arrest him and then the family files a lawsuit and it was awful. Floyd started drinking worse than ever. He was angry all the time, and he’d blow up over the tiniest thing. They told me it was a stress reaction.”
    “About how long ago was that?”
    She gestured with the cigarette. “What was it? Three or four months?”
    I nodded. “Did Floyd feel responsible?”
    She laughed. “Floyd doesn’t feel responsible for hitting the bowl in the morning. I thought he was worried about the suit, but then the suit went away and I thought he’d relax. You know those suits cost a fortune. But he still stayed drunk all the time. Ericwould call and check on him to make sure he was holding it together. Things like that. Eric was a godsend.” Eric Dees.
    I nodded.
    “Floyd hasn’t been acting right since then. If he’s gotten himself mixed up in something, I’ll bet that’s why. I’ll bet it’s all part of the stress reaction.”
    “Maybe so.”
    “That should qualify for disability, shouldn’t it?”
    There were about ten million questions I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t ask them without tipping her that I wasn’t from LAPD. I patted her hand and tried to look reassuring. “That’ll be fine, Ms. Riggens. You’ve been a big help, and that will be in the record.”
    “Why don’t you people make him go back to AA? When he was in AA he was doing a lot better.”
    “Let’s just keep this our little secret, all right, Ms. Riggens? That way it looks better for you all the way around.”
    She crushed out the cigarette into the over-full ashtray and pushed ashes out onto the table. “Look, I don’t know what Floyd’s mixed up with, and I don’t want to know. I’m not aiding and abetting anything. I got enough to worry about.”
    “Sure. Thank you for your time.”
    I got up and went to the door. Margaret Riggens stayed at the table and lit