The rain lashed against the old Victorian house, the relentless drumming muffling any other sound. Detective Clara Mills stood in the grand foyer, her sharp eyes scanning the intricate woodwork and faded wallpaper. It was a house steeped in history—and murder.

The estate belonged to Dr. Gerald Whitman, a reclusive psychiatrist known for his eccentricities. Earlier that evening, his housekeeper had found him dead in his study, a letter opener protruding from his chest. No sign of forced entry. No witnesses. The police had already combed through the room, but Clara always trusted her instincts over procedure.

She approached the study cautiously, the door creaking as she pushed it open. Inside, the room was a study in chaos: books scattered, papers torn, and the scent of blood lingering in the air. Dr. Whitman sat slumped in his chair, his lifeless eyes fixed on the grand mirror mounted on the opposite wall.

"Why do they always stare at the mirror?" Clara muttered, slipping on gloves as she examined the scene.

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