The Golden Suspect
"Did you file the Hendersons under 'H' or 'He'?" Halloway’s voice was a dry scrape, like sandpaper on rusted iron, and it cut through the low, thrumming vibration that had been building in the filing cabinets since six o’clock. Elias looked up from the index card in his hand, the paper damp with sweat, and saw the supervisor standing in the doorway of the records room, arms crossed, his tie...
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