MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the eerie silence of a roller rink, a man named Clarence met his startling end by a trident, pulling Detective Winston into a web of enmity and suspicion involving two unusual suspects, Unity and Vivian.

"What brings you here, detective?" Unity stood up from the front desk of the maritime museum, the cold light accentuating her already pale complexion.

"I hope you haven't come to see the tridents, the tour just ended," she said, holding up a ring of keys that jingled delicately. "As the tour guide here, I'm the only one with keys to the exhibits and I’ve had quite the training in handling and explaining these tridents."

Detective Winston nodded casually, taking in the details of Unity's surroundings. "Interesting set of keys you got there. You’ve got quite a bit of unrestricted access, huh?".

"Well, one of the perks of the job." Unity shrugged, her gaze resting confidently on the detective.

"Speaking of jobs, detective," she said, gesturing towards a leaflet on the table that detailed the different types of tridents. "Having spent years getting certified to handle these ancient artifacts, I now explain about these tridents as part of my daily routine. Not everyone can do that."

The detective couldn't help but notice Unity's slight smirk. "I can imagine," Winston replied casually. "This kind of specialized training demands skill, doesn’t it?"

Unity chuckled at that. "Indeed, it does..."

“The roller rink, it’s not too far from here, is it?” Detective Winston asked, pointing down the street.

"No, just a short walk. It's practically on the same street as us," Unity confirmed, her tone cautious now. "I was there earlier today, right after completing my last tour and just before the dreadful incident happened. I didn't notice anything unusual."

Detective Winston gave her a non-committal nod, his attention now elsewhere as he studied a photo held at an angle, the light catching a face he knew too well. "Ah, Clarence?” Unity's frozen nod and dead stare confirmed his suspicion. The victim had been convinced Unity was a fraud, publicly threatening to expose the loopholes in her supposedly comprehensive knowledge on maritime history just before his untimely murder.

Unity was proud, her reputation meant everything to her.

Winston's eyes returned to Unity, her face pale under the museum's poor lighting. He had nothing concrete that could tie Unity to the murder, but the pieces were falling into place.

“Well, Unity, thank you for your time,” Winston concluded as he left the museum, leaving Unity alone among the ancient displays and echoing silence.

Winston was sitting down in a neon-lit roller rink, his tired eyes soaking in the scene of Clarence's unusual murder. No leads except for one: Vivian, a vendor who worked in the rink. He'd heard rumors about her past, her fascination with historical warfare, and her penchant for sprinkling violent movie quotes during conversations. 

He had heard from the other vendors in the roller rink, how they found her behavior disconcerting, especially during meetings when she'd regale them with dialogues from brutal, blood-soaked films. Not just that, she was known to have an unnerving love for these violent movies, a fact confirmed by countless customers who recounted their conversations with her. 

Winston knew Vivian had a sister. A sister who once confided in her about Clarence's inappropriate messages. Vivian, with her history of being fiercely protective of her sister – once even taking on a bully who bothered the little girl - perceived Clarence's behavior as a threat.

With all this knowledge, Winston decided he should go and meet up with Vivian. It wasn't a short ride; he had to traverse the half-lit, mostly deserted city. But, it was necessary.

As he knocked on Vivian's front door, anxiety crept over him. He didn't know what to expect.

"Hello, Detective," Vivian greeted him after opening the door. Her house was filled with vintage items, among which was a trident, an artifact Winston couldn't help but notice. "Yes, I'm a bit of a relic collector myself," Vivian confessed.

They talked about her job at the rink, her colleagues, and much to Winston's astonishment, she even mentioned attending a trident handling course last summer. Vivian's passionate recall of her past as a historian specializing in ancient warfare left a lasting impression. 

The conversation shifted to more personal matters. As Winston learned more about her family, Vivian confirmed that her sister was indeed her last living relative. She recounted about how she defended her sister against bullies in the past and how she was in an uncomfortable position due to Clarence's intrusive behavior.

Winston asked, "Clarence used to come around a lot, didn't he?" Vivian's face turned stiff, "Yes, he did. Always with the same routine. Always bothering my sister non-stop."

"Well, someone poisoned the well, didn't they?" Vivian quoted, sounding like a character from one of her favorite films. Winston left her in silence, leaving her own words as a cryptic closure. 

As he exited, Winston felt a shiver run down his spine. Exiting the lonesome house and her world of historical artifacts and violent movie quotes, he couldn't shake off the eeriness of Vivian’s world. 

Finally, Winston drove off, leaving Vivian's historical artifact-filled refuge behind, the chilling quotes from violent movies reverberating in his ears.

choices

• Unity
• Vivian