Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery (16 page)

“About nine.”

“Who is we?” Fenwick asked.

“My lover, Arnold Rackwill, and I.”

Rackwill was brought in. He was dressed in an elegantly cut tux. He was thin, blond, and pretty in an if-you-can-afford-him-you-can-have-him kind of way. Rackwill looked confused.

“Who put that there?” Rackwill asked.

“Exactly,” Fenwick said.

Chadwick said, “I was with Arnold all day. He was with me. We can vouch for each other.”

“Which time?” Fenwick asked. “I didn’t mention a time.”

Rackwill said, “All the time. We attended several convention events. We came back here to change after going out to dinner. This is the closet I use. I know those clothes weren’t there before the event.”

“Did anybody stop by your room?” Turner asked.

“No,” Rackwill said.

Fenwick asked, “Mr. Chadwick, did you happen to look in this closet?”

Chadwick said, “Are you accusing my lover?”

“What I did,” Fenwick said, “is ask a question.”

Chadwick said, “It sure sounded like an accusation.”

Turner said, “Answer the question, please.”

Chadwick said, “We were in and out of the different rooms. I didn’t inspect anything. I certainly don’t remember any bloody clothes. I would have mentioned it then, not waited until now.”

“What events did you attend at the convention today?” Fenwick asked.

Chadwick said, “The screenwriters’ seminar most of the morning. We were giving tips on what to put in a screenplay that would sell. And these people need a lot of tips.” He and Rackwill exchanged a look and smirked. Chadwick continued, “Then we visited the dealers’ rooms, ate lunch, then took meetings about movie projects.”

“Did either of you come in costume?” Fenwick asked.

“No. We think that’s absurd,” Chadwick said. “We were here to see if we couldn’t make a few movie deals, see what was the latest thing. Sometimes you can get good ideas about what is going to be hot from these conventions.”

“What’s going to be hot?” Fenwick asked.

“You writing a screenplay?” Chadwick asked.

“Not tonight.”

“Sex and violence,” Chadwick said. “Things don’t change much.”

“Were you at the party in Ms. Devers’ room last night?” Turner asked.

“Yes. We talked with Muriam about optioning another one of her books. About every third one of hers that becomes a movie becomes a blockbuster. She was due and we wanted what she had.”

“Was she interested?” Turner asked.

“Very,” Chadwick said. “We’d had lots of success working with her in the past. She’s got a production company of her own.”

“Anybody else bidding for the rights?” Turner asked.

Rackwill said, “Every other company in the business. Everybody wanted her. She was a known quantity. We had the inside track. She knew us and we’d worked well together before.”

Fenwick asked, “Over the years were there people who got angry that they didn’t get to make her movies?”

“Hollywood’s a cutthroat town,” Chadwick said. “And we might have fought amongst ourselves, but Muriam stayed above it all. Her agent let people bid and would take the best offer back to Muriam.”

“Anybody bothered by the two thirds of the movies that tanked?” Fenwick asked.

Rackwill said, “Over the past thirty years she’s had ten huge blockbusters from her movies. It’s one of the best records of success around for an author. They’ve made lots of movies of Stephen King’s stuff, but most of them weren’t blockbusters. Sure she’s had failures, but her successes far outweighed them. People may not have been sitting at her printer grabbing every sheet of paper that came out, but quite often it was close to that.”

“She make people in the industry angry?” Turner asked.

“No,” Chadwick said. “She was a delight to deal with. Her agent was professional and helpful. There were no angry negotiations. It was all very matter of fact. Whoever came up with the most money and the best perks got the option.”

Rackwill said, “Muriam herself was a joy to be around. She was always pleasant and happy. She always made time to talk to people.”

“How long have the two of you known her?” Fenwick asked.

Chadwick said, “For decades she’s had yearly retreats at her place in the Rockies, lovely place outside Aspen. I got there as often as I could. Those were meetings for professionals and friends. She and I worked well together. We were friends. We didn’t see each other as often as we liked. We weren’t friends in that fake Hollywood way, kiss, kiss, fuck off. She was a dear.”

“You attend these soirees, Mr. Rackwill?” Fenwick asked.

“Only a few. I met Samuel only five years ago.”

“Do you know anything about the people in her writing group?” Turner asked.

“Not really,” Chadwick said. “There were these young men who hung around at parties. They seemed to be able to fawn over her without being aware how much they were embarrassing themselves.”

“How about you, Mr. Rackwill,” Turner asked, “did you know them?”

“No.”

Turner eyed him carefully. A short quick answer that set off a cop alarm in the back of his head.

“Did she have fights with anyone?” Fenwick said.

“Lorenzo Cavali,” Rackwill said. “He desperately wanted to do her last movie. He bid tons of money for it. Rumor had it there was all kinds of anger on his part.”

Turner said, “You said a few moments ago she didn’t make anyone angry.”

“I said that,” Chadwick said. “Cavali was angry. I’m sure he got over it. We all get angry in Hollywood. A deal falls through. The next week you and the same set of angry people are launching a new project together.”

“Was Ms. Devers angry?”

“Not that I heard,” Rackwill said. “Cavali was. Supposedly he made a fool out of himself in public trying to get the rights to that book.”

“Is he at the convention?” Fenwick asked.

“Yes,” Chadwick said. “This was the convention to be at this year. The exclusive suites were perks for the players in publishing and film. There were all kinds of possibilities for movies, plays, buying scripts. Big book contracts. It was wonderful. There were screenings of new films. If you could build buzz here, you might go a very long way. It might have been second to Cannes this year. There may be a lot of nuts and hangers-on at these conventions, and there’s a lot of silly folderol, but it was a venue that was prized. Everyone in the sci-fi biz was here.”

“Anybody else she fight with?” Fenwick asked.

Chadwick said, “I’m not sure she ever fought directly with Cavali. Although I heard he made threats.”

“What kind of threats?” Fenwick asked.

“I don’t know. It was just a scandal how desperate he was and how angry he was when he didn’t get the deal.”

“Who did get the deal?” Fenwick asked.

“I did,” Chadwick said. “I understand Cavali went nuts when he didn’t get the rights. Something about him being nearly broke.”

“Who told you this?” Fenwick asked.

“It was on the Hollywood gossip grapevine. Everybody knows everything in that town.”

Turner stepped out and asked Macer if he would send his people through the convention looking for Lorenzo Cavali.

When he returned, Fenwick asked, “Did either of you know Dennis Foublin?”

Chadwick said, “We’ve heard his name as part of the rumors. Who is he?”

Fenwick said, “He ran one of those fan magazines on the Internet. Lots of science fiction stories, reviews of books and movies.”

“Never heard of him,” Rackwill said. “Why is he important?”

“He’s dead,” Fenwick said.

“Did he know Muriam?” Chadwick asked.

“We’re checking on all the relationships between all you people,” Fenwick said.

Chadwick asked, “Did the same thing happen to Mr. Foublin as did Muriam?”

“They both died,” Fenwick said.

“Were they killed in the same way?” Chadwick asked. “There are all kinds of awful rumors.”

“We’re checking everything,” Fenwick said.

Turner asked, “Did Mr. Foublin ever give one of your movies a bad review?”

Chadwick laughed. “I told you. I never heard of him. Reviews don’t make a lot of difference to the success of a movie, especially on some silly Internet site.”

Fenwick said, “Can’t word of mouth on the Internet sell a movie?”

“Yes,” Rackwill said, “and most often it is buzz orchestrated by us, fueled by us, and managed by us.”

Turner asked, “Do either of you know anything about a red ostrich feather that Ms. Devers carried around?”

“Oh, yes,” said Chadwick. “I gave her the idea years ago. I’d read her book. We met at one of her first conventions. I remembered the significance of the feather. I said she ought to carry one around. It would be distinctive. Everyone would know it was her signature thing.”

“Do you have one with you?” Turner asked.

“No. It was a great gimmick, but I didn’t want them near me. Why is there one on that pile of clothes in the closet?”

Turner said, “Could you examine the clothes and tell us if they are yours? Please don’t touch them.”

Chadwick and Rackwill leaned in close. They both agreed that they’d never seen the clothes before.

“Could she have been having an affair with Mr. Foublin?”

“I suppose anything is possible,” Chadwick said. “I don’t picture Muriam having any kind of affair. Then again, I wasn’t interested. I met the ex-husband ages ago. I think he was bewildered by all the fame. He seemed so lost and out of his element. He was a school teacher in Centerboro, New York. I believe he retired back there many years ago. I don’t know of any affair.”

“I don’t either,” Rackwill added.

Fenwick said, “When we found her, she was in a Xena, Warrior Princess outfit.”

“A what?” Chadwick said.

Rackwill added, “That’s unbelievable.”

“Do either of you know why she would be wearing that costume?” Fenwick asked.

Chadwick shrugged. “Maybe she just felt like it. She had enough money to indulge any whim she had, although I’m not suggesting dressing up was a whim or anything else. I don’t ever remember her going in for the costume contests at these conventions. Lots of people wanted her for a judge. She was famous and presumably impartial. Although why people think those are mutually inclusive is beyond me.”

“She seldom wore anything but boring outfits,” Rackwill said. “I don’t believe she’d wear such a thing.”

Fenwick said, “Obviously she did since she was caught dead in such a thing.”

“Who’s going to get that awful mess out of our room?” Rackwill asked.

“We’re not staying in this room,” Chadwick said.

“You can discuss that with management,” Fenwick said.

Rackwill and Chadwick were ushered out the door.

Turner looked back at his notes. “I’ve got Melissa Bentworth, her first editor at Galactic Books, claiming she gave Devers the idea about the feathers. And we’ve got Chadwick claiming the same credit. I wonder which one’s lying. Or maybe Devers told them both it was their idea. Stroke both of their egos. How often do you meet someone and strike up a conversation about feathers in a book?”

“I don’t,” Fenwick said, “which is probably another of my many personality defects. Leaving aside our feather fetish for the moment, we’ve got people who were her buddies in Aspen. I wonder how many of them are at the convention?”

“More than I’d care to admit. If there were bidding wars for her movies, why weren’t there bidding wars for her books? Or maybe there were and we’ve got people angry about that.”

“We’ll have to ask,” Fenwick said.

Turner said, “Rackwill’s answer to knowing members of the writing group was short and to the point.”

Fenwick nodded. “Made me suspicious, too. We’ll have to try and find out if he was lying, and if it has any connection to the murders.”

“We’ve got the feather anomaly again. What’s the killer trying to tell us?”

Fenwick said, “Maybe it means that the next person who claims to have given Devers the idea in the first place, is the killer.”

“One can only hope.”

13

Macer brought Lorenzo Cavali to the interrogation suite. Cavali was in his early thirties. He had red hair and wore a
Star Trek
outfit. Turner thought it might have been in the officers’ colors. He wasn’t sure. The tight-fitting spandex clung to a well-muscled body. He was maybe six one with broad shoulders.

Cavali said, “What’s happening?”

Fenwick said, “Muriam Devers and Dennis Foublin are dead. A Chicago cop has been wounded.”

“This is awful,” Cavali said. “What on earth is going on? There’s all kinds of rumors swirling through the convention. One is that somebody is decapitating people, one on each floor.”

Fenwick said, “You find any headless bodies or random heads, you let us know.”

Cavali gazed at Fenwick carefully. He looked like he wasn’t sure if the detective was kidding or not.

“How well did you know Ms. Devers?”

“I worked with Muriam. I didn’t know Foublin. I don’t believe I know any Chicago police officers.”

Fenwick said, “We heard you were bidding on the rights to her last book and that you were angry about not getting them.”

“Who told you that? I know who told you. Chadwick. He’s here. He’d do anything to discredit me.”

“Why would he do that?” Turner asked.

“He’s a no-talent hack. He’s a has-been. I’m in the new wave of directors. He needed Muriam Devers more than I did.”

“How come you didn’t get the rights to her last book?” Fenwick asked.

“I was stupid. I was late with my bid. Her agent, Agnes Demint, is real particular. I didn’t think one day was that big of a deal. Obviously to Agnes it was. I tried to get in touch with Muriam. I couldn’t get through to her.”

“Chadwick said you threatened Ms. Devers.”

“I got angry when I didn’t get the rights. I could use a hit. Okay. Muriam wasn’t money in the bank, but she was the closest thing to it. Chadwick was never true to her characters or her stories. Most directors weren’t. I was willing to make a movie that would be faithful to the letter and spirit of her works. That would be the first time that would happen. I was a genuine fan of her books. I wasn’t some fly-by-night moron who was just looking for a buck. I’ve been a fan of her books since I was a kid.”