MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the haze of neon lights and the serving of a silent hand of fate, Timothy lies dead in a casino, a sai his cruel end, leaving the unruffled Detective Winston to interrogate suspects, Harry and Rosemary.

It had been a long day for Winston. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh coffee and the clamour of a bustling restaurant kitchen. His eyes fell on a seasoned chef, Rosemary, as she deftly wielded her bladed tools — knives, cleavers, graters — with calm precision. Watching her, it came as no surprise that Rosemary had clocked several years in this industry.

Something in the room changed. Shouting ensued, then a loud crash that rang out above the normal kitchen discord. Rosemary had hurled a metal pot across the room. The assistant, who stood close by, looked shocked but unharmed. Winston decided it was his cue to intervene.

"Rosemary, care to explain what just happened?" Winston asked, stepping closer to the irate chef.

She gave him a guarded look before deliberately changing the subject, "Did you know Timothy was a fan of my stir fry? Ironic, isn't it?"

Winston frowned slightly at the statement but decided to push forward. He knew how to dance around subjects, but Rosemary seemed skilled at the bucolic ballet of the restaurant business.

"I've heard some disturbing claims, Rosemary," Winston brought out his notebook, "about the threats you've been issuing to Timothy, and your hostility towards people of his nationality."

At Winston's words, Rosemary ran a weary hand over her face and sighed. "Seems word gets around."

"A public event, not long ago. You spoke openly about your, um-" Winston glanced down at his notes, "-'distaste' for Chinese folks," he pressed on, "and you've been caught on tape making similar remarks towards Timothy."

"Is that a crime, detective?" Rosemary challenged.

"I'm just here to piece the puzzle together. I understand you take a particular interest in Asian culture - antique Asian weapons in particular. I've seen your collection, Rosemary. Sais, even?" he prodded, hoping for a reaction.

Rosemary's gaze sharpened as she turned her back on him, busily cleaning her array of kitchen knives. She didn't confirm nor deny his observation. Noting her silence, Winston thanked her for her time and walked out onto the casino floor, a maelstrom of thoughts whirling around his mind. He felt like he was leaving with more questions than when he had entered.

Winston took a good look at the crime scene, a corner of the bustling casino, cordoned off by the police tape. Something felt grimly out of place among the bright lights and incessant chatter of the casino. He carefully sifted through the conflicting information and people's statements spinning in his head.

Time to get some answers, Winston thought, and made his way to his interviewee.

It was late in the day when he finally knocked on Harry's door. A man in his early thirties, with a life-hardened face glanced out at him skeptically.

"Harry, correct?" Winston asked.

"And who's asking?" came the guarded reply.

"Detective Winston," he flashed his badge, "I'm here to ask you a few questions about Timothy."

Harry's eyes flashed, "I'm not surprised," he grumbled. "Come on in then."

As Winston made his way inside, he noticed the place bore a striking resemblance to traditional dojo settings. A pair of sai swords caught his eye, arranged carefully on a display holder. A typical weapon of the martial arts form Harry used to instruct.

"Nice collection." Winston gestured towards the sai. "You instruct?"

Harry looked back at the sai, "Used to."

Harry's manner was gruff, but he seemed at home sharing his old days as a martial arts instructor. They talked about martial arts, how Harry won several competitions, his daily training routine, which apparently included practicing with the sai regularly. Harry's days as a horse trainer surfaced later in the conversation.

"Got dealt a bad hand?" Winston inquired casually, nodding at the pile of losing horse race betting slips on Harry's coffee table. 

Harry grunted, "Yeah, you could say that."

Winston knew Harry only had income from betting on races, and recently he had lost quite a few. Harry had a deep gambling debt with Timothy over his betting habits. Photography was not Winston's hobby, but he recalled Harry's face distinctly in the casino cameras' footage from before the murder took place. There were rumors that Timothy was planning to expose Harry's debt to the other horse owners, and the situation got tough.

"Got into any recent arguments?" Winston asked.

Harry frowned and averted his eyes, "Maybe...just one with Timothy at the casino.”

Winston nodded, keeping his expression neutral. The timing was unfortunate, he thought. And that debt wasn't going anywhere, especially with Harry having recently lost his job at the stables.

"Heard you were giving out loans?' Winston asked.

Harry's face stiffened, "He needed money", he replied, explaining that Timothy had lent him a large sum of money specifically for his betting habit, a haunted expression crossing his face.

Winston stood up, concluding his visit, "Just one last thing, Harry," Winston queried, "The VIP lounge, in the casino? You're familiar with it, aren't you?"

Harry met Winston's gaze, resignation in his eyes, "Used to spend a lot of time there."

As Winston exited the apartment, he couldn't shake off the heavy feeling hanging in the air, leaving him with more questions than answers. Good thing he was in a questioning mood.

choices

• Harry
• Rosemary