the detective doffs his hat,observes the petrichor rich in the air -the window’s left open, careless,it rained last night, a real deluge,someone tells him.he slips into a state of accismus,observes the patterns of the uxoricideto which he was called and askedto solve.some overlord’s hand at work, he thinks,builds a profile,watches for someone to confecttheir story.