Free Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery by Mark Richard Zubro Page A

She put her hand over her mouth.
    “Do you know anybody else who felt jealousy?” Turner asked.
    “No. I just assumed it existed.”
    Fenwick said, “You could have not watched the shows.”
    “I couldn’t resist. It was like watching evil blossom right in front of your eyes. Like a poisonous flower all pretty and smiling and deadly and awful.”
    Turner said, “We found a broken red ostrich feather next to your husband’s body. Do you attach any significance to that?”
    “No. I know Devers paraded around with one at every public moment. She even insisted on having a bouquet of them behind her at every public appearance. A lot of birds died for that woman’s sins.”
    Turner persisted. “But your husband had no association with the feathers.”
    “Certainly not. It was an absurd affectation on that woman’s part.”
    “Did your husband have any fights with anyone?” Fenwick asked.
    “No, no one. He was a good man.”
    “With you?” Fenwick asked.
    She gave him a startled look.
    Fenwick said, “We have to cover all the bases.”
    “I suppose you have to ask the family,” she said. “What an awful thing to ask.”
    The detectives waited.
    “We loved each other. We’d have been married twenty-five years next August. He was a good man. He had quirks. We all have quirks.”
    “Do you have children?”
    “One. A son in the Peace Corps in South Africa. God, I’m going to have to call him. What am I going to say? This is too awful. This is too unbelievable.” She wiped at her nose.
    “Do you know other people who didn’t like Ms. Devers?” Turner asked.
    “I can give you a list of people I know. I don’t think any of them is a killer. I’d hate for them to think that I pointed a finger at them.”
    “Someone did this to your husband. It’s most likely it was someone at the convention. We know your husband got along with Ms. Devers. We need to know who didn’t get along with her. We assume the deaths are connected.”
    “Well, I can give you a few names.”
    When she was done, Turner asked, “Why was Mr. Foublin in the room at this time?”
    “He had to make a presentation at tonight’s banquet. He was in the room making some last-minute changes to his talk.”
    “How long was he gone for?”
    “An hour or two. He always waited until the last minute to prepare any remarks. It was just his way.”
    “Where were you?” Fenwick asked.
    “I was sitting in the hotel lounge with some friends waiting for him.”
    “The whole time?” Fenwick asked.
    “Yes.”
    “What time did you last see him?”
    “About ten. He was going to stop in the dealers’ room and then come up here. My friends and I ate a leisurely breakfast then passed the time on the comfy chairs in the lobby. I love watching the people.”
    She had an alibi.
    “Did either of you have a broadsword as part of your costume?” Turner asked.
    “No. Dennis wasn’t into violence. He didn’t like it that people brought weapons to these conventions. He thought they were dangerous. Some people tried to lead a campaign against them, but Dennis was against an outright ban. That kind of thing gets pretty absurd.”
    “How so?” Fenwick asked.
    “Well, do you ban ray guns and laser pistols? They’re all fake. He was against both the weapons and the ban. It was all silly and a little absurd, but Dennis loved that kind of thing, taking fun things and playing with them. Testing the limits of the absurd.” She dabbed at her eyes.
    “Did you see anyone who looked suspicious hanging around?”
    “No. No one who looked like a murderer. It never even crossed my mind. Something like that doesn’t, usually, does it? This is so inexplicable.” She began to cry softly.
    “Can we have someone sit with you?” Turner asked. “We could call someone.”
    “I’ll talk to Oona.”
    Turner found Sanchez in the corridor and gave him the list of names. Turner pointed to Matthew Kagan’s. “See if you can find him first.” He brought Oona back