It was October 9th. What's my name? That's not important.
What is important is that I was being followed. Of the top of my head I could name 14 reasons why I could be being followed. The most likely, I thought, was that I had taken too much of an interest in the Murton Murder Case - unsolved. Then my follower gave himself away. Not very professional.
It's all part of the job. What's my job? I'm a private detective.
My phone rang, unknown caller. It was a woman's voice. I politely told her that she must have the wrong number. She said she knew where I was going. She was right: the old Murton house. She said I better stay away from there. I said I'd take my chances.
The world is black and white. That is clear enough. All I have to do is tell the difference.
The gate to the Murton house grounds was a Gladsmith one-way lock, not designed to be placed on a bar frame. Amateur workmanship. That's how I got to the scene of the crime. Little did I know, things were just getting started.
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