Detective Miller stared out the large, rain-streaked window at the grounds of the isolated, foggy, sprawling, dark, stone country estate. He turned slowly from the glass to face the dark room and the quiet woman sitting quietly by the fire. A single candle flickered on the mantelpiece, casting long, dancing shadows across the blood-stained Persian rug on the wooden floor. Her pale eyes watched him with a mixture of fear, grief, and a hidden, calculating look of pure, cold malice. "You are finally here," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she clutched a velvet handkerchief tightly to her chest.