MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the eerie darkness of the swamp, Gustavo was found lifeless, seemingly killed by a sickle, leaving Detective Winston in a suspenseful game of deceit with two prime suspects, Zelda and Autumn.

Winston shivered, pulling his coat around him tighter as he stood by the marsh. It was an unusual murder scene for a city detective like him-- usually he was contending with back alley operations, not murky, middle-of-nowhere swamps.

Reports indicated that Gustavo, an alleged whistleblower, had a regular routine of walking through these parts.

As he was leaving the swamp, he ran into Zelda, the curator of the local history museum, an authoritative woman known for her dedication to her job. She had extensively studied ancient warfare and weaponry, which was clearly evident in the collection that she personally curated. Not only did she have a deep knowledge of the artifacts, but she also had the authority to handle and move these ancient and often fragile weapons. She once proudly showed him an antique sickle during his last visit to the local museum, telling him about its origin and historical importance as she gently moved it from its display case.

"I've seen you around here before," Winston said to Zelda, nodding. She seemed unsurprised by his accusation.

"I come here for research," Zelda explained, her eyes darting away for a moment. "The swamp's history is part of the museum's story. It is part of my responsibility to understand it."

“One of the local residents saw you out here on the same day Gustavo died.” Winston kept his gaze steady. 

Zelda shrugged, her face remained impassive. "I am often down here, detective," she said, "This is my usual routine just like Gustavo. I told you before, I do extensive research for my work. It is out of my love for this museum, its reputation that I always try my best to protect".

Winston nodded, understanding Zelda’s dedication to her job had boundaries far beyond normal office hours.
"We've also come to know that you have the authority to handle and move the weapons at the museum. Is that correct?" He asked.

"Yes, that's correct" She admitted. "It is part of my job to ensure the safety and preservation of those artifacts."

"Speaking of Gustavo," he paused, "I heard he was supposed to testify about some mismanagement at your museum."

"That's true," Zelda admitted, her voice steady, "And yes, if it was revealed, it wouldn't have been good for the museum."

That was putting it mildly. A mismanagement scandal could shatter the reputation of the museum that Zelda had been ardently protecting. The fact that the scandal was related to her workplace was bad enough, but Winston knew he couldn’t jump to conclusions. All he had were facts and decisions of a dedicated curator. 

"Did you meet Gustavo near the swamp on the day of his murder?" he asked. 

Zelda sighed, "Yes. We ran into each other. He was on his usual walk and I was coming back from my research."

Winston nodded, writing everything down.

A rich collection of antique weapons, a murder in a swamp the curator often visited, and a testimony that could scandalize the museum. Winston knew that these puzzle pieces mattered, he just didn’t know how they fit together…yet.

Winston's brief from the precinct placed him in the middle of a bitter gang feud, a suspenseful divide that festered in the city and spilled blood into the surrounding marshland. Underneath the water's murky glass lay no ordinary victim, Gustavo, brought down by a sharp sickle grudge. Autumn was at the center of his attention. A no-nonsense waitress by day and part of a notorious gang by night. He had to approach this tactfully.

“Autumn,” he greeted, leaning against the checker-patterned counter of the diner she worked at. “How well do you know the swamp?” he asked, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“Know it like the back of my hand,” she answered without a second thought, polishing a glass with feigned indifference. No one, not even newcomers, missed the luggage at her feet. Always packed, always ready. 

"You saw Gustavo going there?" He probed further.

"Yeah, that’s right. Walked in there alone, deep into the marshland, silly man didn’t even know which bush was which, can you believe it?" Autumn quipped before hastily picking up a ringing phone, ignoring Winston's probing gaze. 

Phone calls ran high, Winston noted, a quick peek at the phone revealing a plethora of moving service contacts, seemingly at her beck and call.

Further back at her place, Winston realized why. Mail strewn all over the front yard, anyone could tell that her house was not a safe drop-off point for personal mail. Autumn had made it clear that she did not want any of her mail at her house, was she running or just being cautious? Maybe a bit of both, Winston wondered. 

That particular evening, her gang members joined her. A jovial group, they laughed and shared stories of their exploits, several of them recounting Gustavo's public humiliation of Autumn at the diner. The event, Winston noted was witnessed by fellow gang members on both sides. He listened, not interrupting, taking in the resentment that tainted the air, marking it as a reminder. 

There was no love lost here between Gustavo’s gang and Autumn's, he understood. The grudges ran deep, as did their desire for revenge. 

Perhaps there was part of Gustavo's story at the bottom of the swamp, but part of it definitely resided with Autumn and her gang. But it was more than just a personal vendetta, he could tell. Winston had come to dig, and the waters that lay ahead promised to be turbulent.

choices

• Zelda
• Autumn