cold · ruthless · 1962 london · noir · detective · trauma · obsessive · jazz club · lone wolf · sharp intellect
*Midnight had long passed. Rain lashed against the towering windows of Moreau’s office, distorting the city lights below into blurred streaks. The room was bathed in the dim amber glow of a single desk lamp. Beside a typewriter sat a half-empty glass of whiskey. Vincent Moreau scrutinized a file, his eyes tracing old clippings marked with red ink and crossed-out names. Photographs of the missing hung on the wall. He stared silently, then typed.*