Nerds Who Kill by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro [Zubro, Mark Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Chicago, detective, gay, mystery, police procedural
ISBN: 0312333013
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2005-05-12T04:00:00+00:00

12

Macer walked in as Berenking walked out. He said, “We’ve got bloody clothes in a room on one of the top floors.”

“No corpse?” Fenwick asked.

“Not yet.”

Fenwick said, “I hate it when they take the corpse and leave the bloody clothes. You think they’d have sense enough to take both.”

Turner said, “Hell of a hard time carrying around a corpse, the clothes, and the murder weapon.”

“A hand cart,” Fenwick said. “A wheelbarrow? One of those golf carts, kind of zooming up and down the halls?”

“Is that cop humor?” Macer asked.

“Only in one man’s opinion,” Turner said.

Out in the hall, Macer used a special key to summon one of the elevators.

They entered a suite on the top floor. Macer said, “The guest says he came back and found this stuff.” In a closet in a bedroom they found a heap of clothes covered in blood. There was a brown Speedo swimsuit, a butt flap, and a cape. Brian hadn’t worn a cape. And he still had his butt flap and Speedo. Turner doubted if his son had the income or the inclination to buy duplicates of his outfits. Upon seeing the clothes, he was more relieved than anything. There would be less hassle from those who did not know his son about accusing his son. Or accusing the father of trying to cover up for a killer.

There was a broken red ostrich feather on top of the clothes.

“We’re sure it’s blood?” Fenwick asked.

Turner leaned close and looked carefully. He breathed deeply. It sure smelled like blood. “If it’s not, somebody’s going to a lot of trouble to make it look like it. And if it’s not, we’ve still got the red feather problem, a heap of stuff where it doesn’t belong, or a coincidence beyond all odds.”

There was a stir in the hall. Two uniforms brought in a red-faced man at least a hundred pounds overweight. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Who are you?” Fenwick asked.

“I’m director Samuel Chadwick. Why am I being kept back? This is my room. I found that awful mess. What are those clothes doing in my closet?” He was about five foot eight with a white beard. He wore a black tuxedo, a rainbow bow tie, and a snowy white shirt.

He pointed toward the closet.

“Those weren’t there when we left earlier.”

“What time did you leave?” Fenwick asked.

“About nine.”

“Who is we?” Fenwick asked.

“My lover, Arnold Rackwill, and I.”

Rackwill was brought in. He was dressed in an elegantly cut tux. He was thin, blond, and pretty in an if-you-can-afford-him-you-can-have-him kind of way. Rackwill looked confused.

“Who put that there?” Rackwill asked.

“Exactly,” Fenwick said.

Chadwick said, “I was with Arnold all day. He was with me. We can vouch for each other.”

“Which time?” Fenwick asked. “I didn’t mention a time.”

Rackwill said, “All the time. We attended several convention events. We came back here to change after going out to dinner. This is the closet I use. I know those clothes weren’t there before the event.”

“Did anybody stop by your room?” Turner asked.

“No,” Rackwill said.

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