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

‘Actually, this happens to me a lot. I’m not sure why, but it seems to have something to do with my personality. Besides, it hasn’t been a total bust. My ex-wife flew home from Budapest to take care of me for two whole days.’

‘I admire Merilee Nash’s work. She seems authentic. Down to earth.’

‘She is. Loves nothing better than to put on her overalls and muck out the chicken coop.’

‘Is she interested in Connecticut politics?’

‘She doesn’t get involved in partisan politics, if that’s what you’re wondering. But she does champion women’s causes. Reproductive rights, equal pay for equal work …’

‘The governor has a long record of being pro-choice. I’d love to get the two of them in a room together some time. If she’s ever interested, that is.’ He left it there as we made our way back out front. He’d planted his seed. Mission accomplished.

Tedone was waiting by his car with his arms crossed impatiently.

Fielding stuck out his hand, gave me a firm handshake and said, ‘I’m glad we had this talk. I hope we get to know each other better some day.’ Then he got back in Deputy Superintendent Mitry’s car.

I made my way over to Tedone’s cruiser, Lulu ambling along beside me.

Tedone checked me out, tilting his head slightly from left to right. ‘What was that?’

‘That, Lieutenant, was my idea of one slippery customer.’

‘Fielding? He barely opened his mouth in your kitchen the other day.’

‘He had plenty to say today, most of it in code.’ I scratched at my staples, which were starting to itch under their bandage, and gazed at Michael Talmadge’s brick manor house with its lush green leaf-free lawn. The crime scene and M.E.’s vans were still there along with a half-dozen cruisers. Mitry’s driver got back in his cruiser and the deputy superintendent and Colin Fielding drove off, neither of them so much as looking at us as they drove by. ‘I don’t like this place,’ I said. ‘Can we get the hell out of here?’

‘Actually, it would be a pleasure.’

NINE

The savage murder of Michael Talmadge, Connecticut’s richest man, was soon all over the local airwaves. The state’s TV news crews were already doing their stand-ups as Tedone and I drove out the front gate. The story would spread quickly to New York and go national by that evening. No way it wouldn’t, considering that it had happened so soon after the identical slashing of Michael’s younger brother, Austin, aka Connecticut’s second-richest man. All that was missing to make it into a perfect tabloid trifecta was a link, any link, to a sleazy porn star with giant breasts. Based on my extensive experience, the tabloids would just go ahead and invent one.

But that would take a little while. It was still early, not yet nine a.m., when Tedone dropped Lulu and me off at the foot of Merilee’s driveway.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, his dark eyes studying me. ‘That works both ways. If you hear anything I want you to let me know right away, got it?’

‘Absolutely, Lieutenant.’

‘Are you jerking me off or do you really mean that?’

‘Of course I mean it. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Because you did your share of freelancing on the Sherbourne Playhouse case. My stomach can’t deal with that kind of aggravation again.’

‘If I hear anything I’ll let you and your stomach both know, promise.’

When Lulu and I made our way up the gravel driveway we encountered two pickup trucks parked in the courtyard. One belonged to Mr MacGowan, the other to the Hardy Boys, who’d come to apply the top coat of paint to the storm windows – although at that very minute the hulking brothers were seated at the picnic table on the deck with Mr MacGowan eating donuts and drinking mugs of hot coffee from a Thermos.

‘Well, you sure were up and out early this morning, young fellow,’ Mr MacGowan said to me. ‘What with the Jag being here I figured you were still sacked out in the feathers.’

‘Not even maybe,’ I said as Lulu ambled over to Gas Hardy to get thoroughly fussed over.

‘Here, have one of my sister’s cider doughnuts,’ Mr MacGowan said. ‘Fresh made. Best in Lyme.’ They were in a basket with a dishtowel over them, still warm. I took one and bit into it. Practically melted in my mouth.

‘Lulu’s getting around real good now,’ Gas said, pleased.

‘She is. And so am I, thanks to you guys. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found us.’

‘Don’t think about it, son,’ Mr MacGowan said, slurping his coffee.

‘It’s kind of hard not to after what I just saw.’

He peered at me. ‘You saw Michael’s body?’

‘His throat was hacked from ear to ear just like Austin’s was. He was lying in a pool of blood in his entry hall in his pajamas and a ratty old robe. It wasn’t a pretty sight, let me tell you.’ I reached for another donut. Murder makes me hungry. Always has. I have no idea why. ‘The word’s out about it?’

‘Resident trooper called me. He always calls me when he has news.’

‘Who’d want to kill Michael?’ Tony wondered, munching on his donut. ‘I mean, nobody could stand Austin, but people hardly even knew Michael. He was a whatcha call it, recluse.’

‘What do you know about his gardener?’

‘Earle Drake? I went to high school with him,’ Mr MacGowan said. ‘He’s been working for the Talmadges his whole life. Lives alone in a little cottage by Uncas Pond. Nice enough fellow. Kept his mouth shut about Michael, same as Connie did. Never gossiped. If they had, Michael would have cut ’em loose.’ He helped himself to another donut. ‘Does that homicide detective have any idea what’s going on?’

‘Not really.’

‘I guess that means you and Lulu will have to figure it out.’

‘What makes you say that, Mr MacGowan?’

‘The man dragged you out of bed at dawn and drove you to the crime scene. Face it, he needs you and he knows it.’ He slurped some more