“Gave me the fright of my life.” Rickard laughed.

The man weaved around Rickard, continuing to bring his mobile phone to his ear. Over his shoulder, he said, “Have a nice day, buddy.”

“You too,” Rickard said, as he pushed his key into the override control and flicked it to the extreme right and jabbed fourteen. Rickard’s fingers were trembling as he watched the man walk away to his Mercedes.

His shivering wasn’t fear. It was a release of the violence that had jolted through his system at the man’s appearance. The man had been a split second from having his windpipe collapsed before Rickard checked himself. He didn’t recognize the man as a tenant of the building, but he’d never socialized with any of them before, so he could very well be. What he had recognized was that the object in his hand was nothing more dangerous than a mobile phone.

The doors closed with a hiss and started the steady climb to his loft. The enclosed space was full of the man’s cologne. His back to the wall, he counted each floor as he passed, steadying himself. At twelve he let out a ragged breath as he felt the elevator slow on pneumatic brakes. Unlucky thirteen was never a factor in any hotel, and it wasn’t here either. The doors opened on to floor fourteen. He pulled out his key and moved out into the short corridor leading to his apartment. He could hear the soft strains of music wafting along the corridor. Amy Winehouse feeling sorry for herself for being no good. Interesting choice of music, he thought.

He inserted his key in his door, pushed it open silently and stepped inside. He couldn’t see Alisha anywhere in the open space of the living room. The music volume was high. Depressing song, but uplifting in its force. He closed the door and stood while the music throbbed around him. He inhaled. He could smell her. And something else. Cologne. It was as musky as it had been in the elevator.

He exhaled.

He wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe the scent had been carried in on his own clothes.

That was the plan, but he stalked quickly across the room and threw open the door that led to his bedroom. Alisha wasn’t there either. He checked the spare bedroom and the gymnasium, went back into his bedroom and checked the en suite bath. Empty. Steam and heat still permeated the air. Someone had showered recently. He checked the toilet. Then he backed out of the room and went through into the living room again. The cologne had dissipated, but its memory was still there. He noticed that the door to the roof was unlatched.