The night was dark and stormy as Detective Jack Reeves trudged through the alley. The body lay in a puddle, face down, blood pooling. Reeves turned it over. "Victor Novak, dead. The notorious art thief," he muttered. Novak's eyes were frozen in shock. His hands still gripped the priceless diamond he had just stolen from the museum across the street. The wily thief's luck had finally run out. Reeves sighed and radioed for backup. "I need forensics and a coroner at the scene of the crime." This case was already shaping up to be his toughest yet. As Reeves crouched beside the corpse, a glint of metal caught his eye - the murder weapon lying mere inches away. It was Novak's own gun, apparently. Suicide? No, not likely. Someone else had done him in. The detective pondered the suspects and motives as the rain pounded the pavement. The museum would want the diamond back badly. A rival thief may have killed to eliminate the competition. Or perhaps Novak's double-crossing partner or blackmail victim had settled an old score with cold-blooded vengeance. Reeves shook his head. The mystery of who murdered Victor Novak was just beginning. One thing was certain though - this was going to be one hell of a murder mystery to unravel on the mean streets of this gritty city. Reeves straightened his coat collar against the downpour and braced himself for the long night ahead solving this perplexing whodunit.<|end_of_text|>