In the quaint English village of Mossgrove, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows. Inspector Edmund Blackwood, his trench coat dry, entered the quaint pub. The warmth of the hearth greeted him. He requested a brandy. The bartender, a man of few words, served him. Blackwood sipped the amber liquid. The villagers, a mix of ages, gathered in hushed whispers. Among them, a young woman, her eyes wide, spoke of a strange sight. A body, she claimed. Found by the river. Blackwood's interest piqued, he asked, "What kind of body?"