The Golden Suspect
The brass badge was warm, a small, hard thing against the palm, and Elias Thorne turned it over for the hundredth time that hour, watching the rain slide off the polished surface in the precinct lobby. Chief Miller stood by the reception desk, his arms crossed, his face a mask of professional disapproval that had not cracked in twenty years of service. "Sergeant," Miller said, his voice low and...
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