The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the windowpane of the interrogation room, a grey curtain of mist that blurred the world outside into a smear of industrial decay. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat in the steel chair, his hands cuffed to the armrests, the metal biting into his wrists with a cold intimacy. He was not looking at Detective Arthur Vance, who stood by the door with a...
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel drive of the Ashworth estate into a slick, black river that reflected the dying light of the afternoon. I stood at the threshold of the grand foyer, my boots caked in mud, my uniform still bearing the scent of ozone and copper from the shift I had just left behind. The house was a beast of stone and shadow, a Victorian monstrosity that...
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