The Echo of Filth
Los Angeles in 1947 was a city of neon dreams and gutter realities. It was a place where the sun bleached the bones of the hopeful and the rain washed the blood into the storm drains. Detective Miller lived in a small office above a pawn shop, the air thick with the smell of stale tobacco and cheap bourbon. Miller had a "knack"—a psychic residue that allowed him to hear the "echoes" of a...
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