In Chap­ter 77 of “We Solve Mur­ders,” the scene is set against the back­drop of Dubai, where the bright city lights are vis­i­ble through a panoram­ic win­dow. The chap­ter cen­ters on Rob Ken­na, who has three guns dis­played on his bed, each dif­fer­ing in size. Rob, seem­ing­ly engaged in some play­ful yet dark role­play, first picks up a small hand­gun, bran­dish­ing it as if to address some­one named Amy Wheel­er. He dra­mat­i­cal­ly blows across the bar­rel, mak­ing an exag­ger­at­ed shoot­ing sound, as if to assert his bold per­sona.

Tran­si­tion­ing to the next weapon, a com­pact machine pis­tol, he declares, “You defeat­ed the rest, Amy Wheel­er, but you just met the best,” while pre­tend­ing to spray bul­lets around the room, height­en­ing the the­atri­cal­i­ty of his actions. Final­ly, he grabs a sawn-off shot­gun, intro­duc­ing it with a boast­ful, “Wel­come to Dubai, Amy. It’ll blow you away,” fol­lowed by anoth­er cacoph­o­nous sound, “Kablam­mo!” Rob toss­es the gun back onto the bed, reveal­ing an eager­ness for the con­fronta­tion implied in his mono­logue.

His con­clud­ing remark implies a sense of deter­mi­na­tion: “You need a job done prop­er­ly, some­times you got­ta do it your­self.” This chap­ter effec­tive­ly sets up a fore­shad­ow­ing of impend­ing action, with Rob Ken­na prepar­ing him­self for what promis­es to be an intense encounter. Through his play­ful, yet omi­nous play­act­ing, the read­er can sense both his con­fi­dence and the stakes that may lie ahead, main­tain­ing a tone of sus­pense and dark humor. Rob’s antics high­light his com­plex char­ac­ter, com­bin­ing flam­boy­ance with an under­ly­ing seri­ous­ness as he gears up for an inevitable con­flict. This chap­ter skill­ful­ly inter­twines light-heart­ed brava­do with hints of ten­sion, estab­lish­ing a grip­ping atmos­phere that invites read­ers to antic­i­pate what comes next.

In Chap­ter 77 of “All the Col­ors of the Dark,” Patch finds him­self reflect­ing on Grace, a cul­tured girl with a pen­chant for bal­let, whose dis­ap­pear­ance has cre­at­ed a pal­pa­ble void. While observ­ing a notice­board filled with ads, he sees his own poster, fad­ed and worn, indi­cat­ing the pass­ing of time since Grace went miss­ing. The atmos­phere shifts dra­mat­i­cal­ly as he is unex­pect­ed­ly pulled into a white office by Sam­my, where they engage in a tense con­ver­sa­tion. Sam­my, char­ac­ter­ized by con­fi­dence and a slight­ly abra­sive demeanor, scru­ti­nizes Patch’s work and cri­tiques both his appear­ance and skills.

Their exchange reveals Sam­my’s rep­u­ta­tion as a drunk­ard and a cad, a term Patch learns denotes a gen­tle­man with ques­tion­able morals. Sam­my sar­cas­ti­cal­ly exam­ines Patch’s artis­tic tools and explains the fine art sup­plies laid out before them, includ­ing brush selec­tions and high-qual­i­ty Sen­neli­er oils, dis­parag­ing­ly sug­gest­ing how they might be wast­ed on Patch. The dia­logue con­veys ten­sion as Sam­my insists Patch will work in a bright stu­dio designed for seri­ous paint­ing, where he must repay his debts through labor.

Patch is tak­en aback by Sam­my’s sud­den offer, ques­tion­ing the motives behind his unex­pect­ed gen­eros­i­ty, espe­cial­ly con­sid­er­ing he dis­cov­ered Patch had stolen from him. Sammy’s reminder of the debt and the con­di­tion to work in silence in the stu­dio empha­sizes the grav­i­ty of their exchange. As Sam­my reveals the oppor­tu­ni­ty for Patch to make art in a seclud­ed space, he indi­rect­ly links it to the search for Grace, sug­gest­ing that find­ing her might hinge upon Patch’s abil­i­ty to bring her to life through his art.

The chap­ter encap­su­lates themes of loss, redemp­tion, and the trans­for­ma­tive pow­er of art as Patch grap­ples with the real­i­ty of his sit­u­a­tion, haunt­ed by mem­o­ries of Grace while being offered a chance to chan­nel that pain into cre­ativ­i­ty and per­haps, ulti­mate­ly, a reunion.