MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the garish glow of a wrestling ring, Isabelle found her end at the prongs of a trident; now, it's up to Detective Winston to untangle the enigmatic web spun by two prime suspects, Lance and Harper.

Winston foraged through his notes, hands constantly moving like a man possessed.

Isabelle was dead, found cold in the wrestling ring. The crime scene was hauntingly silent, yet William could still faintly hear the echoes of a crowd, a crowd that once chanted their names. He gazed at the trident left behind. It wasn't common fare in a wrestling ring, but it had historians agreeing of its gladiatorial significance, as it was a commonly used weapon in gladiatorial combat, a whisper of a different time.

He drove to meet Harper, his only credible lead so far. As Winston pulled up in front of Harper’s residence, her neighbours had only warm greetings for her. 'Ms. Olivia is so well-mannered, a real beacon to our community,' one old man mused with a smile.

“Ms. Olivia?” Winston asked, stepping forward with an extended hand, deciding to go straight to the point, “Did you hear about Isabelle?”

“Yes, a tragedy…” Harper replied, her eyes dodging his, evasively looking around, "Isabelle... She threatened to uncover something..." Her voice trailed off and her face was etched with tangible fear. It was clear that Harper was terrified of Isabelle's threat to expose her.

“You were part of a local gladiator reenactment group, weren’t you?” Winston probed, aware from his sources that the group required serious physical preparation and training. Winston glanced at Harper’s tough physique; it made sense. He then gazed at the array of replica gladiatorial weapons displayed on the shelves behind Harper. She nodded rather reluctantly without saying a word.

Winston, changing the topic, asked, “I hear your fascination with crime stretches beyond just books?”

After a pause, Harper admitted, “Yes, I enjoy books about crime – a morbid fascination, you could say. The bookstore clerk sees me often, buying many crime novels. The members of my book club and I often have lively debates on forensics too.”

Considering her confession, Winston made a mental note to check the bookstore. Upon consultation with the local bookstore clerk, it was confirmed that Harper was a frequenter. She had been spotted buying novels from the true crime section multiple times.

According to his sources, Isabelle knew Harper had been involved in some kind of illegal activities. In fact, the twisted secret that Isabelle threatened to reveal involved Harper’s clandestine dealings. 

Before leaving, he remembered Harper rolling up her sleeves to shake his hand, and a retrospective glimpse of her physique leaving no doubt about the extensive physical conditioning she must undergo for her stash of staged battles, yet another piece of potential insight into the power and strength that Harper wielded. The pieces were beginning to fit into place, scattered fragments of a life lived under the radar.

Winston pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the oncoming headache as he sifted through numerous witness statements. His mind kept coming back to one name: Lance. 

Isabelle and this Lance fellow were often seen together with Lance referring to her as his wife. But according to what several sources corroborated, Isabelle had mentioned to a close friend, while in earshot of Lance, that she was planning on divorcing him. Lance had not been coy about admitting that he had indeed overheard this conversation.

Winston's weary eyes moved towards the photos of the crime scene. The wrestling ring, normally throbbing with life, seemed void in the ominous light of the flash. Isabelle's life had ended here, in the very wrestling ring that was part of the event Lance was directing.

As he looked closely at a photo of the bloodied mat, his eyes drifted to a piece of prop laying just out of the boundary of the ring. Lance and his crew handled these props, and Lance himself had been seen practicing with props similar to the one near the crime scene - a trident. He knew Lance had a penchant for ancient weapons, often seen studying or collecting them. It seemed these props were more than just set dressing to Lance.

Winston scratched his chin, pondering. Lance's life revolved around his shows. He loved directing them. This wrestling match, the scene of the crime, was one such event he was in charge of.

With a final sigh, the detective gathered his things. There still was much left to uncover. Soon after, he found himself in the production area of the show, meeting with Lance.

"Lance, I presume?" Winston asked, offering a hand. The man nodded, taking Winston's hand into a firm grip.

"Winston. I'm... I'm here about your wife, Isabelle."

Lance's eyes clouded over for a second before he pushed past the emotions, "Let's talk then, detective."

choices

• Lance
• Harper