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

was unconscious while he was fighting.”
    The ME said, “Stop that. No humor. None. Zero. Zip. I don’t get paid enough to listen to that crap.”
    Turner said, “Is there much point to strangling him after he’s dead?”
    “Not you, too,” the ME said.
    “It’s catching,” Turner said.
    “I’ll put it in my notes,” Fenwick said. “Ask killer when he strangled him.”
    The ME muttered, “I’d say there’s a shortage of good, usable broadswords in here.”
    Turner said, “So he was skewered in the middle of a fight.”
    The ME said, “More like the end of a fight. He wasn’t doing much of anything but dying after he got stuck. It would be sensible to assume the wounds we see killed him, but you know us. We’ll check everything at the lab and let you know. Those throat marks especially have to be checked.”
    Turner said, “It had to be done by someone very strong. Or it could have been two or more people. One strangling him and the other with the sword.”
    “A very strong person,” the ME said, “or someone in the grips of an incredible passion. Certainly the former would be most likely, although you can’t rule out the latter.”
    “Could be both,” Fenwick said.
    “Or could be two people,” the ME said.
    Turner added, “Who could be both passionate and strong.”
    “Any chance of it being suicide?” Fenwick asked.
    The ME considered a second or two. “He could have wedged the sword firmly into something. I don’t see anything in this room strong enough to hold the sword. Then he could have stood on his head backwards, stabbed himself, and removed the wedge that was holding the sword.”
    “I gotta ask the question,” Fenwick said.
    The ME said, “You’re not the only one who can try to be funny. As many people laughed at my crack as they do yours.”
    “My crack or yours,” Fenwick said.
    Turner said to the room at large, “They’re offering a humor management course in the department. Anybody want to sign up?”
    Everybody but Fenwick and the corpse raised their hands. Then an assistant ME, on his knees next to the corpse, accounted for the only other one present without his hand raised.
    Fenwick glared at the corpse and said, “Et tu, you son of a bitch?”
    Turner said, “So it wasn’t suicide?”
    “No,” the ME said.

5
     
    Turner and Fenwick strolled down the hall to talk with Michaela Diaz. In the room, she still had her blue makeup on, although she now wore one of the hotel’s bathrobes. A young man in his mid-twenties in a pirate outfit held out his hand. “I’m Frank Cay. What’s happened? Why did they take my cutlass?”
    “We need to talk to Ms. Diaz,” Fenwick said.
    Diaz sat in a chair staring out the window. She turned at her name. “I will never forget what I saw. I will never forget those moments. I do not wish to discuss them. Please leave me alone.”
    Turner said, “Ms. Diaz, it would help if we could ask some basic questions. We’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”
    Cay walked over to her and sat on the arm of the chair. He held her hand. She gazed at him then turned to the detectives and nodded her head half an inch.
    Turner asked, “Did either of you know Dennis Foublin?”
    “Is that the dead guy?” Cay asked.
    “Yes,” Turner said.
    “I never heard of him,” Diaz said. “I’m here to be with Frank. He wanted us to wear costumes to the convention. I came in second in my preliminary category last night. I liked the X-men character that had all that blue makeup. I thought it would be fun. I may never have fun again.”
    Cay said, “I’m into science fiction movies. I never heard of Foublin until I got to the convention. I saw his name as fan guest of honor. There’s always some fan guest thing.”
    “You go to a lot of these conventions?” Turner asked.
    “At least one a year since I was sixteen,” Cay said.
    “This is my first one,” Diaz said, “and it’s going to be my last.”
    Turner asked, “Did either of you