Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery (27 page)

Turner asked, “Did he mention going up on the roof?”

Oxenham licked his lips with a thin purple tongue. “You guys don’t know about the roof here?”

Turner and Fenwick shook their heads.

“It’s like a Chicago legend. There’s all these secret places in Chicago. You see newspapers write about them sometimes. Like odd stuff at the tops of buildings. Mel and I went to every place that was in the paper and then we tried to find some of our own. It was fun.”

“What was odd about this place?” Turner asked.

“It had that Lucite garden. It was an island of serenity. You didn’t have to pay. A lot of tourists hadn’t discovered it yet. When they built this hotel, they wanted a spot of peace and serenity.”

Turner said, “You wear the same kind of thumb rings as Melvin.”

“Yeah, he got his at a garage sale out on Montrose. I had to hunt to find the exact same kind.”

“Why did you want the same ones?” Turner asked.

“I thought they were cool.”

Fenwick said, “We associate that kind of thing with some pretty sinister cults.”

“I’m not a member of a cult.”

“One of Melvin’s rings is missing.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Why would someone take it?”

“I don’t know.”

“To prove to a cult leader that the murder had taken place?” Fenwick asked.

Oxenham said, “Why would you need to prove it? Murders make the headlines in this city all the time.”

He knew no more. He left.

“Patriarchal linearity?” Fenwick asked.

Turner said, “It means that it tells a story from beginning to end in sequential order.”

“Patriarchal linearity?” Fenwick re-asked.

“You could make it your new favorite word, or more accurately favorite phrase.”

“How do you know what that means?”

“If you can write poetry, I can read books.”

“Show off.”

Turner said, “Why isn’t this a cult thing?”

Fenwick said, “I just don’t take these guys that seriously.”

“Slate got himself killed. That’s serious.”

Fenwick said, “Mostly what I know about that cult crap comes from Carruthers.”

“I thought you said you didn’t listen to him.”

“Maybe I watched you listening to him. The point is, yeah, you hear about some cults require you to kill somebody before you can get in. I don’t think that’s what is happening here. Oxenham seemed like a reasonably harmless dweeb to me.”

“Those are the kind you have to watch out for,” Turner said, “the ones who look harmless.”

Fenwick said, “I know we’re not going to dismiss anything out of hand, but I’m not looking for a cult solution to this.”

“Neither am I, but we’re not going to make the fatal mistake of omitting a possibility just because it’s unlikely.”

Fenwick nodded.

Turner said, “I’m going to check on my kids and Ben.”

27

Paul walked into the room with his family in it. Brian was lying on the bed, his eyes on the television which was playing softly. When Paul entered, he sat up on the bed and turned off the television. He asked, “What’s up, Dad?”

“There have been a few developments.” He outlined recent events, omitting gory details. He finished, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”

Ben said, “We’ve been here all the time. We did get one call that you wanted to talk to Brian, but when he went downstairs you weren’t down there. He came right back up.”

Paul felt ill. “What time was this?”

“About an hour, maybe an hour and a half ago,” Brian said. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

“I didn’t.”

The room became very silent. Paul could hear the distant sound of water moving in pipes. The wind howled outside the window.

Paul asked, “What did the voice sound like?”

“It was kind of mechanical. It might have been a computergenerated voice. A real sophisticated one. Or someone recording a disguised voice on a computer and playing it back.”

“What if you asked it a question?” Jeff, the younger boy asked. “They wouldn’t have time to record a new message.”

“I didn’t think to ask any questions. I figured Dad wanted to talk to me.”

Paul said, “From now on, you need to leave with a police escort and then only with a cop I have introduced you to and that you’ve met through me before.”

Turner knew they’d found two high-end laptop computers in Slate’s room. Either one would have been capable of playing a recorded voice.

Mrs. Talucci and Myra were not present. Ben said, “It’s getting kind of late. Mrs. Talucci was tired. Myra drove her home.”

“I thought she never got tired,” Fenwick said.

“She’s over ninety,” Turner said. “She’s entitled to be tired any time she wants.” He blushed. “Sorry. It’s late. I’m fed up and frustrated.” He turned to Brian. “How are you holding up?”

Brian said, “Was someone going to try and kill me when I went to talk to you?”

Paul didn’t want to lie to his son. He also didn’t want to accelerate the boy’s fear or his own. He said, “There was another murder about that time. I think the killer may have wanted to try to implicate you.”

“But cops watched me get on and off the elevator. Officer Sanchez made sure I wasn’t hassled. He can vouch for me.”

“So you were pretty safe.”

“I did spend some time looking for you. I had to ask around. Nobody knew. You weren’t in the lobby. A lot of cops were. I figured if it was important, you’d find me here, so I came back up. Nobody called you?”

“It wasn’t officially announced you were here. Did you tell them you were my kid?”

“No.”

Paul said, “They might not have understood the urgency. I kept you up here. I kept that information away from the others. I’m afraid that might have put you in danger. The killer is playing with our minds.”

“Have you found anything definite?” Brian asked.

“We can’t find a sword that we can prove was yours. Once we’ve got that, we’ll get you out of here. We’ve got one very active killer. He’s done a great deal. You’d have had to have left this room a whole lot of times to do a whole lot of crazy stuff.”

Brian said, “I only left the once …”

Paul stopped him, “You don’t need to explain to me. I don’t need alibis or excuses from you. You’re going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brian said.

Paul sighed, “Unfortunately, I don’t know how much longer it’s going to take.”

Jeff said, “Ben said I should go home with Myra and Mrs. Talucci. I didn’t want to go.” Jeff added a tone of petulance that Paul found irritating in anyone.

Paul looked at his younger son. The detective had had a full day of crime and criminals and suspects. He pulled himself together. One of the things he’d been concerned about was his children’s relationship with Ben after his lover moved in. Both boys liked Ben. Brian and Ben often kept up a gentle repartee that was comfortable and friendly. Paul seldom had to discipline Brian. Jeff tended to test limits. Why he chose this moment to challenge Ben, he didn’t know. Maybe it was like a little kid throwing a tantrum. You pick the worst moment to challenge the adult most greatly.

Paul squatted down next to Jeff’s wheelchair. His older son had escaped a possible lethal situation. That fear of loss kept his temper in check. Losing his sons was his greatest fear. He draped his arm over the back of the chair. He gazed at his son and with an effort of supreme patience said, “We talked for a long time about Ben moving in, didn’t we?”

Jeff nodded.

“You know what we said about discipline.”

“Yeah, but Dad.”

“That’s enough,” Paul said.

“But.”

“Enough.” His voice reached its deepest thrum. Neither of sons had ever challenged him after that tone was used. “Enough,” he said very quietly again. “You know the rules. You obey me. You obey Ben. You listen to your brother. This is a work situation. I’m sorry you boys got involved in this. There’s nothing to be done about that. You’ve helped me with information about the convention. I appreciate that. However, you need to think about better choices in your behavior.”

Jeff hung his head. “Sorry, Dad.” He twisted his body to look at Ben. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said.

Paul looked at his son’s twisted back. The movement had revealed the front of the back of the wheelchair. He spotted a splash of red. “What’s this?” he asked. Jeff began to turn. “Hold still,” Paul said. Jeff froze. Paul reached behind his boy.

Using a plastic glove, Turner pulled out a broken red feather. Fear for his family welled up inside him, but cold, unreasoning fury took him for a moment.

“Dad?” Jeff asked.

Paul whispered. “You’re going to be all right.” He was not going to frighten his sons. With a softness more startling than his deep thrum, he asked, “Where did this come from?”

No one had seen it before.

“When were you last out of the chair?” Paul asked.

“I went to the bathroom before we came up here,” Jeff said.

Ben asked, “Is that one of the feathers like Ms. Devers had?”

“Yes,” Turner said.

“Why would there be one back there?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know,” Paul said. But he was afraid he did. His family wouldn’t know about the placement of the feathers around the crime scenes. Someone was sending him a message.

Brian asked, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it, Dad?”

Paul said, “Something is very wrong.”

Jeff said, “I don’t get it.”

Paul said, “There’s nothing to get yet. Buck and I need to get back to work right away. No matter what, do not leave this room. I will have armed guards on the doors. They will not let you go.”

“If there’s a fire, do we leave?” Jeff asked.

“You do what the policeman outside the door tells you.”

Turner and Fenwick walked down the small hall to the door. Paul beckoned to Ben. His lover followed him into the corridor.

“What’s going on?” Ben asked.

“We’ve found a broken red feather at each crime scene.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben said. “Are you okay?”

“As long as you guys are okay, I’m okay. I’ve got to work this case.” He summoned one of the beat cops. He said, “My son has been threatened by the killer.” He showed him the feather. “This is the killer’s signature. No one, no one, is to go in or out of this room. We’ll send someone to stay with you.” He read the name on the man’s tag. Turner sent him for Sanchez, whom he knew and trusted implicitly. A few minutes later the beat cop arrived. Turner quickly filled him in.

Sanchez said, “I’ll take care of it. Bruno’s here. I know he’s not a fake cop.”

Ben and Paul moved until they turned a corner and were out of sight of the others.

Paul bashed his hand against the corridor wall. His breath came in ragged gasps. “To fuck with my family!” His voice was raw and hoarse. He bashed his hand again. “Nobody fucks with my family. I will not allow it.” He slumped against the wall and repeatedly slapped the palm of his hand against it.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ben asked.

“I’ve got to solve this. It’s got to happen soon.”

“I’ll stay with the boys. We’ll be all right. You’ve taken all the precautions you need to. We’ll be safe.”

Turner swallowed the comment—but you weren’t earlier, the killer was inches from all of you. It would do no good to magnify any fear that Ben was feeling. Paul got his breathing under control. He said, “The killer is going to pay for this.”

Ben said, “I know you’ll do everything possible.” Paul pulled Ben into a fierce embrace. They went back to the others in the hall. Bruno, the other beat cop, showed up. Ben went back into the room. Fenwick and Turner left.

When they were finally alone in the interrogation suite, Fenwick said, “Double and triple fuck. Double, double, and triple, triple fuck.” One sure sign that Fenwick had reached total fury was when he reached this level of maledictions. Unbeknown to him, he nearly repeated Turner’s curse from moments before. Fenwick said, “Nobody goes after our kids, yours or mine. Nobody. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Turner said, “We should have hunted through Slate’s backpack when we first had a chance. If we’d have done that, then maybe my boys wouldn’t be in the middle of this. We’re careful about someone’s rights, but when it hits home, I know which side I come down on.”

“We’d all protect our kids. We couldn’t have known. Don’t start that ‘had I but known’ crap. You are not responsible for your kids being in danger.”

“I will be until we catch the second killer.”

“Is this cult thing more possible now?” Fenwick asked. “Maybe it would be a badge of honor for a cult member to hurt a cop’s family as well as a cop.”

“A dangerous game that is going to come to an end.”

He called Molton and apprised him of this latest development.

“Son of a bitch,” Molton said. He promised more cops and his own imminent return to the scene.

“What now?” Fenwick asked.

“We get that chart of all the movements of the people. We figure out who the hell was where when.”

They taped a number of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven pieces of paper together so they’d have a large enough chart. Then they put the names of all the people they’d talked to down one side and all the times in fifteen minute intervals since ten that morning along the top.

28

Turner checked the guest list that Macer had provided them against the convention roster that Murkle had provided. Slate’s name was on the one for the convention. Turner said, “We wouldn’t have found his name. He wasn’t registered.”

“Whose room was it?”

“We need to find out.” They perused the list of comped rooms. “There’s one too many rooms,” Turner said.

“What?”

Turner showed him.

“Who gave him the room?”

“Had to be one of the convention planners.”

They heard what sounded like a fire alarm. They hurried down the corridor to his family’s room. The cops and the family were safe inside.

“Is there really a fire?” Jeff asked.

“We’ll find out,” Paul said.

“Do we have to evacuate?” Jeff asked.