Barrow and the necromancer

It’s a cold, stormy night, and I sit at my desk, frustrated. “Ugh, I need coffee,” I groan. The office is a mess with only a single case file on the table. The file is the case of Maria de Clancy. She was found dead on a sidewalk next to her apartment. Her autopsy shows broken bones since she got off the building to kill herself. What’s worse is that I have to figure something else out, or all will indicate that it is suicide. Even if one suspects otherwise, they will have to conclude that way if no evidence is found. And now the whole department is on me to prove with non-existent evidence.

There is a knock on the door. It was my wife, Natasha.

She comes in and says, “Still working? I made you some coffee.”

My mind is blank until the last part, “coffee?, thank you, I needed it".

She looks at me, concerned; “you haven’t slept in two days; you need a break from this’’

I didn’t realize I’ve been here for that long. The only thing to keep track of is the several pots of coffee. She asks me to come downstairs for dinner. After dinner, like a strict nurse, she asks me to go to sleep. While sleeping, she holds me tight so I won’t go anywhere. I woke up the next morning to take a shower and look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t realize how tired I was, with heavy bags under my eyes, I looked like someone had punched me in the face. And I haven’t shaven in a while. I need to clean myself up. I have to take a break; tomorrow is another day.