The grandfather clock struck midnight as Detective Sarah Chen entered the mahogany-paneled library of the sprawling Victorian Blackwood Manor. Lord Reginald Blackwood lay motionless on the Persian rug, a letter opener protruding from between his burgundy smoking jacket. Blood had pooled beneath his body, seeping into the intricate patterns of the carpet like spilled wine on linen. The French doors stood ajar, white curtains billowing inward as the October wind carried the scent of dying roses. Sarah knelt beside the corpse, noting the peculiar angle of the blade and the victim's oddly peaceful facial expression. A shattered brandy snifter lay nearby, its amber contents mixing with blood in a grotesque pattern across the floorboards. The victim's right hand clutched something small and metallic that glinted in the dim light of the crystal chandelier. Sarah carefully pried open his stiff fingers to reveal an antique pocket watch, its hands frozen at eleven forty-seven. Behind her, the library door creaked open and the butler appeared, his usually composed face now ashen with shock. "I've telephoned the constabulary as you requested, Detective Chen, though I fear they won't arrive for another hour."