Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA83WVQ7DATZKAK1S8KE1W

Rain stitched the harbor's silence. Fog draped windows in gauze. The clock's hands refused morning. Detective Mara Finch disliked waiting. Coffee cooled beside untouched pastry. The call finally came through. Wharfmaster's voice sounded rehearsed, thin. "It's bad, you'd better hurry." She grabbed gloves and walked. Sirens braided streets with impatience. Dock fourteen waited like gallows. The body rocked with tide. Nets embraced him like penance. His suit glimmered with oil. Eyes stared, rinsed of color. A ring clung to finger. It bore a chipped lighthouse. Mara knelt, blessing the boards. She sniffed kelp and diesel. Another smell threaded between them. Copper, cloves, and something floral. Reporters gathered, gulls as chorus. The wharfmaster wouldn't meet eyes. "Name?" she asked, pen hovering. "Harlan Dykes, shipping union treasurer." A gull dropped sudden quiet. Mara noted bruises like constellations. Rope burns cuffed his wrists. Wallet dry within soggy jacket. Pockets empty, seams recently tampered. She tasted rain and questions. Patrolmen whispered about unfortunate accidents. The sea answered with thudding. She lifted his lapel gently. A smear glittered like lipstick. Not lipstick, boat flare residue. Someone signaled, not for help. "Who found him?" Mara asked. "A kid from bait shop." The kid shook like canvas. He pointed at mooring cleats. One rope was strangely pristine. Storms scuff every rope here. Someone replaced this one recently. Engines coughed on distant trawlers. A camera clicked like metronomes. Mara pocketed the chipped ring. Evidence bag rustled like surf. "You'll inform his family now?" The wharfmaster winced, then stalled. "They already know he's missing." Missing yesterday, not this morning. He lied about first sighting. Gulls tattled with greedy laughter. Mara straightened, rain finally easing. Harbor bells tolled their patience. Somewhere, a lighthouse blinked twice. Twice meant storms or warnings. She read it as promise. Someone planned this high tide. Evidence would float from hiding. She watched eddies like calendars. The sea kept strict appointments. So did careful, patient killers.