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

Tedone shook his head.

‘Did the M.E. provide you with any further details about it?’

‘Just that the blade had been recently sharpened. He found traces of mineral oil on the victim’s shirt collar. A lot of knife owners use mineral oil when they sharpen a blade on a whetting stone.’

‘And what was he able to tell you about the killer?’

‘Right-handed. Height’s impossible to tell, since the ground’s uneven and we don’t know whether Austin was standing up, crouching, or on his knees when his throat was cut. He did describe it as a messy kill. A lot of vicious, uneven slashing. Meaning we’re probably looking for an amateur, as opposed to a trained killer.’

‘Which would rule out one of Michael’s guards, such as Joacquin.’

‘It might,’ Tedone acknowledged. ‘Then again, it might not. All of the training in the world can go right out the window if rage takes over.’

‘Was the slasher strong?’

‘Yes. The cuts are deep. I asked him if a woman could have made them.’

‘And …?’

‘He wouldn’t rule it out if she was strong and really pissed off. The victim was a short tub of lard. Easy to overpower.’

‘Whoever did it would have been covered with Austin’s blood, correct?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Which means he must have peeled off a layer or two. No way he could risk running into someone on the trail or in the parking lot wearing blood-soaked clothing.’

‘Agreed, but the crime scene techies haven’t found any bloody clothing so far.’

‘He might have buried it.’

‘No traces of fresh dug soil anywhere near the crime scene. We have a team of recruits fanned out across the ruins searching. And we’re getting warrants to search the residences of the Hardy Boys and Truman Mainwaring. I seriously doubt we’ll turn up any bloody clothing, but we might find the hunting knife. Maybe it has sentimental value. I wouldn’t bet on it, but we have to cover every single base. That’s what police work is,’ he said, with a faint bit of reproach in his voice. ‘You don’t own a hunting knife, do you?’

‘What a coincidence. Jim Conley asked me that, too. You guys don’t suspect me of killing him, do you?’

Tedone mulled it over for a moment. A long moment. ‘I don’t see how it’s possible if you were buried in that root cellar when it happened. Besides, you didn’t have any of the victim’s blood on you when the rescuers found you.’

‘You sound awfully disappointed.’

‘Do I?’ He glanced down at his notepad. ‘It did surprise me to discover that the NYPD has you in their system. Drunk and disorderly, destruction of public property, cocaine possession, assaulting a police officer …’

‘He poked me in the chest with his big fat finger. I don’t like it when people poke me in the chest.’

‘It’s a pretty impressive list, I gotta say. Yet you always skated. I guess it helps being a famous author.’

‘That was a long time ago, Lieutenant,’ I said, feeling a sudden tidal wave of fatigue wash over me. ‘I’m not that person anymore.’

‘Maybe you are, maybe you’re not.’

‘And in answer to your question, no, I don’t own a hunting knife. Haven’t got much use for one in the city.’

‘Not even for personal protection?’

‘I have Lulu for that,’ I said, stroking her. ‘If anyone tried to lay a hand me they’d be very sorry.’

‘If you say so,’ he said dubiously.

‘I do say so,’ I said as I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen.

‘Some spackle and paint and it’ll be good as new,’ Sergeant Bartucca advised Merilee as they joined us. He had the bullet from Austin’s revolver tucked in a plastic bag.

‘I may just leave it as is,’ she responded gaily. ‘Makes for a marvelous conversation piece, don’t you think?’

‘One more question,’ Tedone said to me. ‘When I was working the Sherbourne Playhouse case you never stopped throwing curve balls at me. You have any other persons of interest who you want to tell me about?’

‘He has no one,’ Merilee interjected firmly. ‘Darling, you’re as pale as Casper the Friendly Ghost. I want you to stretch out right this second.’

‘OK, you talked me into it.’

‘Can you make it to the bedroom on your own?’ she asked me.

‘I can make it.’ I got up slowly and headed off in that direction.

‘I guess I tired him out,’ I heard Tedone say. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need to be sorry, Lieutenant,’ I heard Merilee say. ‘You’re just doing your job. Would your wife like some fresh laid eggs?’

Their voices trailed off as I made my way down the hall to the bedroom, feeling the dizziness return. The Hardy Boys had installed the winter storm doors over the French doors in the master bedroom and it was considerably more snug in there. Quiet, too. I made it to the bed and stretched out. Lulu hobbled in, climbed her step stool and parked herself on my hip with her face on my tummy to make sure I didn’t go anywhere. I had no immediate plans to. Not the way the room was spinning. A few minutes later Merilee came in, pulled the curtains closed and put a blanket over me. Within ten seconds I was fast asleep.

I awoke with a yelp.

I’d been having a nightmare that I was back down in that black tomb of a root cellar with those heavy stones directly over my head. But no, I was still stretched out on top of Merilee’s bed with a blanket over me, Lulu on my hip and the curtains drawn. Safe. I glanced at the bedside clock. I’d been asleep for nearly two hours.

I found Merilee seated at the writing table in the parlor sipping a cup of tea and staring into the fire, lost in thought. She brightened when she looked up and saw me. ‘Feel better?’

‘Much.’

‘How about a cup of tea?’

‘I’d love one.’ I sat on the sofa. Lulu sprawled out next to me with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. One of her most fetching looks.

Merilee went into the kitchen