Drop Dead by Mark Richard Zubro

Drop Dead by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-11-15T05:00:00+00:00


Turner and Fenwick sat in the car without moving.

“They’re both lying,” Fenwick said.

Turner nodded. “How about Munsen?”

“He’s lying.”

“Anybody telling us the truth?”

“Sibilla.”

“You only believe her because she sets your testosterone in motion.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re hiding secret heterosexual tendencies.”

“I’ll stick with Ben. I just believed her. We have no basis for disbelieving her. The main thing she’s got going for her is that she was not at the brunch. She couldn’t have pushed him. Same with O’Dowd and Spitzer. On the other hand, there are all kinds of reasons the owners of both companies would lie.”

“And I don’t like them,” Fenwick said. “I want to see Veleshki and Heyling not dressed as if they were on their way to a photo shoot.”

“If Veleshki had an affair,” Turner said, “maybe it wasn’t his only one.”

“Possible,” Fenwick said.

“Maybe Cullom only let people see bits of himself,” Turner said. “Maybe it wasn’t so much that he had ghastly secrets to hide. Maybe he simply never confided completely in anyone.”

“Possible, but then maybe all these people are telling the truth. That’s a depressing thought—all the suspects in a murder case telling the truth.”

“I also want to know more about this Kindel guy. He claims they were lovers. No one else confirms it.”

Fenwick said, “Maybe Cullom told him one thing and everybody else another.”

“Let’s meet Ian for lunch,” Turner suggested. “I’m dry of insights for the moment and the agent’s office is near the paper. Maybe Ian can find out more about Kindel for us.” He drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “I don’t feel like I’ve got a good handle on Furyk. Kind of like I’m dancing on an oiled floor. I don’t get a feeling for who he was.”

“You know what we’re missing in this case?” Fenwick asked.

“The murderer.”

“Besides that.”

“What?” Turner asked.

“Nobody’s morally outraged by all this hopping into bed.”

“We could place an ad in the paper—‘Wanted: one morally outraged suspect.’”

“Or murderer.”

“Or murderer. Apply to Buck Fenwick, Area Ten headquarters.”

“I think I miss moral outrage,” Fenwick said. “It would add flavor, a sense of narrowness, fuel to the fire, grease to the wheels.”

“Boredom to the cliches. You want to be morally outraged, you could do it for both of us.”



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