The Distant Clue
The rain in Chicago did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the gray streets into mirrors for the broken windows above. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Halsted and 14th, watching a pair of starlings pick at a discarded apple core, their feathers iridescent and sharp against the dull wet pavement. He had been waiting for the car for three hours. He had been...
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