The Faded Alibi
The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung heavy in the corridor, a sharp, chemical tang that Arthur Penhaligon had come to associate with the smell of defeat. He sat in his small, windowless office at the Meridian General Hospital’s administrative wing, the fluorescent lights humming a low, persistent note that seemed to vibrate directly in his molars. On his desk lay a single sheet of...
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