London, 1897

"Detective Attwood! Detective Attwood!" Constable Timothy Jacobs called as a clap of thunder echoed across the sky.

"Let me guess, Timothy; There's been another murder?" Clayton turned to face his awkward intruder.

"Why, yes. How did you know?"

"Your tone of voice, Timothy. It's the same every time. Get my coat, lad, if you please?" Clayton grabbed his hat from its peg and opened the door.

"What's the address?" He called over the torrential rain.

"2183 Albert Road, a woman's been murdered, sir,"

"Well, lets go see the unlucky lady,"

~*~

Mrs. Mary Allison Chase had been murdered in her bed, presumably shot, and had died soon after. Clayton searched for a point of entry for a bullet near the window, since it had to have come from somewhere. There was a small hole, almost undetectable, in the bottom righthand corner of the window. Clayton glanced at the hole, then at the bed where Mrs. Chase lay.

"Is there an exit wound?" He said in his low, clear voice.

"Yes sir, below her right shoulder," The coroner, a frumpy man just shy of fifty, answered.

Clayton followed the path of the bullet, which lead to a dent in the headboard.

"Has anyone a pair of tweezers?" The coroner handed him a pair from his leathery black bag.

Carefully, Clayton pulled the lead projectile from the headboard.

"What's that?" Jacobs asked.

"It's the bullet that killed Mrs. Chase, Timothy."

Clayton glanced at the window again, noting a similar hole below the first. Two bullets, perhaps?

~*~

Inspector Pith sat with his feet resting on his desk. He stared at the small jar in his hand, the bullet clinked inside the glass. Pith frowned at Clayton.

"Awful way to go, don't you think? Shot in bed,"

"I can think of worse," Said Clayton as he poured the inspector a glass of brandy.

"True that. So, Attwood, what's going through that mind of yours?" Pith said as he drained the brandy in his cup.

"The bullet came from outside. We need to find where it came from. Jacobs!" Clayton called to the young constable, " I need you and Dawes to come with me to the house across the street to the Chase's,"

"But why sir?" Jacobs askes.

"To find our killer,"

~*~

"What are we looking for sir?"

"Are you dull? A bullet hole Timothy!" Dawes told him.

Clayton examined the window with Jacobs.

"I found it, sir!" Jacobs exclaimed.

"So did I,"

"Two? But there was one shot," Jacobs said, very confused.

"Sir?" Dawes bent down and scraped something off the floor with a penknife, "It's blood, sir,"

"Yes. It seems we need to have a chat with the owner,"