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, 'Jennifer Sheridan.'
I took the phone and said, 'Elvis Cole, Personal Detective to Jennifer Sheridan.'
Jennifer Sheridan said, 'Floyd Riggens just left me. He was here with another officer. They said that I was going to get Mark killed. They said that if I didn't make you stop, something bad would happen.' Her voice was tight and compressed and the words came quickly, as if she were keeping a close rein, but just.
'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 Jennifer Sheridan.
Twenty-six minutes later I parked on the street across from Jennifer Sheridan's apartment building and buzzed her number on the security phone. The speaker came to life and Jennifer Sheridan said, 'Who is it?'
'Elvis Cole.'
The door lock buzzed open and I went in and took the elevator to the third floor.
Jennifer Sheridan lived in one of those stucco ant farms just off the freeway in Woodland Hills that caters to attractive young singles, attractive young couples, and the not-so-young-but-almost-as-attractive newly divorced. There would be a lot of grabass around the pool and something called a 'fitness room' where men and women would watch each other work out, but I guess it was a fair trade for a secure building at an affordable price in a low-crime area. Unless the cops were doing the crime.
Apartment 312 was down a long hall with a lot of shag carpeting and textured wallpaper and cottage-cheese ceilings. Jennifer Sheridan was peeking out of a two-inch crack in her door, waiting for me. When she saw me, she closed the door to unhook the chain, then opened it again. 'I'm sorry for calling you like that, but I didn't know what else to do. I feel so silly.'
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 tennis shoes. Comfortable. Just the kind of thing to be lounging around in in the apartment when Floyd Riggens came to call. She said, 'I tried calling Mark again, but there's still no answer. I left a message on his machine.'
'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.
