The rain fell hard on the cobblestones that Tuesday night. Inspector Morven stood alone beneath the old flickering gas lamp. Blood pooled beneath the red door of number seventeen tonight. The silver letter opener glinted inside the dead man's throat. Someone had turned off all the upstairs lights quite deliberately. Footsteps echoed from the dark alley behind the detective now. Morven reached for his pistol with his own shaking hands. The killer remained hidden somewhere within the heavy shadows nearby. Rain washed away the footprints leading toward the dark river. Only the dead man knew the whole truth about everything.