MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the dimly lit corners of a rundown motel, Jimmy's life was abruptly silenced by the ominous echo of a revolver, leaving Detective Winston with two enigmatic suspects - Isla, with her elusive charm, and Randy, the taciturn stranger.

Winston sat in the dimly lit diner across from Randy, who was picking at his meal. Randy was a tall, thin man with a head of unruly hair, loosely holding onto a crushed, rather worn looking guitar pick. Seemed like a regular musician, but Winston knew that eyes can deceive. He started the conversation, coaxing out bits and pieces of Randy's most recent trials. 

"Rumor has it you're having some trouble paying off loans, Randy," Winston ventured. 

The musician looked up from his plate, setting his fork down. "Yeah, you heard right," Randy confessed. 

Winston waited a beat, then asked, "Got any other vices we should know about?"

Randy chuckled grimly. "Well, I have a knack for getting my money into the wrong hands at the poker table."

Winston nodded, making a note of it. Before moving onto the next subject, he specified, "Got news yesterday - a revolver was found, identical to the one you were seen with at a music concert. It turned out to be the murder weapon." 

Randy paused and shrugged. "Got it for protection. You never know who you might run into on the road. I only ever use it for shooting at the range."

Whilst Randy was talking, Winston noticed the deep scars on Randy's fingers in the dim neon light. They were all identical in their presence, all etched with the same depth and characteristics. Being a man of detail, Winston asked Randy about them.

"Those?" Randy looked at his hands with a sad laughter. "Each scar on my hand came from a different guitar string breaking at a concert, all of them had a unique tale to tell," he said. Then he added, "usual guitar injuries are just mere blisters, not deep scars like these. But what can I say? Bad luck follows me around".

Winston, though intrigued, refrained from reading anything into it. He then moved the conversation toward Randy's past interactions with the victim, the international hotel mogul, Jimmy.

“So you knew Jimmy. The guy owned hotels from Tokyo to New York,” Winston stated.

"Jimmy, he loved his opulence. Always surrounded by luxury," Randy shrugged. "Not that I ever got a slice of it, of course. I played in a few of his hotels... never got the invite to the penthouse." 

Winston thanked Randy for his time and left the diner. There were more aspects of this case to sniff out. All in a day’s work.

Detective Winston sat across from Isla at the local coffee shop, the smell of burnt coffee wafting around them. 

Isla played less of a nervous suspect and leaned more into her usual friendly demeanor. Although they usually ran into each other at the gym, today's meetup was not about catching up on fitness routines. Just the other day, she had confessed to a friend on the treadmill beside her that she couldn't bear the blackmail from Jimmy anymore.

"Jimmy...he...he was blackmailing me, Detective Winston," Isla confessed, bleakly stirring her coffee. Her hopelessness was clear, something she had mentioned to her friends recently regarding the relentless blackmail. 

Winston didn't show his surprise. He just nodded and gestured for her to continue. 

"We used to meet at a motel down the road. Crazy, right? But it was the only place we could talk without being seen. I was even there on the day of the murder," Isla confessed. That fact was uncovered in a police report which witnessed Isla at the motel on the day of Jimmy's murder.

Winston knew this already, having received a report of Isla being spotted with Jimmy at the motel quite a few times in the past. He just grunted, encouraging her to keep speaking. 

"It's not what you think. He...he took some photos...and threatened to expose them." Isla shuddered, her coffee cup rattling in her hand. 

"Did you ever confront him about it?" Winston asked, looking unwaveringly at Isla. 

"Yes, I did! I couldn't stand it any longer, Detective. That day...the day he was killed...I was going to tell him it had to stop," Isla admitted, her voice raw with emotion. 

"And then what happened?" Winston asked, watching Isla's face carefully. 

"I...I don't remember," Isla said, running a hand through her hair. "I was so worked up. I just...I ended up at the shooting range. It helps...calm me down."

Winston groaned internally on hearing this. Isla had been seen at the shooting range more often than not lately, supposedly to "blow off some steam". On one occasion, she had talked extensively about her growing gun collection to another gym buddy, which was a recurring topic she loved to discuss with anyone who'd lend an ear. She was often heard discussing different types of firearms amidst these conversations. 

"Do you remember what time it was when you left the range?" Winston asked. But Isla shook her head, looking gloomy, and didn't say a word. 

Winston sighed and checked his watch. The interview was close to being over, and he needed to gather more facts to help solve the case. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but dwell on the circumstances... Hopeless. Desperate. A lineup of damning coincidences. But the one most nagging thought that lingered as he got up to leave was the overpowering scent of burnt coffee: just how much it reminded him of gunpowder.

choices

• Isla
• Randy