Last Man's Head by Philip Cox Page B

doors, along the length of the kitchen was a granite work surface; once he switched on the light, he could see a half-full bottle of Merlot standing next to a blender. Next to the sink, upside-down draining was a wine glass. He poured her a full glass and took it out to her. She took it and downed half the glass.
    ‘Would you like one yourself, Detective?’ she asked. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
    ‘No thanks. It’s late, and I have to be at work early tomorrow.’
    She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
    ‘Some other time perhaps,’ he added.
    She looked into her glass, but said nothing.
    ‘Anyway,’ said Leroy. ‘You’re home safe now and those two guys are locked up. I’ll leave you to it.  Here’s my card.’ He handed her one of his business cards. ‘Call me if you need anything. Don’t worry,’ he added as she began to get up, ‘I’ll let myself out.’
    As he put his hand on the door handle, he turned round.
    ‘Don’t drink too much of that tonight. You need to be fully alert tomorrow when you make your statement. You won’t forget to go in the morning, will you?’
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, sounding more alert.
    ‘One more thing,’ Leroy said. ‘You need to change that alarm code. Four zeroes is the factory setting; you need to change it to a proper code. Do you know how to do that?’
    ‘I have instructions somewhere,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. And thanks for saving me from those guys.’
    ‘No problem.’
    ‘And walking me home.’
    ‘No problem.’
    Leroy gave her a brief smile and left the apartment. As he walked down the stairs, he heard Julia fasten her safety chain and double lock the door. He left the building and started the fifteen minute walk back to his own place. When he got back home, he noticed that the SUV had gone. Feeling satisfied, he let himself in, and walked up to his own apartment.
    It was now just after midnight. He groaned as he knew he would have to be up early the next morning. As he lay in bed, his mind drifted back to Julia Moore’s apartment. There was something about it he could not quite put his finger on, an adjective he was seeking. It was relatively small, the door opening directly onto the living room; the kitchen was off the living room. Presumably the other three doors were the bathroom, the bedroom, and a closet. It was very neat and tidy: a plush cream carpet, the furniture was modern and tasteful. The walls were painted a shade of pink, with floral patterns stencilled on in a darker shade. There was a small bookcase containing only a few books, and a couple of framed portraits on the top shelf. On a small table was a television; not a particularly big or sophisticated set. A couple of mirrors and a painting of a landscape on the walls. There was a small glass dining table on which were a closed laptop and a vase of flowers. He noticed another vase of flowers in the kitchen. Although only she sat on the couch, he could tell it was soft and comfortable. Very homey.
    No, he thought; homey wasn’t the word. Now almost asleep, he finally found the correct word to describe the apartment.
    Feminine.             
     
     

TWENTY
    In spite of the previous day’s late night, Leroy was back at his desk by seven-thirty the next morning. Two other detectives, who were working on different cases, were also at their desks. Leroy exchanged greetings with them, and looked around for Domingo, but she had not arrived yet.
    As he logged onto his computer, he took a bite from the bagel and a sip from the paper cup of coffee he had bought on the way in. His breakfast. He looked around the almost empty office. For it to be this quiet at this time of the day was unusual. True, some of his colleagues may be out already, but he couldn’t help feeling that the pace had slackened since their old lieutenant had moved on. In theory, Captain Patterson was overseeing the department until the new lieutenant took up his post, but he seemed to be doing