A chilling wind whipped through the oak trees, whispering secrets across the manicured lawns of Blackwood Manor. The wrought iron gates creaked open, revealing a scene of opulent tragedy bathed in the grim glow of the setting sun. Detective Inspector Alistair Finch stepped from his car, his trench coat flapping dramatically behind him, eyes narrowed against the encroaching darkness. Rain began to fall, splattering against the glistening cobblestones and obscuring the distant mountain silhouette. A lone figure stood by the grand entrance, their face half-hidden by the brim of a wide-brimmed hat, shoulders slumped with an air of profound despair. The air crackled with unspoken tension, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife as Finch approached the quivering silhouette.