The Pale Bonsai
The coat was wool. Gray. Heavy. It hung on the hook by the door of the interrogation room, a silent witness to the silence that had settled over the precinct. Elias Thorne did not look at it. He looked at the table. He looked at the steel. He looked at the two men across from him. One was young. The other was old. Both were tired. "You have the right to remain silent," the young man said. His...
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