The morning fog clung to the cobblestones, shrouding the village in an eerie silence. Inspector Grey stepped out of his car, his trench coat flapping in the breeze. The local constable, a stout man named Thompson, greeted him with a nervous smile. "The body was found early this morning," Thompson said, leading Grey towards the scene. A small crowd had gathered, whispering among themselves, their breath visible in the cold. Grey pushed through the onlookers, his eyes scanning the faces for any sign. The victim lay in the center of the square, a pool of blood around him. "Stabbed multiple times," Thompson murmured, his voice trembling slightly with a mix of fear and disgust. Grey knelt beside the body, examining the wounds with a practiced, clinical detachment. "Any witnesses?" he asked, his tone calm, yet commanding the constable's full attention. Thompson shook his head, his eyes darting around the square, searching for any leads. "No one saw anything," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with frustration. Grey stood, his gaze sweeping the area, noting the details with meticulous precision. A nearby shopkeeper, an elderly woman with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, stepped forward. "I heard something, Inspector," she said, her voice quivering, yet determined to help. Grey approached her, his expression softening slightly, encouraging her to continue her tale. "A figure, cloaked in black, ran past my window just before the scream," she recounted. Grey nodded, making a mental note, his mind already piecing together the puzzle. "Thank you, madam," he said, turning back to Thompson, his eyes narrowing in thought. "We need to canvas the area," Grey instructed, his voice firm, setting the course of action. Thompson nodded, rallying the constables, as Grey began his meticulous investigation of the crime.