Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPR97CFRQA2X11YRW14ZTF

Rain hammered the greenhouse roof like impatient fingers on glass. Inspector Halloway ducked beneath a curtain of dripping fuchsia blooms. The body lay face down among shattered terracotta and soil. Someone had arranged white orchids in a circle around him. "Gardener found him at six," said Sergeant Voss, wiping rain. Halloway crouched, noting the absence of blood on the flagstones. No wound marked the skull, no bruise darkened the neck. The dead man's hands were clean, his fingernails immaculately trimmed. That detail bothered Halloway more than the flowers or silence. A gardener's hands should carry dirt beneath every single nail. "Who is he?" she asked, though she already suspected everything. Voss consulted his notebook, squinting through the gray morning light. "Edmund Ashcroft. He owned this house and everything surrounding it." Halloway stood slowly, her knees protesting the damp cold stone. Above her, the glass panes wept long streaks of water. Somewhere beyond the ferns, a door closed very, very quietly.