PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
‘Did she live alone?’ Franks scanned the dressing table: wrinkled takeaway pizza, an open bottle of wine, the usual female detritus that reminded him of his mother’s bedroom.
Laurie peered down at his notepad, mole-like eyes almost vanishing into his plump face. ‘No, sir. And never married.’
Never will now.
He glimpsed her in the mirror, arm splayed across the pillow, eyes turned to the door, as if expecting someone. Her hair was only just silvering.
‘Keep me informed of the lab results.’ He sloughed off the latex gloves like shed skin, gratefully heading for the door, the traffic buzz.