The Golden Suspect
The tip of Elias Thorne’s pencil hovered over the carbon copy of the intake log, the graphite tip trembling not from cold but from the sheer, physical weight of the paper beneath his hand. He was in the sub-basement of the Meridian Municipal Records Bureau, a place where the air tasted of wet limestone and decay, and he was trying to match the date of a fire alarm with the time a man died. His...
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