The relentless rain hammered against the stained-glass windows of Blackwood Manor with a furious, steady, cold rhythm. Detective Corrigan slowly stepped out of his sleek black car and onto the very wet gravel drive, sighing. A single old oil lamp burned dimly in one of the high, arched, and lonely windows nearby. The great, heavy front door then swung open suddenly without any warning or any sound at all. A stark, still silhouette stood silently waiting for him there in the deep, cold, empty shadows. The butler pointed a trembling finger toward the grand staircase where the body lay so very still.