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

‘Deep down inside, you happen to be wrong. I find you incredibly attractive, not to mention fascinating.’

A vein in her forehead started to throb faintly. ‘I … have to keep reminding myself that you’re still recovering from a concussion. How is your head wound anyhow?’

‘Fine. Or at least I think it is. I didn’t go to medical school.’

‘Well, I did. Here, let me have a look.’

‘You really don’t have to do that.’

‘Don’t be absurd. It’s no bother. Duck your head a little.’ She put her mug on the tea tray, sat up on her knees and raised an edge of the bandage. ‘The wound shows no sign of infection.’ She prodded the staples gently. ‘It’s healing nicely. They did a good job at Middlesex.’ She carefully tamped the bandage back down, stroking my hair – where I had hair –with the fingers of her right hand. Her left hand was resting on my thigh. She snuggled closer, curling up next to me with her feet underneath her and rested her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her, inhaling her scent while Lulu watched us from the chair on full alert.

‘This is nice,’ I said softly, gazing into the fire. ‘I could sit here like this all day.’

‘I feel the same way.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. ‘I like being with you. You make me feel so at ease.’

‘Good, I’m glad.’

‘I’m glad that you’re glad.’

‘That’s what makes this so hard.’

She raised her head from my shoulder, frowning. ‘Makes what so hard?’

‘That stubborn moral streak of yours …?’

‘What about it?’

‘You didn’t bat a thousand.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not particularly well versed in sports terminology. I don’t know what that means.’

‘It means that you lied to me the other day. Just a little lie in the grand scheme of things, but now that both Talmadge brothers are dead, it turns out it was actually pretty huge.’

Annabeth swallowed, her eyes probing mine. ‘What on earth are you talking about?

‘You told me that Austin was checked into McLean Psychiatric Hospital in Massachusetts five years ago when your husband, Paul, was killed while he was jogging early one Sunday morning by a hit-and-run driver. That was a lie. I spent a couple of hours at the library yesterday and found the police report of his death in the Monday, July eighteenth, 1988 edition of the New London Day. Paul was killed on Sunday, July seventeenth.’

‘You don’t have to remind me of the date.’

‘Actually, it seems that I do.’

Annabeth shook her head at me. ‘I still don’t understand where you’re going with this.’

‘According to Austin’s employment records with the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, better known as the A&P, Austin was actually on the job in Old Lyme on the seventeenth of July, stocking shelves. He punched in at noon, according to the manager’s employee records. Frank had to dig pretty deep to find them, but those places never throw anything away. In fact, the records show that Austin kept showing up for work there until three days after Paul was killed.’

Her face tightened. ‘Meaning what exactly?’

‘Meaning Austin murdered Paul. What’s more, you knew he murdered him or you wouldn’t have lied to me that he was hospitalized at the time. Why did you lie to me?’

Annabeth didn’t answer me for a long moment. Just stared into the fire with a faraway look on her face. ‘Because I–I was ashamed,’ she finally stammered. ‘Am ashamed. I got Paul killed. It was my fault. I said something incredibly stupid to Austin during one of our sessions and I got Paul killed. I wake up every morning knowing that deep down in my soul.’

‘What was it that you said? Something that made Austin angry?’

‘Austin had admitted to me in our Friday therapy session that he’d stopped taking his Thorazine again. I warned him that he would have to go back to McLean if he didn’t resume taking it immediately. He became enraged with me because he actually enjoyed working at that store. He’d even made a couple of lady friends there.’

‘Joanie and Sandy, sure.’

She looked at me in surprise. ‘You know them?’

‘Absolutely. We’re pals. They told me they felt sorry for him.’

‘Me they hated. They thought I was a shrew because I’d come into the market and bawl him out for being rude. They thought he was a lonely sad sack. Had no idea that he was a seriously ill individual. Austin hated the Thorazine. Hated that it made him into such a fatso, as he put it. But he needed to be on it in order to function. In one of our sessions a few weeks earlier I’d suggested he try embarking on an exercise regimen. I mentioned, for example, that Paul liked to run the country roads near our house, especially early on Sunday mornings when very few cars were out. People in my profession are trained to be very careful about revealing any details about our personal lives. I should never, ever have said what I said.’

‘Sounds like a pretty harmless remark to me.’

‘It wasn’t. It was a fatally stupid mistake. Lyme’s a small village. Austin knew where we lived. And I knew that I was dealing with a patient who had a history of exhibiting violent behavior.’

‘Did Austin admit to you that he was responsible for Paul’s death?’

‘Never.’

‘There’s no chance that it was someone else, is there?’

‘No chance. Frank phoned me from the A&P not long after they took Paul’s body away to tell me that Austin had shown up late for work and was acting peculiar.’

‘Peculiar as in …?’

‘Agitated. Muttering to himself. Frank had to send him home for the day because he was disturbing the customers.’

‘The police report in the New London Day was pretty scant on details. Apparently no one saw it happen. The state police were hoping a witness might come forward. I take it that no one did. I also take it that you didn’t report Austin.’

She breathed in and out slowly. ‘I should have