Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery (29 page)

“Why’d Slate have to die?” Fenwick asked.

“He was losing his nerve. He was the hardest of all because I had to kill him by myself.”

Fenwick said, “We have evidence that he might have fought back.”

“I got in a good blow from behind. He did a lot of staggering around. I barely got out of there, down to his room with bloody remnants, and back to somewhere safe.”

“Why did you put those swords and clothes on the roof?”

“Confusion.”

“But how’d you get them up there?”

“Planning. Hard work. No one was expecting something lethal at this convention. I had lots of access from being the liaison with the hotel. Who suspects a matronly woman in her sixties? The stuff on the roof we could get done at three or four in the morning.”

“When did you start planting the clothes and feathers in rooms?”

“This morning. I checked people’s schedules. We barely got out of the hall after Muriam’s death. If we hadn’t planted everything before she showed up, I’m not sure we would have made it. Fortunately, I’d planned thoroughly. Slate had helped with all the bloody stuff earlier. It took awhile to get the look and smell right. We did use some real blood from Foublin. Some of the blood was fake. We used some of each to make it more difficult for the police to figure out what was going on. We were lucky to have more time with Foublin. Slate didn’t really have the nerve for killing. Once I’d decided to finish off Muriam and use him as a partner, I knew I’d have to eliminate him. It was a risk bringing him to you although you’d have found the loon eventually”

Turner asked, “Weren’t you worried he’d break the first time we talked to him?”

“Only a little. At that time he was pretty strong. He began to unravel as more and more cops showed up. When he stabbed the police officer, I think it tipped the scales.”

“What happened to his thumb ring?” Turner asked.

“He was always twisting and fiddling with the things. When he got nervous, it got worse. On the roof, before I had to kill him, he was frighteningly nervous. He kept taking them off and putting them back on. He was pacing back and forth, whining and complaining in that high reedy voice. He turned his back on me, and I hit him in the middle of a fidget. After he died, I accidentally kicked the ring. I was lucky to find it. I threw it over the wall. I thought it would help confuse the police.”

“We never found it,” Fenwick said.

“Why hurt the cop?” Turner asked.

“Slate did that by himself. It was an accident. Slate was going in the door while the cop was coming out. He had a pile of bloody clothes with him at the time. I was behind him.”

Turner asked, “Why put his backpack on top of the water tower on the roof?”

“I didn’t want to be seen with it. I knew you’d examined it. If I was seen, you might figure out the connection between us. I didn’t want to just dump it over the side. I didn’t want to hurt an innocent person.” She gulped and looked from one to the other of them. “About halfway up the tower, I got a little nervous. I tossed it. Why would anyone think to look up there?”

“Why plant all the stupid feathers?” Fenwick asked.

“It was her symbol. Fine. It could symbolize her death. Stupid fucking Ramble bird.”

Turner wasn’t agape at the epithet. He’d seen ghastly murder done. A little old lady with a foul mouth wasn’t going to even register on his alarm scale.

Murkle was continuing. “I also wanted to plant them everywhere. I had access to all the registration records. I knew enough people. I had enough feathers. I put them in the rooms of the rude or inconsiderate. Everyone who’d ever been supercilious at a convention. Anyone who’d made my work harder with some stupid, petty request. Everybody had to have some stupid, petty request that had to be met or they wouldn’t come to the convention. I wish I could have crushed them to death with all the minutiae of their silly, silly requests. The writer Hickenberg was a mean man. I figured I might not be able to kill them all, but I could scare them. They would remember me. I might not be able to get my fiction published, but I could make a headline. Someone would notice my work besides these drones and hacks who plan these conventions.”

Fenwick asked, “Why the feather in our bathroom?”

“I knew I wouldn’t be physically able to assault you, but I thought I’d scare or confuse you. I slipped the feather into your son’s wheelchair. The one in the bathroom was a follow up. I just wish I’d had some bloody clothes.”

“Why would the feathers be frightening to other people?” Fenwick asked.

“Maybe they wouldn’t be, but I’d understand them. She stole my idea. I had ostrich feathers in several of my books.”

“She read your unpublished works?”

“Way back when, I met her at a convention. She agreed to read a manuscript of mine. It had red feathers. I never got published. She did. Her first book was filled with the damn things. Every time I saw her carrying one of those damn things, every single time, I wanted to strangle her.”

“Why give Slate one of the hospitality suites?”

“We had to have some place as a central location.”

“It gave us a hint that you were involved in something not right.”

“Ha,” she said. “You’re not so bright. You all kept trying to think of some connection between all the people who got feathers or bloody clothes. It was simplicity itself. They were the ones who I arranged rides for from the airport. The first one I picked up was Muriam. She was mean to me. She was rude. She had no reason to be a snot. She’d sneered at me since reading that first book of mine. I confronted her about the feathers. She denied ever having read my manuscript. Just out and out denied it. I can take a lot. I’ve put up with a lot in my life. That was too much. To deny reality? That drives me insane. That was when I snapped. I knew I had to do something. That was Wednesday when she came in early for the convention. Slate and I had already made plans for mischief. It wasn’t hard to accelerate.”

She was taken away.

Fenwick said, “I understand the desire to be published. I’d give a lot to see my stuff make it into a book.”

“You’re not willing to kill for it?”

“Not tonight. We’ve got a mountain of paperwork, and I’m bushed.”

30

Paul Turner arrived home very late. Brian was on the couch. Jeff had his head on his brother’s shoulder and was fast asleep. Ben was on the other end of the couch. They were watching
Midnight
, a black-and-white movie starring Claudette Colbert. Afraid of awakening his brother, Brian sat up only slightly. He whispered, “Is everything going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

Paul ruffled his older boy’s hair. “Everything’s fine.”

Ben stood up and moved next to him. Paul put his arm around him.

“Was it really that old lady?” Brian asked.

“The older woman and a partner in crime.”

“Why?” Brian asked.

“Because people have disappointments all the time. Because sometimes disappointment hurts too much.”

“Why us?” Brian asked.

“Random chance,” Turner said.

Brian digested this bit of reality.

Jeff awakened and said, “I lost my costume.”

Paul said, “After all that’s happened, would you really want to go to another SF costume event?”

“Why not? Bad things happened, sure, but they weren’t our fault. You solved the case.”

“You could have been hurt.”

“But I’ve got you guys to protect me.”

And Turner wanted to protect them and keep them safe forever. Later, he let Ben wrap his arms around him, and for a little while he felt protected as well.

By Mark Richard Zubro

The Tom and Scott Mysteries

A Simple Suburban Murder
Why Isn’t Becky Twitchell Dead?
The Only Good Priest
The Principal Cause of Death
An Echo of Death
Rust on the Razor
Are You Nuts?
One Dead Drag Queen
Here Comes the Corpse
File Under Dead

The Paul Turner Mysteries

Sorry Now?
Political Poison
Another Dead Teenager
The Truth Can Get You Killed
Drop Dead
Sex and
Murder.com
Dead Egotistical Morons

NERDS WHO KILL. Copyright © 2005 by Mark Richard Zubro. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

eISBN 9781429940436

First eBook Edition : June 2011

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Zubro, Mark Richard.

Nerds who kill / Mark Richard Zubro.—1st St. Martin’s ed. p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-33301-3

EAN 978-0-312-33301-0

1. Turner, Paul (Fictitious character—Fiction. 2. Women authors—Crimes against—Fiction. 3. Science fiction—Authorship—Fiction. 4. Police—Illinois—Chicago—Fiction. 5. Congresses and conventions—Fiction. 6. Gay police officers—Fiction. 7.Chicago (III.)—Fiction. 8. Gay fathers—Fiction. 9. Gay men—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3576.U225N47 2005

813’.54—dc22

2005040701

First Edition: June 2005