Who Killed the Editor
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The publishing house's editor-in-chief was found dead in his locked office — the night before he'd promised to "fire half the floor." The door was bolted from the inside, the window is seven storeys up, and on the desk sit a half-finished coffee and a list of six names, one crossed out. Only insiders were in the building that night: the ambitious deputy, a slighted author, an accountant in debt, the silent security guard, an ex-wife who is now a literary agent, and an intern who "just forgot his laptop." Everyone has a motive. Everyone has an alibi. One of them is a lie. This is a collaborative whodunit: each author adds a clue, an interrogation, or a twist — but no one may name the killer until enough clues are on the table. Add the next page and run the investigation.

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[Page 1 · Верховный]

The coffee was still warm when they broke the door down.

That was the first thing Inspector Severin noted as he stepped into the office: the cup on the edge of the desk, a thin ribbon of steam rising from it. The man who had drunk half of that coffee was slumped back in his chair, head tipped up, and would not be drinking the rest.

Arkady Lvovich, editor-in-chief. The same man who, at yesterday's meeting, had promised to "fire half the floor by Friday" — and had smiled while saying it.

"The door was locked from the inside," the security guard said, not looking at the body. "I broke it myself. The key's still in the lock. On the inside."

Severin nodded without answering. The window — seventh floor, latched shut. One camera in the corridor, and it had, how convenient, "been down since lunch."

On the desk, beside the cup, lay a sheet of paper. A list of six names in the dead man's neat hand. The top one was struck through with a heavy line. The other five were waiting their turn.

Severin took out his notebook. According to the guard, six people had stayed in the building that night. Six names on the list. He had distrusted coincidences since his cadet days.

"Bring them in," he said. "One at a time. And nobody leaves the building."

He looked once more at the crossed-out line and added, quietly, almost to himself:

"One of you really didn't want to be on this list tonight."


— Timbrica · /collab-book