MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

In the sleepy town of Mapleton, the unusual murder of Stella by a nunchaku in her own kitchen has set the stage for Detective Winston's most perplexing case yet.

An early morning home visit to investigate a disturbing crime scene had now transitioned into a late afternoon at a strikingly unique boutique-like office.

The buzz of industrial sewing machines filled the detective's ear as he entered. The high ceilings, hung with bolts of fabric in every imaginable hue, touched upon the unique operation run within these walls. Winston squinted against the gleaming steel fixtures and sharp angles of modern decor. Models stood like long-legged statues, being prodded, pinned, and fussed over by diligent seamstresses, while students on internship from nearby colleges, huddled together over laptops and design sketches near an overflowing rubbish bin. 

Suddenly, Winston caught sight of live security footage from a group of local colleges. All of them were pointed at Emma's studio, and all seemed to be focused on the same event, Emma abruptly closing her computer. Curious, he viewing the footage retrospectively, and, indeed, she had closed her computer abruptly several times in the past days.

She appeared from a curtained alcove at the back of the space, shutting her laptop abruptly once more as she noticed the detective’s arrival. Emma, fashion designer extraordinaire. 

"Why the visit, Winston?" Her nonchalant tone betrayed a perplexing mix of audacity and unease. 

"Just following up on some loose ends," he replied, his gaze trained on the computer she just closed and the designs she was now carrying in her arms. He asked to see them. 

Emma shuffled nervously and hurriedly tucked them back in her bag.

"I hear you've been working late nights recently," He said, attempting to keep the conversation flowing casually. "Your neighbors mentioned seeing your studio lights on until the early hours."

"Yeah, you know us designers. Night is when the inspiration hits."

Her assistant, a young woman with dyed hair, glanced up and gave her a guarded look before quickly shutting her laptop. Winston noticed, but moved on.

"I understand you were at Stella's house today. For a fitting in her kitchen, I believe?"

Emma nodded, her eyes flicking to the two college interns hunched over a laptop nearby who abruptly closed their devices and busied themselves with the tasks before them.

"She liked her fittings at home. Something about the comfort of her own kitchen," Emma said with a distant gaze.

"Yes. Odd place to hold a fitting, a kitchen. Odd place to find her too." The silence hung in the air like lead. "Have you been accused of plagiarism recently?"

The question felt sudden, but Emma's reaction was more telling. 

"Well...yes, Stella thought I was copying her designs. Stella found my sketches of her upcoming collection when she was at my studio last. She thought I had stolen them, but it was a misunderstanding. She threatened to expose me, but I didn't--"

"Odd," Winston interrupted. "She told me she found something hidden in your studio. Pages from a sketchbook, designs that looked remarkably like her unreleased collection." 

Emma was quiet. Winston continued, "Stella was alone in her kitchen most mornings. And that's where she found herself this morning."

Emma said nothing. 

The hum of sewing machines filled the room. Winston turned to walk away but paused, "One final thing, Emma, your business relies heavily on the internet, right?"

"Yes. It's common these days."

"Mmm. Might want to be careful what you leave open on your computers around here. I saw the way your assistant and the college interns noticed when you abruptly closed your browser." 

With that, Winston spun on his heel, and strode out of the bustling workspace leaving one very worried fashion designer behind.

Winston took a deep breath before ringing the bell on the townhouse's front door. Milton graciously accepted the detective into his home and offered him a seat in the sitting room. Gathering his thoughts, Winston began his informal interview.

"Milton, it is my understanding that you were at Stella's for dinner on the night of the murder, which took place in her kitchen. Is that correct?"

Milton nodded, “Yes, that's correct. I used to visit her quite often for dinner. She was a dear friend of mine,”.

Winston could detect slight distress in his voice and a gentleness in his eyes. He decided to switch topics. 

"I hear you’re quite the chemist?"

Milton, relieved by the change of conversation, brightened. "Yes, I've been practicing chemistry for a few decades now. I really enjoy it, makes understanding the world around us a bit easier."

Winston's attention shifted momentarily to a picture frame on a nearby bookshelf; Milton in a martial arts uniform, multiple medals hanging around his neck. He picked it up and inquired. 

"I see you're into martial arts too. Do you train often?" 

Milton smiled at the fond memory, "Ah, yes. I train regularly. For about fifteen years now. Got me a certification too. Helps keep the mind and body balanced you know.”

Winston, not noticing Milton's boast about his certification, continued to explore the room with his eyes. On a small table by the window, he spotted a pair of nunchaku. 

"Martial arts, eh?" Winston held up the nunchaku, Milton watched with a knowing smile.

"Yes, nunchaku is an essential part of martial arts, I practice with those regularly.”

A moment of silence endured with only the weather outside providing a subtle humming to the room. Winston decided it was time to tap the unspoken tension.

"And Milton…," Winston leaned forward, "You were aware that Stella had discovered concrete evidence and was planning to expose your fraudulent practices in your work, weren’t you?"

Milton swallowed audibly before answering. "Yes, Stella had found concrete evidence of my unethical practices at work which she didn’t agree with, and was planning to expose me. My dear friend was indeed honorable like that…”

Winston leaned back, processing this information silently. 

And without a word, Winston excused himself from the room.