MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

In the heart of a verdant rainforest, Isla had tragically met her end by a lead pipe, prompting Detective Winston to start sifting through the eerie silence, with Jesse and Brian as the prime suspects.

Winston had barely finished his coffee when he received the call. It was his day off, a rare occasion in the life of a hardened detective, but duty didn't respect quiet mornings or coffee. The unfortunate murder of Isla had occurred on his watch and it was up to him to untangle the clues left behind.

He found himself standing in a vast rainforest. The very place where Isla met her untimely demise. His experienced eyes scanned the area before landing on a familiar figure. It was Brian, the janitor, seen at all hours, obsessively stalking Isla. It was just his luck that he was wiping away the forest's mess on the same day Isla was murdered.

"Brian," Winston nodded in his approach.

"Detective," Brian glanced over, he had the sort of look about him that suggested countless solitary hours, only interrupted by the hustle of cleaning. 

"I've been hearing you're no stranger to dealing with broken things." Winston observed Brian's hands that were well-versed in handling tools: hammers, wrenches, even lead pipes. His workspace, a vast and meticulous orchestration of order amidst chaos, was proof of that.

"Mmm, yeah." Brian's face softened. A chase of a memory flickered over his face of all the times he had publicly declared his deep love for Isla. "Isla was one of those broken things. I thought I could fix her. My love her was no secret. I couldn’t live without her,” he confessed his frequent late night contemplations. 

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Winston resumed his careful perusal of Brian’s workspace. His attention was drawn to eerily similar lead pipes, ones that resembled the murder weapon the most. They were common in Brian's line of work, not only for the miscellaneous repairs but also to manage some uncontrollable burst pipes.

"Managed to fix a burst pipe, haven't you Brian?" Winston queried, but pondered, could that skill have escalated to the darker realms?

"Many of them, to be exact. That one over yonder nearly ruined my workspace." Brian chuckled, pointing at a spot behind Winston.

"And yet you're here, hours after word gets out about Isla…”

“It’s been a decade, detective. A decade plus of working in this rainforest and Isla was…” Brian's voice hitched a moment, "...she was everything. I couldn't live without her."

Just then, a soft rustling filled the silence. To Winston's surprise, the lights of Brian's obsession with Isla emerged. He intuitively directed Winston five steps to the left. A moment later, a large tree branch came crashing down exactly where Winston had stood, a product of the lush, unpredictable rainforest Brian had been maintaining for over a decade.

"Thanks. I suppose you know this place, like back of your hand, huh?"

"Yeah. Comes with the territory."

Winston repeated his mantra mentally. Every suspect is just a character until proven guilty. As he wound his way back, the very last thing his purposeful steps echoed in Brian's lonely world was when Isla’s public rejection had embarrassingly stung Brian.

But facts were facts. A man, admittedly obsessed with a woman, now found murdered in a place he had called home for a decade, at a time he definitely was present. A man who liked to fix things, had access to tools, especially lead pipes. All facts, all cataloged. But Winston was far from writing the end to this chapter. As the detective stalked off, his mind was already moving, spinning, weaving another part of this tragic story.

Winston was alert to the rustling sounds of the rainforest, conscious that this deceptively peaceful location hid a sinister secret. A murder had taken place here and Isla, a devoted member of a local club for enthusiasts of unsolved crimes, was the victim. Her lifeless body, found under a fallen tree, and a near-by lead pipe marked the tragic remnants of an unsolved crime. Winston was compelled to uncover the truth, especially as he was cognizant of a deep, dark secret that Isla had discovered: Jesse, the president of their club, was involved in illegal activities.

Jesse's name was constantly mentioned during the initial investigations. He was no ordinary member of the club, he was the president and also a famed drummer. His rhythmic skills had not only provided him with a lifestyle most would envy but also a sizable disposable income, leading to his immense respect and love from his community. Jesse was known for having a lot of free time, especially on the weekends. Jesse became Winston's next stop in the investigation.

Ignoring the pulsating heat of the afternoon, Winston headed to Jesse's house. Guided by the rhythmic sounds of a drum that echoed in the stillness, he made his way. As he neared, the drumming ceased and Jesse's piercing gaze met him.

"Detective Winston," Jesse rose to his feet, "I've been expecting you."

"Expecting me?" Winston asked, a raised eyebrow almost disappearing under his cap.

"Yes, I heard about poor Isla," Jesse replied, a flicker of sadness crossed his face.

Jesse was a frequent visitor of the rainforest during his free weekends, a place he went seeking inspiration for his musical compositions. "Rainforest vibes, man, they produce the best drum solos," he said, crediting his most impressive works as a drummer to the time he spent in the rainforest, jotting down notes in his notepad.

Suddenly, his phone rang and he seemingly needed privacy for the call, returning after a few minutes looking flustered. Winston noted this change but didn't comment.

Jesse began to discuss the club. He described it as a casual group that met every fortnight to discuss famous unsolved crime mysteries, watch documentaries, and talk about criminal profiling. "The irony," he laughed dryly, "now we have our own club mystery."

Talking about Isla seemed to disturb him. He confessed, "I overheard Isla a few days ago... she found out about my… my involvement in illegal activities. She was planning to go to the police…” Jesse was visibly worried, afraid that this could potentially shatter his career, and with it, his sizable disposable income and tarnish his reputation.

Silently pondering the possibility of Jesse having been pushed to silence Isla, Winston finished his coffee, neatly recording the conversation in his mind’s eye for later.

Pulling on his coat, Winston was enveloped again by the rainforest’s familiar sounds. His clear blue eyes squinting determinedly into the shifting shadows. He knew that the next chapter of this twisted tale was yet to be penned, but he was one step closer now, the connection between Isla's exposure of Jesse’s illicit activities and her untimely death seemed more likely.