The Golden Suspect
The rain hit the asphalt in a steady, gray drumbeat. It was the only sound in the precinct other than the hum of the ventilation units. Detective Elias Thorne sat at his desk. The room smelled of stale coffee and wet wool. He held a small object in his hand. It was a brass key. It was heavy and warm. The key belonged to the door of Unit 4B. It was the apartment where he lived. It was also the...
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