The old mansion creaked as thunder rolled across black skies. Detective Sarah Mills studied the bloody footprints leading up stairs. A single candle flickered weakly against shadows in the parlor. Fresh crimson stains marked where Charles Byron drew last breath. The victim's wife sobbed quietly in a high-backed leather chair. Lightning illuminated the murder weapon, still clutched in his hand. Rain pelted window panes while officers searched the dimly rooms. Time of death was approximately three hours ago, they determined. Something about this scene felt wrong to Detective Mills tonight. The butler's alibi seemed perfect, perhaps a little too perfect.