The fog rolled thick across Blackmoor Estate's sprawling grounds, concealing secrets that had festered within these walls for decades. Detective Sarah Chen stepped carefully through the ornate front door, her trained eyes already scanning for clues and inconsistencies. Lord Pemberton's body lay crumpled beside his mahogany desk, a crystal paperweight gleaming ominously near his bloodied temple. The butler, pale and trembling, wrung his hands nervously while explaining how he had discovered his master's lifeless form. "Nothing appeared disturbed when I brought his morning tea," he whispered, voice quavering with barely contained shock and grief. Sarah noticed the study's French doors stood slightly ajar, cold autumn air stirring the papers scattered across the floor. A half-finished letter lay torn on the desk, its urgent handwriting suggesting Lord Pemberton had been interrupted mid-sentence. The grandfather clock in the corner had stopped at midnight, its pendulum frozen like time itself within this chamber.