Nerds Who Kill

by Zubro, Mark Richard

  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.

  Paul used the phone in the room to call Macer. “Is it a real fire?”

  “We’ve got a lot of smoke in the dealers’ room, and we got a second alarm from the top floor near the restaurant.”

  “Arson?”

  “That’s my guess. We’re evacuating everybody.”

  Paul hung up. “We’re going to leave.” They’d have to carry Jeff’s wheelchair down all the stairs. They rushed to the emergency exist. There was no smoke up here now, but the elevators had all stopped. There was a knot of people at the stairs. They waited in line. People were grumbling about the need for evacuation. A few had their suitcases, others toilet kits, one his laptop. Most were a bit disheveled and in odd states of dress. It was late and many might have been awakened.

  “The wheelchair’s going to clog everything,” said a newly arrived hotel guest waiting in line behind them.

  Fenwick started to say something. Paul put out a hand. “He’s right.” He picked up his son.

  “Hey,” Jeff protested.

  “I’ll carry you,” Paul said. “It’s the only way.” The stairs were filled with people filing orderly down. People murmured and a few even chatted. A few were cranky. No one seemed out of control. Fenwick huffed a lot. Paul knew that if they were going up, his partner would have been in real trouble.

  Halfway down they met some firemen coming up. All stood aside to give them quick passage.

  Two thirds of the way down Ben asked, “You need some help?”

  Paul refused any assistance. No matter how far it was, he would not tire of carrying his son.

  At the ground floor, he took his family outside. An army of fire trucks and personnel had been added to the official confusion in the streets outside the hotel. After ensuring Sanchez and another beat cop were guarding his family, Turner and Fenwick made their way toward the battalion chief at the Incident Command Post. Firemen in their black coats and rubber boots hurried about.

  “Turner said, “The killer’s using this.”

  “Got to be,” Fenwick said, “but why?”

  “He needs to get something out of the hotel?”

  “The incriminating broadsword is my guess,” Fenwick said.

  “He’s dressed as a fireman,” Turner said. “That’s what this is about. Think about all the costumes in Slate’s room. Was there a fireman’s disguise?”

  “A black rain slicker,” Fenwick said. “I thought it was kind of odd.”

  “The killer planned that well ahead?” Turner asked.

  They arrived at the command center. Molton, the battalion chief, and the local police commander were huddled together. Showing their badges, Turner and Fenwick moved past the other personnel and joined the commanders.

  Turner explained their theory.

  The fire commander said, “The fire in the dealer’s room was fairly serious, but the sprinklers worked. They’ll lose most everything from fire or water, but it’s out. The fire on the top floor was a bunch of linens and things for the restaurant.”

  “Was it arson?” Turner asked.

  “I’ve examined both sites,” the battalion commander said. “We’ll have an official investigation, but I’ve been to enough of these. Unofficially, we’ve got an arsonist on the loose.”

  The streets were thronged with guests. “Are they going to be letting people back in soon?” Turner asked.

  “It’ll be a few hours before we’re done checking the whole complex to make sure it’s safe for people to go back in.”

  Turner and Fenwick stepped across the street. They could see Brian, Jeff, Ben, and their police escort about fifty feet away. Jeff waved. Paul waved back. They had propped his younger son on a hotel chair. Brian hovered close by.

  Turner saw Oona Murkle moving toward his family. Her matronly bulk proceeded slowly.

  “It’s another fake,” Turner said. “The fire isn’t to cover any kind of escape. All the killer has to do is walk out, check out at a normal time if he’s a hotel guest. There’s no need for this.”

  “Unless he’s planning another killing.”

  Turner whirled to look for his family. Oona was about five feet away from Jeff. She walked awkwardly. Turner dashed forward. Fenwick followed. Turner heard several people gasp as he leaped forward and tackled Oona Murkle. He felt her bulk fall under him. He heard the clank of metal as she hit the ground. Moving the folds of her billowing nightgown, he saw a broken red feather and a broadsword with flecks of blood on it.

  29

  “How’d you know it was her?” Molton asked.

  “I didn’t until the damn sword hit the ground. I was suspicious. Bentworth told us she was in charge of the small stuff. She was the one in charge of the rooms. She’d have had the easiest access to get Slate in.”

  They took Oona to Area Ten police headquarters t
o interrogate her.

  Turner asked, “Why my family?”

  “I saw you last night when your sons did well in those costume competitions. Everybody was happy except me. Everybody cheered and clapped for the poor kid in the wheelchair. Pah. I hated your family on sight. All those clever costumes in that group, and you in that stupid sport coat. You stood out. I asked about you discreetly. I knew who you were. I remembered. I thought your family might come in handy.”

  “What started all this?” Fenwick asked.

  Murkle sighed. “Everybody is always happy at these. I’m up. I’m always up. I’m known as the cheerful one. I’m the one they can successfully shunt aside. Old Oona. Poor Oona. She won’t mind, we’ll give her all the shit work. Never the honors. Never the recognition. Never a nibble from a publisher. Never a moment’s recognition. Nobody ever wanted to make me fan guest of honor. Nobody dreamt of doing something nice for poor old Oona. I saw your older boy necking behind that curtain. I kind of keep a watch on things. I notice things. I’d seen your kids. The older boy was pushing the younger until the older met the young lady. I saw where they were headed. Nobody is supposed to be behind there. I was going to kill Muriam Devers from the start. I had it all planned perfectly. When I saw your kid, I saw my chance. I saw him go back here with that girl. I knew he wasn’t supposed to be back here. I followed him. Kids these days. No respect. He unbuckled his sword. He couldn’t maneuver with it on. He was occupied with his young lady. I took the sword. It fit in with my schemes.”

  “How did you plan to get away with a public murder in the street?”

  “If I got the chance, I would do what I could to any member of your family. There was a lot of confusion and chaos. There was only one sword with tell-tale blood on it. I know from what I’ve read, they can find traces on anything. I had to get rid of it. If nothing else the confusion would let me get the thing out of here.”

  “Why not just put it in your car?”

  “Guards were everywhere. You had people watching the exits to the parking garage. I couldn’t risk it. It’s safer to hide something in as public a way as possible.”