Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery Read Free Page A

walked to the store every morning for her daily papers.
    “Why did you come?” he asked.
    She smiled at him. “Never been to one of these. Thought I’d check it out. I haven’t worn a costume since Halloween of nineteen forty-five and I don’t get enough silliness in my life. Thought I’d try a little of that, too.” She pointed at his outfit. “Wouldn’t hurt you to unbend a little.”
    Ben said, “I tried to talk him into wearing leather chaps and a vest.”
    Mrs. Talucci said, “Hot as that would undoubtedly be, this isn’t a leather bar or your bedroom. I think you’d look great as one of those X-Men.”
    “You went to the movie?” Paul asked.
    “I’ve got cable,” Mrs. Talucci said.
    Paul said, “Ben’s not in costume.”
    “I don’t do sci-fi drag,” Ben said.
     
     
    They got home late. Jeff burbled happily for the entire trip. He discussed at length all the things he planned to do the next day He’d come in third place in his category of costuming—comic heroes. All those in first through fifth place in their categories would be finalists the next night at the banquet. Mrs. Talucci had come in first in the Star Trek subcategory. Brian had come in fifth in his. He said he figured several of the female judges and one of the male judges thought he was hot. He also said he’d gotten the phone numbers of several of the girls he’d met.
    Jeff said, “Aren’t you dating Jane?”
    Brian said, “We aren’t going steady, and how do you know about Jane?”
    “It’s too late for wrangling,” Paul said.
    “I saw a woman pinch Brian’s butt,” Jeff said.
    “Is that something that affects you in any way?” Paul asked.
    “No.”
    “Then it’s not something you need to tell me. We don’t gossip.” Recently, Paul had needed to remind both sons about the tattling rule and had done some clamping down.
    “My butt’s fine,” Brian said.
    Paul said, “For which I’m sure all the females on the planet are grateful, but which I do not wish to discuss.”
    Brian smiled but refrained from further comment. The sixteen year old knew when to back off.

2
     
    For Paul Turner, working on Saturdays was a pain in the ass. However, when it was your turn in the rotation, you did it. Saturdays were about the same as any other day. Original crime was rare.
    The problem with weekend work was time. On the weekend his family was more likely to be around to fix something with, have a quiet moment with, to talk to, to listen to. Before he left for work, he watched the costumed aggregation of his family and neighbor assemble in the family van for the drive to the convention center.
    This Saturday at Area Ten headquarters, Turner and his detective partner, Buck Fenwick, slogged though tedious follow-ups on their active cases. Most detectives had about twenty of these that they were working on at one time. Each hot new murder took precedence, then there was all the follow-up work on past cases. First thing that morning they showed pictures of possible suspects to mostly reluctant and usually unreliable eyewitnesses. After that they listened to crime lab people explain possibilities and probabilities but not certainties. Then the detectives wrote reports on all their activities.
    Just after eleven a call came in reporting a dead body on one of the top floors of the Greater Chicago Hotel and Convention Center. Turner and Fenwick were in line for the next case.
    Turner felt a pang of anxiety about it possibly being one of his kids. Then he remembered that they weren’t staying at the hotel, and there was no word that the person who was dead had any connection to the convention. Still. The detectives hurried over.
    Turner and Fenwick entered the massive complex, which was just west of the Kennedy Expressway past the Hubbard Street tunnel. While it couldn’t rival McCormick Place, few venues could; it was still one of the largest hotel/convention centers in the country.
    The halls to the elevators were thronged with