The String Slicing
The numbers started appearing the week the third physicist killed himself. Jack Callahan noticed them in the mirror of his office above Sunset Boulevard. Crimson digits, pulsing: 31:14:07. Thirty-one days, fourteen hours, seven minutes. He blinked and they were gone. He told himself it was the bourbon. The Whittingham case had been running him into the ground for three weeks. But the numbers...
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