The woman who walked into my office at 3:47 on a Wednesday morning looked like she had been born in the wrong century. White lab coat, hair pulled back in a severe knot, eyes the colour of a parking l
I had been sitting in my chair with my feet on the desk and a glass of something amber in my hand, which is the position I have occupied for approximately six years, ever since I came back from the desert and decided that finding out what happened to people was still a thing I could do, even if it was now a thing that involved missing wives and insurance claims rather than what it used to...
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