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

‘Because Michael wouldn’t have been in his PJs and bathrobe if he was expecting company.’

‘Fair point. He also knew his killer. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let him in, right?’

‘Right. It’s not as if a frightened soul like Michael Talmadge would open the door to the Fuller Brush man at that time of night.’

‘Do they still have Fuller Brush men?’

‘It was a figure of speech,’ he growled at me.

‘So who would he let in? Couldn’t have been a friend. He told Merilee and me he had no friends. Just colleagues.’

Tedone mulled this over. ‘Maybe there’s someone he was close to who we still don’t know about. I’ll have Ang search his desk for an address book, letters … Come on, let’s go have a look.’

We got out of the car and went up the steps toward the open front door.

‘Please stay outside for now,’ a crime scene tech wearing protective booties said to us from the doorway. ‘We’re dusting the floor for shoe prints.’

They were also taking Polaroids of Michael’s body, the congealed blood under his body, the blood spattered on the entry hall walls, even on the chandelier. When you sever someone’s carotid artery, the heart is still pumping and shoots blood everywhere. The M.E., a large, fleshy man in his fifties, was bent over Michael examining the slashes in his throat. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael’s dead face. Unlike Austin, who’d died angry, Michael looked serene and peaceful, as if he was relieved to be gone.

‘They didn’t exactly have a brandy in front of the fire, did they?’ I said. ‘He got less than six feet inside the door before he let Michael have it.’

‘Any signs of a struggle?’ Tedone asked the M.E. from the doorway.

‘There appear to be traces of skin and blood under his nails,’ he replied. ‘You’ll find some scratch marks on his killer. Hands, face, somewhere.’

‘And are you going to make my morning by telling me it’s the same knife that was used on his brother?’

‘No can do, Lieutenant. I’ll need a microscope. Does appear to be the same type of weapon, a short-bladed hunting knife. And the slasher is right-handed and the wounds are similarly deep and savage. The victim’s Adam’s apple is barely even recognizable as such.’

I looked past the entry hall through the wide doorway into the mansion’s living room, which was conspicuously lacking in the human touch department. There were no models of the sailboats Michael had owned because he hadn’t sailed. No gun case or duck decoys because he hadn’t hunted. No antique pool table with leather pockets because he hadn’t shot pool. He’d been a man without hobbies or interests. He worked and he slept. The furniture was functional but not luxurious. It looked as if he’d hired the same decorating firm that did Courtyard by Marriott.

As we stood there I noticed Lulu was nosing her way toward us from a spot in the driveway about ten feet away from the front steps, moving very slowly and carefully, large black nose to the ground, snuffling and snorting as she climbed up the front steps, then crossed the porch to the doorway, where she came to a halt, parked her tush and let out a low moan.

‘Why’s she doing that?’ Tedone asked me.

‘She recognizes the scent of his killer.’

‘Recognizes as in …?’

‘It’s someone with whom she’s come in contact.’

‘Do you mean when Austin was dragging you up that mountain or somewhere else?’

‘Lieutenant, at times like this I really do wish she was a short-legged Mr Ed, I was Wilbur Post and I could simply ask her. But this is so-called real life. All I can tell you is that she’s a scent hound, and that she recognizes the scent, meaning the odds are extremely good it’s the same killer – which you’d already surmised since both brothers died the same exact way.’

‘The M.E. will have to confirm that.’

‘Why, Lieutenant?’

‘Because that’s his job, and he’s been doing it for twenty-three years.’

‘No, I mean why kill Michael? Did someone have a personal grudge against him? I highly doubt it. He was so private that hardly anyone even knew him. If he was killed for the very reason that he feared – sheer resentment over his wealth – then we’re right back to why he suddenly felt safe enough to let his security team go.’

‘You make a good point,’ he allowed, thumbing his jaw.

‘This turns your entire case on its ear, doesn’t it?’

‘How so?’

‘You’ve been assuming that Austin’s murder was a violent payback of some sort. Now the scenario changes.’

‘Again, how so?’

‘It’s entirely possible that this was never about Austin at all. That he was killed simply so that his fortune would pass to big brother Michael so that big brother Michael could be eliminated and then …’ I trailed off, my wheels turning.

Tedone stared at me. ‘And then what?’

‘Riddle me this, Lieutenant. Where do their combined billions and billions go now that they’re both dead? Do you know who Michael’s lawyer is?’

‘Didn’t have one, I’m told. Handled all of his own legal affairs himself.’

‘Still, there has to be an executor of his estate. Someone knows what will happen to all of those billions.’ I glanced over at the cruiser where Deputy Superintendent Mitry and Colin Fielding sat waiting to speak with us. ‘And I have a pretty good idea who that someone is.’

‘Mitry did say they wanted to talk to us when it was convenient,’ Tedone allowed.

‘It’s convenient right now, wouldn’t you say?’

We strolled over to their car. Deputy Superintendent Mitry rolled down his window as we approached and nodded to us coolly, which I gathered passed for a greeting.

‘Morning, sir,’ Tedone said to him. ‘Ugly way to die.’

‘They’re all ugly, Lieutenant.’

Fielding said nothing. Just watched us with those same piercing eyes of his. Or I should say watched me. His eyes never left me. He wore a navy-blue pin-stripe suit with a light blue shirt and burgundy knit tie.

Mitry wore a charcoal-gray suit much like the one he’d