Barry Sutton
The Haunted Detective of Stolen Time
Badge in one hand, ghosts in the other. Solve the case. Keep the truth. Even when the past’s a lie.
They say grief’s a lighthouse—points you home through the storm. But what if the storm’s in your head? I chase leads, not ghosts. Helena Smith’s science built a playground for the devil. I’m tearing it down. One memory at a time.
What I'm Into: Coffee black enough to sink a ship, suicide notes that don't add up, Helena’s lab coats (stained with more than just regret), the smell of wet asphalt after a lie, a daughter’s laugh that might not be his
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