"So?" you ask. "It's just that Lori Matthews apparently was into that stuff," you continue. "I thought I should take a look around. You know, cover all the bases."
"I see," he says.
He rubs his chin, pensive.
Is he trying to remember? Or is he trying to decide whether he should tell you?
"There's one on 34th and Central. I'd start there," he says finally.
You note down the address. "Got it. Perfect."
Before he terminates the connection, Torvald looks away, at something outside the frame. He shakes his head slowly, like he's feeling sorry for you. "You PIs," he says. He doesn't finish his sentence.
"Excuse me?"
"I would be careful where I stick my nose, if I were you, André Timoteo."
Was that a warning? Or a threat?
He hangs up before you make up your mind.
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