|The following is based on Fallout Shelter or Fallout Shelter Online and some details might contradict canon.|
This quest is restricted to two dwellers only. They are tasked with questioning five groups of suspects, each less trustworthy than the ones before. In between those groups, three fights against radroaches and mole rats take place.
Reginald the Master Butler will be the first person encountered and the only one that cannot accused in the end. The question asked does not really matter here or in the following interrogations, but will give differing amounts of suspicion towards the people.
The next people to be questioned are the Industrialist Rod Murphy and his Trophy Wife Pricilla, Lady Elizabeth Worthington and her Attendant Agatha, Commodore Tramiel and his Niece Vicky, and finally Alvin Peabody, son and only heir of the deceased.
Reginald is encountered in the final room again, telling him who is thought to be guilty concludes the quest. The received rewards are depending on who is accused:
- "It was his son, you didn't need me for that" awards caps.
- "It was Agatha the attendant" awards a librarian outfit.
- "The Commodore is the murderer" awards a military circuit board.
- "It was Rod Murphy, the industrialist" gives an assault rifle.
- "Strange, it was sunny before we walked in...
...and now it's dark outside, with rolling thunder in the distance.
- "This "manor" has seen better times..."
- "You just can't get good help these days."
|Opening message||Dweller response||Character response|
|I say, we were beginning to worry! I'm Reginald, the head butler.
It happened right after the host and guests had retired for the night.
|The game is afoot! Let's proceed!||Okay, but just so you know, we tend to use metric around here.|
|Not so fast. Where were *you* on the night of the murder?||Eating Cram in the boudoir. I still have the tins if you want to see them.|
|Reginald, Reginald... Dutch, is it?||No sir, I don't think so.|
|You can't keep us cooped up in here, you know? We have rights!
I'm Rod Murphy, rich but vulgar industrialist, and this is my trophy wife Priscilla.
|An industrialist? In this day and age?||We mostly just collect old junk and resell it... but we're very industrious about it!|
|What were you doing when Mr. Peabody was murdered?||Coincidentally enough, trying to find clever ways to murder Mr. Peabody.|
|I had a cat named Priscilla, once.||Don't get any funny ideas! It's bad enough Peabody tried to seduce my wife...|
|Hello! This is Lady Elizabeth Worthington, and I'm her attendant Agatha.
Alas, the Lady can't hear too well, so you'll have to direct your questions to me.
|How did he ruin her family?||Got her son addicted to Rock-papers-scissors, then sucked him dry by always picking Rock.|
|Was that before or after she was Ghoulified?||Oh, she's not a Ghoul, she's just very, very old.|
|What were you doing at the time of the murder?||Resuscitating Lady Worthington after she tried to nibble on a blueberry scone.|
|Ah, the detective! I am Commodore Tramiel, and this is my niece Vicky.
So someone finally did old Peabody in, huh? Well, can't say I'm surprised.
|Are you saying you wanted him dead?||I guess it would depend on how much suffering he'd go through first.|
|Turkish blade, huh? Did you know Peabody was stabbed to death?||Sixty-four times, if I recall correctly.|
|What about you, Vicky? Did you see anything?||I'm sorry, my niece has a poor memory. I'm sure she can't recall what happened last night.|
|Hello! I'm Alvin Peabody, sole heir to my father's baseball card fortune.
I'm afraid I won't be of much help, I have no memory of last night.
|Do you often suffer such memory losses?||Only when I go on a violent rampage, so...every other week, maybe?|
|Did you get along well with your father?||Oh sure! He'd disown me, I'd thrust sharp objects at him... The usual.|
|You're the only heir?||All my siblings met grisly fates, usually when playing by the cliffside.|
|I must say I appreciate your candor.||I'll remember that next time I go on a violent, murderous rampage.|
|So, did you find out who did it?
Was it the jealous industrialist, or the ruined matriarch?
|It was Rod Murphy, the industrialist.||Not surprised, you can never trust the “nouveau riche.”|
|Lady Worthington's attendant Agatha did it.||Huh. Who knew such a monster hid behind those thick nerdy glasses?|
|The Commodore is the murderer.||I guess it all adds up. Here, Mr. Peabody would have wanted you to have this.|
|It's obviously his son. You didn't need me for that.||Strangely enough, he's the one who sent for you. Guess he didn't think this through.|