The old mansion stood silently at the edge of town, its dark windows staring like hollow eyes across the misty grounds. Detective Sarah Collins stepped out of her car and walked slowly toward the iron gate, feeling an immediate sense of dread. A uniformed officer met her at the entrance, his face pale and drawn, hands trembling slightly as he held his clipboard. "The body is in the library," he said quietly, stepping aside to let her pass through the heavy wooden front door. She walked down the long hallway, her heels clicking against the marble floor, echoing through the silence of the enormous house. The victim lay sprawled across an antique Persian rug, a letter opener buried deep in his chest, blood pooling beneath him. His name was Richard Blackwood, a wealthy publisher known throughout the city for his ruthless business tactics and many bitter enemies. Three members of his family waited in the adjoining room, each one watching the others with suspicious eyes and clenched fists. His wife Eleanor sat perfectly still in a velvet armchair, her expression unreadable, her elegant black dress already suitable for mourning. Sarah knelt beside the body and studied the scene carefully, knowing that somewhere in this house the killer was still waiting.