MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

question

Who is the most likely murderer?

narrative

In the hushed sanctity of a bustling synagogue, Vanessa's life was abruptly ended with a common tool, and now Detective Winston must unravel the tangled threads of suspicion around Ivy and Clarence.

As Detective Winston carefully leafed through the day’s case files, an unusual detail caught his eye. The murder that occurred in a local synagogue, and the victim's name, Vanessa, stirred up an old memory. After what he had seen, quitting had often filled his thoughts. But solving cases like these held an irreplaceable allure to Winston’s trouble-stricken mind.

His first lead came in the form of an irregular character by the name Clarence. A truck driver who works long hours, regularly present near the synagogue amongst other stops, and oddly enough, an ardent collector of obituaries. Often, community members would speak in hushed tones of Clarence’s nightly tears shed over obituaries, forming an image of emotional investment over people he had no known connection with. Despite their gossiping, none of them had ever heard of Clarence befriending or nurturing a relationship with anyone mentioned in the obituaries. In fact, during their investigation, the police found no documented ties of Clara with the deceased individuals, either.

Over black coffee and stale bread in a nearby diner, Detective Winston conversed with Clarence. "So you’re a truck driver? Tough gig, I imagine," Winston started the conversation the way he always did, meandering towards his point while observing reactions.

"You bet. I've been doing this job for a while now, driving all sorts of routes. Comes with its own set of challenges, like finding a decent mechanic on the go. I had to learn repairing my truck on my own. Hence, the toolbox you see me lugging around," Clarence responded.

Detective Winston veered the discussion towards Vanessa, "And what brings you around the synagogue frequently?"

"Well, work mostly. But it’s no secret - Vanessa, she and me... We used to be together. She'd often be at the synagogue. Despite how things ended with us, my old habits never really changed," Clarence replied with a forlorn sigh.

As Winston remembered Vanessa's face and Clarence's haggard expression, sleep felt like a distant luxury. Skimming through the raw facts in his notebook, this was no game of conjectures, the hard evidence was yet to fit in the puzzle. And with that last thought, he closed the notebook shut for the night.

Detective Winston stood, perched in the corner of the local hardware store. He watched from behind a pyramid of paint cans, peering at Ivy as she demonstrated a new set of screwdrivers to a customer. Overalls clad, she seemed like an everyday, hard-working woman. She completed the sale and moved on to help the next customer, carrying another set of similar tools to the customer who was looking for a specific size. It was clear that she moved deftly and knew her products well. 

It troubled Winston how an ordinary day selling hardware could be turned on its head so rapidly, by a single piece of information. Winston decided to make his move. He stepped out from his hiding place, adjusting the collar of his trench coat to protect from the sudden gust of wind that swept through the open door.

“Hello, Ivy,” he said, his gaze piercing through her.

Dropping her head down, the terror and desperation in Ivy’s eyes were evident. Caught in a blackmail situation over deep secrets that Vanessa had threatened to reveal, secrets that could ruin her reputation, it was serving harsh punishments on her livelihood in the form of lost customers. She feared her secrets would come out any day now. It was this fear that had greeted Winston when Ivy arrived at the synagogue that morning, noticeably before Vanessa's life was tragically ended there.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she nodded, inviting him to continue.   "We belong to the same community," Winston said nonchalantly. "How about those services at the synagogue? You usually attend weekly, right? Speaking of, I couldn't help but notice you were the first to arrive on the fateful morning Vanessa was killed." 

“Ye-yes,” Ivy stuttered, caught off guard. 

"Wonderful sermons," Winston went on, "I heard about the incident at the synagogue, terrible loss for us all. Vanessa was such a wonderful woman."

A tightening grip around her own worn hands was the only sign from Ivy that she felt the weight and severity of the situation, she offered a low, mournful "Yes," in agreement.

The gloom was creeping in, matching the evident fear, and Winston fiddled with the notepad in his hands. He had one more stop to make before he was done for the day. 

"I'll be seeing you around, Ivy," he left her to tend to her work still reeling from the effects of the ongoing blackmail. It was a bit troubling news for a woman who seemed to be losing her livelihood amidst the desperation and fear that she was immersed in. 

Winston left the store, the falling sun casting long shadows. Ivy’s secrets were her own, whatever they were. It was something he knew Vanessa had threatened to reveal, which now loom over her existence. There was a chill in the air, much like the uncertainty that hung over the case.

Ivy stood there, amidst rows and shelves of tools and hardware equipment she sold daily, in a store that had been affected by the blackmail. Despite demonstrating tools like screwdrivers all day, every day, she was no murderer, and Winston knew that the truth would ultimately reveal itself.

choices

• Ivy
• Clarence