Death of the Iron Eagle - Detective Simulator

[Diff Case Status Panel]

Date: 14 October 1923

Time Period: Day 1 Morning

Location State: 221B Claremont Street, your private detective office, rain lashing fog-frosted windowpanes

Inner Thoughts: [undecided]

Suspects: 0 unlocked

Evidence: 0 items held

Clues: 0 collected

Active Tasks: Complete case onboarding to launch the formal investigation of Sir Harold Rabin's death

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You set down your half-smoked cigar, gray ash tipping into the chipped porcelain ashtray perched on the arm of your leather chair, and tilt your head to track Police Chief Wilfred Henry as he shakes rain off his frayed wool umbrella.

He’s been on the force long enough to carry the weight of every unsolved case in the slump of his shoulders, and today that slump is deeper than most.

You’ve dealt with Wilfred for three years, long enough to know he only shows up at your office when the force’s red tape has tangled so tight he can’t cut through it himself—never when it’s a small case, never when he can pass it off to some overzealous rookie.

He trundles across your scuffed hardwood floor, the thud of his teak cane marking every step, and dumps the dripping coat he’s peeled off onto the rusted coat hook by the door.

The thick manila file he’s been clutching under one arm crinkles, its wax seal cracked from the force of his grip.

He drags the second leather armchair across from your desk around to slump into it, huffing as he settles, and thumps the cane against your desk leg hard enough to rattle your stack of cold case files.

“I told myself I’d never drag you into something this messy,” he grumbles, wiping a stray raindrop off his bushy gray beard.“But the city council’s foaming at the mouth.

They want this case wrapped before the end of the week, before word gets out that the Iron Eagle’s dead and half the West End gangs start carving up his territory.”

He shoves the manila file across your desk, it sliding to a stop right under your outstretched hand.

You can smell stale cigarette smoke and the iron tang of old rain off the paper, already knowing this is the kind of case that either puts you on every front page in Eldridge or dumps you in the Thames with concrete shoes.

Before you can pry the seal open, Wilfred clears his throat, switching from his gruff, familiar drawl to the stiff official tone he reserves for formal case requests, the mandatory onboarding steps he’s required to walk you through lingering on the tip of his tongue.