Read Online Nerds Who Kill: A Paul Turner Mystery by Mark Richard Zubro - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Richard Zubro
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know Muriam Devers?”
“I love her books,” Diaz said. She looked from one to the other of the detectives. “Did something happen to her? Is she …?” Her voice trailed off.
“She was murdered,” Fenwick said.
Both detectives watched their reactions carefully. Diaz clutched Cay’s hand convulsively. He leaned over and said soothing words.
When Diaz was calmer, she said, “I didn’t know her personally. Her books were fantastic. I’ve read them since I was a kid. I always liked her women characters. They were strong.” Big gulp of air. “I guess I’m not.”
Cay said, “You’ve had a shock.”
Diaz said, “I saw the movies they made out of her books that had most to do with science fiction. They were okay. Some were pretty short on action.”
Everyone’s a critic, sometimes at the most inopportune moments.
“Do you know anything about the red ostrich feathers she carried with her?” Turner asked.
Diaz said, “I heard it was some publicity thing she started way back when. One of the women in her first book had one as some kind of symbolic thing.”
Cay said, “She always had one with her when I saw her at conventions. It was a symbol her main character adopted.”
They knew no more. They left.
The detectives met with Oona Murkle in the suite they were using for interrogations. Fenwick said, “Dennis Foublin is dead.”
She clutched at her throat and gasped. “My God, what is happening? What is going on? Is there a madman on the loose?”
Turner said, “We know this is difficult for you, Ms. Murkle, but if you could answer a few more questions.”
“I suppose. I can try.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Foublin?” Turner asked.
She said, “His wife is here. She’s probably downstairs. I told the convention organizers about Muriam’s death. Word has gotten out. I’m afraid rumors have started to spread.”
They dispatched a beat cop to find Mrs. Foublin. They asked Ms. Murkle for background on Foublin.
Murkle said, “Dennis was the web master for an Internet magazine, Science Magic . He was also the editor and nearly the only staffer. His wife helped him with it. He wrote numerous short stories. He was a good, good man.”
“But someone killed him,” Fenwick said. “Someone must be upset with him. Do you have any idea who?”
She thought for several moments and finally said, “The only thing I can think of is that a few unprincipled people said he was the kind who always got almost all of his facts right.”
Fenwick asked, “Wouldn’t a first-rate writer want to get all of his facts right? Who said he didn’t?”
“Oh, it was those Internet chat somethings. I have trouble getting online. I’m not good with computers. Dennis had a huge following. His web site received thousands of hits a month. It was a bible among the SF cognoscenti. People read him faithfully for his opinions about books, movies, anything that had anything to do with fantasy or science fiction. He had myriad interests. The committee organizing the convention thought it was a great coup when they got him as the fan guest of honor.”
“Why was it a coup?” Turner asked.
“He hadn’t been to one of these in a long while. He was known as a fabulously knowledgeable recluse.”
“Fan guest of honor?” Fenwick asked.
“Yes. At these conventions you want to serve every segment of your public. There is almost always a fan guest of honor. They get their name prominently in the program. They get to wear a special badge, and they get to meet some of the stars. For our convention he attended the Thursday night pre-convention celebrity dinner. In person, Dennis was a very charming man. He had lots of friends.”
“If he gave opinions online, couldn’t that lead to some people being angry at him?”
“Yes, but I never heard of any. I never read what he wrote. I’m a fan myself, but I know what I like. I wouldn’t care what he wrote.”
Turner said, “And some people didn’t think he had
“I love her books,” Diaz said. She looked from one to the other of the detectives. “Did something happen to her? Is she …?” Her voice trailed off.
“She was murdered,” Fenwick said.
Both detectives watched their reactions carefully. Diaz clutched Cay’s hand convulsively. He leaned over and said soothing words.
When Diaz was calmer, she said, “I didn’t know her personally. Her books were fantastic. I’ve read them since I was a kid. I always liked her women characters. They were strong.” Big gulp of air. “I guess I’m not.”
Cay said, “You’ve had a shock.”
Diaz said, “I saw the movies they made out of her books that had most to do with science fiction. They were okay. Some were pretty short on action.”
Everyone’s a critic, sometimes at the most inopportune moments.
“Do you know anything about the red ostrich feathers she carried with her?” Turner asked.
Diaz said, “I heard it was some publicity thing she started way back when. One of the women in her first book had one as some kind of symbolic thing.”
Cay said, “She always had one with her when I saw her at conventions. It was a symbol her main character adopted.”
They knew no more. They left.
The detectives met with Oona Murkle in the suite they were using for interrogations. Fenwick said, “Dennis Foublin is dead.”
She clutched at her throat and gasped. “My God, what is happening? What is going on? Is there a madman on the loose?”
Turner said, “We know this is difficult for you, Ms. Murkle, but if you could answer a few more questions.”
“I suppose. I can try.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Foublin?” Turner asked.
She said, “His wife is here. She’s probably downstairs. I told the convention organizers about Muriam’s death. Word has gotten out. I’m afraid rumors have started to spread.”
They dispatched a beat cop to find Mrs. Foublin. They asked Ms. Murkle for background on Foublin.
Murkle said, “Dennis was the web master for an Internet magazine, Science Magic . He was also the editor and nearly the only staffer. His wife helped him with it. He wrote numerous short stories. He was a good, good man.”
“But someone killed him,” Fenwick said. “Someone must be upset with him. Do you have any idea who?”
She thought for several moments and finally said, “The only thing I can think of is that a few unprincipled people said he was the kind who always got almost all of his facts right.”
Fenwick asked, “Wouldn’t a first-rate writer want to get all of his facts right? Who said he didn’t?”
“Oh, it was those Internet chat somethings. I have trouble getting online. I’m not good with computers. Dennis had a huge following. His web site received thousands of hits a month. It was a bible among the SF cognoscenti. People read him faithfully for his opinions about books, movies, anything that had anything to do with fantasy or science fiction. He had myriad interests. The committee organizing the convention thought it was a great coup when they got him as the fan guest of honor.”
“Why was it a coup?” Turner asked.
“He hadn’t been to one of these in a long while. He was known as a fabulously knowledgeable recluse.”
“Fan guest of honor?” Fenwick asked.
“Yes. At these conventions you want to serve every segment of your public. There is almost always a fan guest of honor. They get their name prominently in the program. They get to wear a special badge, and they get to meet some of the stars. For our convention he attended the Thursday night pre-convention celebrity dinner. In person, Dennis was a very charming man. He had lots of friends.”
“If he gave opinions online, couldn’t that lead to some people being angry at him?”
“Yes, but I never heard of any. I never read what he wrote. I’m a fan myself, but I know what I like. I wouldn’t care what he wrote.”
Turner said, “And some people didn’t think he had
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