The heavy rain lashed against the windows of Blackwood Manor, a fitting backdrop for the chilling discovery that lay within. A flickering lamp illuminated the study, casting eerie shadows on the Persian rug and mahogany desk. Detective Miller, a seasoned but weary investigator, stood over the body, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. "A gruesome sight, indeed," Mrs. Blackwood whispered, her face a mask of shock, though he suspected it might be feigned. The air itself felt thick with intrigue, each droplet of rain a constant reminder of the life draining from the lifeless victim. "He was a recluse, Inspector," she continued, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, "But he wouldn't hurt a fly." Mr. Blackwood lay crumpled on the floor, a single bullet hole marring his pristine forehead. His eyes stared blankly at the heavy ceiling, still and lifeless as the gargoyles adorning the roof outside. "Strangest thing..."said Miller, staring at the engraved letter opener in the corner, conveniently out of reach, "He had a rather pointed reaction to...