Prologue
The black chevy truck waited outside the gates. It was a brief wait; the gates soon automatically rolled open. The truck drove up the pebbled driveway, shrubs and gardening equipment at the back.
Pine trees covered the driveway on both sides. Through the gaps of the trees, the driver could notice the Monroe Mansion illuminated in the moonlight.
The truck came to a halt and out stepped the driver, holding a polystyrene cup of coffee. He was middle aged, wrinkles clear on his face. His name was George Haskew, and he had worked at the estate for a long time. Haskew's hair was short and black, while his face was rugged with a large amount of stubble surrounding his upper and lower lips.
Haskew took a sip of his coffee; it had gone hold. Disappointed, Haskew put the cup back in the drinks holder in his car, before slamming the door shut. Haskew took a set of his keys out of his jeans pockets and moved around to the back of the truck. Releasing the back hatch of the truck, Haskew stroked his hair and reached for his tools, preparing for a night's work.
Two huge rotweilers appeared from the trees and ran over to Haskew. They had built a good relationship with him. One of them had a scar and was known as Mutt, while the other was known as Barky.
"How'd you boys get out?" Haskew rubbed his hands over the dogs faces, tickling them gently. "Hey?"
Barky and Mutt seemed to be ignoring him. They ran away through the trees and around through to a field leading up to the Monroe Mansion. Haskew ran after them. The rotweilers led him to the patio, where a table and six chairs were, in addition to a barbeque.
They then stood outside two glass French doors, which led to an indoor swimming pool. They barked and whimpered at something inside. Haskew walked over and tried the doors; they were locked tight. Looking through the doors, he didn't notice anything.
"What's the matter fellas?" He asked, oblivious to what the dogs were looking at. "Boys?"
They continued to whimper, so Haskew was intrigued to look in again, just to make sure he wasn't missing anything.
He looked again; he wasn't seeing things. The man was lying face down on the side of the pool in his red boxer shorts. He was dead.
