MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the chilling silence of a serene campground, Ernest meets his untimely end by a crowbar; now, it's up to the keen instincts of Detective Winston to unravel the mystery with only two suspects: Addison and Octavia.

Winston found himself by the cars. Addison, the mechanic apprentice, was working under the car hood. He flipped through a book that was on a nearby table while working. Every time he paused to point out something in the room, like the faded motivational posters on the wall or the cozy layout of the waiting area, Winston chuckled. Addison always had an eye for room decor.

"Hard at work I see." Winston said, breaking the silence. 

Addison shut the book and turned to face him. "The work never ends," he replied, looking Winston up and down. 

"I hear you were at the same camping site as Ernest. He was found murdered there." Winston shared. 

"Work, school, camping... always busy." Addison replied, his gaze wandering again. He'd developed a habit - one even his fellow students noticed during lunch breaks and in every class - of constantly looking around at different parts of the room. 

Winston noticed that tendency walked hand in hand with his need to stay busy, like a curious mind reaching for unknown boundaries. 'Just like him to always have his nose in a book even during lunch breaks', he thought.

"But it's not always just work and school, right?" Winston asked. "You also attend those parties out in the campground, yeah?" There had been a big one on the night of the murder.

Addison picked the book off the table and flipped through the pages, shrugging nonchalantly. "Yeah, I was there. So was half the town. Doesn't mean I know anything about what happened to Ernest. That party was big, a lot could've happened."

Next to Addison, Winston noticed an array of tools lined up on the workbench. Screwdrivers, hammers, and a crowbar among others, which was casually left on the side of the workbench. He'd seen Addison regularly with his work tools, it was part of being an apprentice.

"So, you're a mechanic apprentice, right?" Winston asked. "You work with these kinds of tools every day?"

Addison looked at him for a moment before nodding. "That's right. It's my field of work. Handling tools like crowbars is just part of the job."

Winston left Addison with his book and his workshop, making his way out to his car.

Camping, tool handling, busy campgrounds... Winston had a lot to think about on the drive back to the station. But, as always, the detective knew better than to rush to any conclusions just yet. The only thing certain was that everyone he met added a new piece to the puzzle. That was the nature of his job, chasing the truth and sifting through the fragments of life his line of work offered him. Little by little, every witness, every suspect, and every victim told their own part of the story.

Winston watched Octavia’s firm grip around her mug of lukewarm coffee. She was a sturdy woman, her experience in construction before joining the police force wasn't common knowledge, but it gave her that burly silhouette. He also knew that she had picked up a knack for handling construction tools, crowbars included, from her watch in the building business.

"Officer Octavia," started Winston, trying to appear casual, "Officer 'tavia," he corrected himself, as per the way locals referred to her, "you were on patrol the night Ernest was murdered, correct?"

Her gaze remained steady, not threatening nor hesitant, "Yes, that would be right."

"Were the campgrounds along your route?" asked Winston, knowing that he was treading on thin ice. The campgrounds which were part of her regular beat were also where poor Ernest was found dead.

"They sure were," she replied without diverting her gaze. "I've patrolled there for years now."

Winston pressed on, “Ernest, a known revealer of secrets, was threatening to leak his current findings. He'd uncovered an officer’s shady past and he claimed it was yours. Know anything about that?”

Octavia just looked through him, her facial muscles taut as she remained stoic. "Ernest was always digging around for information, but I can't say I do."

Staying strategic, he continued, "Ernest indicated that this officer with supposed shady practices was involved in illegal activities before joining the force. Oddly reminiscent of your own construction and police career, Octavia. Fearful of any skeletons in the closet that might be found?”

Here, Octavia's mask seemed to crack, but just for a moment, "I've no idea what you're implying."

Winston chose his next words carefully, conscious of her legal knowledge, “Do you have access to a crowbar, officer Octavia?”

She let out a short laugh, a sarcastic retort forming on her lips, “Well, every police department has its set of tools, Winston. Are you implying because we have crowbars, we might be swinging them at the locals?”

Winston remained silent, letting Octavia’s scoff hang in the air before speaking again. He gently changed the direction of his questions, “During your patrol last night, did you happen to see anything out of ordinary at the camp?”

“Just a quiet starry night, nothing too wild happening in my town, Winston.”

As the conversation winded up, Winston decided to leave Octavia with one last piece of thought, “Ernest had hinted at uncovering a cop's illegal past, may be yours. It does seem like there’s something you’d want to keep from the force.”

For the first time during their conversation, Octavia looked unsure. She shook her head, "I couldn't tell you, Winston."

As an investigative officer himself, Winston knew the camaraderie among the police ranks. Tonight he’d heard enough. He’d got Octavia talking, about her quiet patrol night and the secret that she urgently seemed to want buried, and her past involvement in illegal activities. As he left Octavia’s living room, he could not help but wonder more about this lady cop with a knack for using crowbars.

choices

• Addison
• Octavia