Last Man's Head by Philip Cox Read Free Book Online

address the driver.
    ‘I wondered if you had a problem finding the house,’ he called out.
    ‘You could say that.’
    ‘Especially on a night like this. Not easy to find at the best of times. Come with me. You’re getting wet.’
    The man with the umbrella leading, they both walked into the house. Once inside, they went into what seemed to be a sitting room, but one from a different age. With the exception of a large flat screen television in one corner, the room was decorated and furnished as if it was the 1930s.
    ‘Take a seat.’ He shook the umbrella, folded it, and placed it in a rack. ‘Would you like a drink?’
    ‘Er – just water, please.’
    ‘Nothing stronger?’
    ‘Driving. And bad night out.’
    ‘Of course. Still or sparkling?’
    ‘Still, please.’
    The host left the room and momentarily brought in a glass of water. Handed it over, and sat down on a couch opposite the man. He looked at his watch. ‘I understand why you were late,’ he said, ‘but it does mean we don’t have as much time. You don’t anyway.’
    ‘No problem. I understand.’
    The host looked around. ‘You could save time by seeing her in here. Rather than in one of the bedrooms. If that’s okay with you.’
    ‘That’s okay by me.’
    ‘Would you like her blonde, or brunette?’
    ‘Er – blonde I think.’
    ‘Black or red?’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Wearing black or red?’
    ‘Black.’
    The host stood up. ‘Can I ask you to wait in the other room through there?’ He indicated to a door. ‘She will call you when she is ready for you.’
    ‘Okay.’ The other man got off the couch and went into the other room, closing the door behind him. This room was sparsely furnished, although in contemporary style. He sat on a black leather desk chair. Checked his watch: it was almost ten.
    He must have been waiting five minutes when there was a faint knock on the door.
    ‘Are you ready?’ said a quiet voice. The door was opened slightly.
    He slowly stepped back into the sitting room. The main light had been switched off; now the only illumination was from a small desk lamp. He closed the door behind him and looked over at the woman.
    In the low light he could make out she was blonde, or at least not brunette. Her hair was shoulder length. She was wearing a shiny black dress, low cut and finishing just below her crotch, black lacy stockings. She was standing with one arm on her hip, the other on one of the couches.
    ‘He told you we don’t have much time, didn’t he?’ she asked, in a low, whispery voice.
    ‘Er – yes. He did.’
    ‘Better get started then. Come over here.’ Running an index finger over the top of the couch, she took two steps round and sat down. She looked up at him and indicated for him to join her, but as he was about to sit down, she stopped him so he was now standing in front of her.
    She took a deep sigh and reached over to him. He was already aroused and she began to massage the bump in his pants.
    ‘We do have some time,’ she laughed softly.
    She massaged him some more, then unzipped his pants. He let out a cry, and put both hands on her shoulders for support. He closed his eyes tightly, enjoying the feeling. Opened them and looked down at her, working on him.
    Then his eyes opened wide.
    ‘No,’ he panted. ‘No way.’
     
     

TEN
    It took Leroy twenty minutes to make the nineteen miles from Clover Park to meet up with Russell Hobson.
    The medical examiner was based in one of the criminal laboratories in the Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center on Paseo Rancho Castilla, just west of Monterey Park, and adjacent to California State University. Since 2007, and after two years’ construction and costing slightly over $80 million, the imposing concrete and red brick building had been the home to the Los Angeles Crime Laboratories.
    Leroy headed off the freeway and shortly pulled up at the barrier. Showed his identification to the guard who raised the barrier, and directed him over to a