Chapter 6Professor Bernhard Vitol ripped open the door. “It's you again. What'd I do this time?”
“Need more info, Prof,” Maris said. The smell of stale sweat cascaded off the Professor, the tsunami of sour air olfactible to the n***d nose. “Get a patty with me? Do you good.”
The eyes shifted left, then right.
Peterson held up his hand. “Don't slam it on me. Three hots and a cot or a hot one with me on a bench. Which is it?”
The eyes dropped to the rumpled trousers, the ringed armpits. “Five minutes?”
“Three, and I'll be comin' in with a warrant at four.”
A deep sigh and the shoulders slumped. “All right, Detective,” the Professor said, and the door closed.
At two minutes, Maris scratched his head. He wouldn't…?
The Detective sprinted around to the back of the modest house, the outs
