The Man Who Wasn't All There by David Handler (book recommendations website TXT) 📕

‘A week or two. I’ve been grinding hard on a new novel. Thought a change of scenery would help. You’ll have to come over for dinner some night. I’m a pretty fair cook, and you’d be doing me a huge favor. I haven’t spoken to anyone for the past six weeks other than Merilee’s doormen, the waiters at Tony’s, and Lulu, who has a limited vocabulary.’ Never one to miss a cue, Lulu rolled over on her back and made that argle-bargle noise she makes when she wants her belly rubbed. I bent over and rubbed it. ‘Seriously, I’d enjoy your company.’

‘In that case I’ll be happy to join you for dinner.’ She studied me curiously. ‘So are you and Merilee back together?’

‘We’re working at it. We still have a lot of healing to do. Totally my fault. I put her through hell when I couldn’t come up with a second book after Our Family Enterprise. It turns out that I needed ten years to come up with an idea, but that’s not exactly how the publishing industry works. I was handed a huge advance and put under a tremendous amount of pressure to deliver an even bigger book instantly. I crash-landed and was living on reds, vitamin C and cocaine.’ On her blank gaze I said, ‘Not a Grateful Dead fan, I take it.’

‘No, Brahms is more my style. But you’re doing well now. You’re at ease and exude great confidence in the book you’re writing.’

‘I’m back doing what I was born to do.’ I gazed across the table at her. ‘Tell me, is Austin dangerous?’

‘In his present state of mind? He absolutely is. Why do you think all of those men came rushing over here?’

‘If that’s the case then why wasn’t he institutionalized years ago?’

‘Because the super-rich live by a different set of rules than the rest of us, as Deputy Superintendent Mitry so aptly put it.’

‘I’m curious about what sort of parents Austin and Michael had. Since no one mentioned them, I’m assuming they’re both dead.’

‘They are. Their father, Cyrus, was a hard-driven business titan who didn’t marry until he was well into his fifties. The woman he chose was his secretary, who was still in her twenties. She committed suicide one year after Austin was born. Jumped into the Connecticut River and was washed out into Long Island Sound. It took the Coast Guard five days to find her body. She left no suicide note, but I gather from some of the older townspeople that Cyrus was plenty peculiar himself, as in pathologically fearful of being kidnapped and held for ransom. He rode to his office every day in a bulletproof limo driven by an armed chauffeur. He also installed a ten-foot wall around his property and topped it with razor wire. That’s the house Michael lives in now.’

‘Sounds as if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.’

‘Cyrus had very little to do with either boy, especially after their mother’s suicide. They were raised by a succession of nannies. Michael was sent off to boarding school, prep school and Princeton. Austin, who became disruptive at the Lyme elementary school at a very young age, went from one special needs school to another, never with any success.’ She stared down into her coffee mug. ‘As I said before, not a day has gone by when I haven’t regretted the deal I made with Michael to treat Austin. But I have to live with it. Give him the soundest possible treatment that I can and make sure that he isn’t a threat to the community.’ She finished her coffee, studying me over the rim of her cup. ‘Not exactly what you had in mind when you came out from New York to get a fresh perspective on your book, is it? Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be. I’m relieved.’

‘Relieved? How can you possibly be relieved?’

‘Because I’m the one who was out here all alone when Austin decided to show up.’ I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. ‘It could have been Merilee instead. That’s something I don’t even want to think about.’

THREE

The bright morning sunlight gave way to clouds by early afternoon and there was a late-October chill in the air. As promised, a genuine Connecticut State trooper was stationed in his genuine cruiser at the foot of the gravel drive. He had a large blocky head, a blond crew cut, and appeared to be reading a comic book. Forgive me, but I still have trouble adjusting to the idea that lawmen are now significantly younger than I am. He’d closed and latched the gate, which Merilee seldom did. It made me feel like I was imprisoned there, but it also made sense until Austin was found by brother Michael’s ex-Green Berets and delivered to his own private sanitarium.

I finished uprooting my tomato plants, which was what I’d been doing when the roly-poly billionaire lunatic had shown up in the first place, toted them into the woods and gave them a non-denominational burial. By then the sun was getting lower and the temperature was dropping. I changed into a turtleneck and my tweed Norfolk jacket before I took a long walk in the woods beyond Whalebone Cove with Lulu, ruminating over where I wanted the plot of ‘The Sweet Season of Madness’ to go next. The story had flowed so incredibly naturally and easily so far. Yet here it was – what I like to call my first Jack Finney Moment, as an homage to ‘The Third Level,’ his brilliant short story about a commuter who gets lost in a maze of corridors below Grand Central Terminal and somehow stumbles upon a third level that no one had ever known existed down there. Writing is instinctive. My instincts were telling me that I was having trouble deciding what happened next because there was still another level of depth that I had yet to discover. I would just