Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G4CJD0VWFDFQVMM75WNSF

The rain had been falling on Ashwood since midnight Tuesday. Detective Margaret Hollis parked her car beside the iron gate. Yellow tape fluttered like ribbons tied around a dying tree. Inside the manor, a single lamp burned in the study. Lord Ambrose Whitfield lay slumped across his mahogany writing desk. A silver letter opener protruded from between his stiff shoulders. Margaret knelt, studying the victim without touching anything at all. Six crystal glasses stood arranged neatly upon the oak sideboard. Only five guests had been invited to dinner that evening. Someone uninvited had clearly joined them before the clock struck. Margaret stood slowly and reached for her worn leather notebook. The real investigation, she knew, would begin at first light.