"Why does he need her? Maybe he's trying to move on after Mom’s death? Lyuba is around forty, she’s not old, though she works a desk job. Still, Dad always liked women with curves…"
His mother had passed away recently, six months ago. His father had quickly deteriorated; his already gray hair seemed even grayer, and he had lost weight too. He was 65 now and always worried about being forced into retirement.
– What would I do there? Sit on a bench with pensioners? – he often said.
At work, his age wasn’t really noticeable. He always wore his uniform, used the expensive cologne his wife had once given him, was always clean-shaven, and rarely wore glasses—mostly for effect, since his vision was still fine.
His eyes seemed very intelligent, his gaze light, but always intense or rather piercing. After his mother’s death, he didn’t drink much, but sometimes he would complain about the city prosecutor’s office, nitpicking over small things. Everyone understood the reason – the loss of his wife, and at his age, it was hard to bear. She had been a beautiful woman and, even at 65, managed to remain attractive. They had lived in perfect harmony. For the unmarried Alexey, they had always been a model to follow. It was a joy to watch those tender old folks together, but then his mother passed away, and Alexey cried a lot. He would often break down during meetings and… he frequently stayed late after work to cry alone. During the day, he was busy, and the pain wasn’t as sharp, but in the evenings… how he had come to hate the evenings! Over time, it became a little easier, or rather, the pain dulled. His mother had worked in the general prosecutor’s office, and she had once helped his father get his position there. When their son grew up, they sent him to law school as well. It’s hard to say what made him a great investigator – the law degree or his mother’s guidance – but the fact was, he became the best investigative prosecutor.
For some reason, he recalled something his mother had said when she was dying. She kept repeating, "If you love, shoot! If you love – shoot!"
“Why am I thinking of this? Oh well…”
He closed the file, tossed it into his desk, and left the office, heading to the reception area.
– Lyubochka…
– Oh, right, Lesha, here you go – she stopped watering the flowers on the windowsill and pulled an envelope from the desk.