The Man Who Wasn't All There David Handler (digital book reader .txt) 📖

Adidas sneakers, not polished black brogans. He did have on a black garrison-style belt equipped with a hickory nightstick and holstered weapon, but he carried no two-way radio. And his weapon wasn’t the Sig Sauer semi-automatic that state troopers were carrying now. It was an old-school revolver.

The round little man stood there gazing admiringly at the historic farmhouse and barn and orchards. His eyes were set unusually close together, as if they were both on the same side of his nose. Then he hitched up his trousers, swaggered over toward me, raising his chin in the air authoritatively. ‘This is Merilee Nash’s place, isn’t it?’ His voice sounded oddly boyish and petulant. His breath was foul enough to make my eyes water.

Again, Lulu growled at him.

I shushed her before I said, ‘Yes, it is. But she isn’t here right now. May I help you?’

‘And who might you be?’ His manner wasn’t what I’d call courteous.

‘How about you go first? May I see some ID, please?’

He opened his wallet and produced a dog-eared card that identified him as Austin Talmadge, a member in good standing since 1988 of the Connecticut State Police Booster Club.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not an actual state trooper, are you?’

‘I’m auxiliary state police,’ Austin said defensively. ‘I provide vital assistance in rural areas like this one.’

‘I’m Merilee’s ex-husband, Stewart Hoag. I was out here all summer yet I don’t recall seeing you around providing vital assistance.’

‘I was … away,’ he said, reddening, before he abruptly switched gears. ‘I sure did love her in that Gulf War movie where she counseled vets with PTSD. She has so much genuine heart. Really, really relates to people who are hurting. I have lots of movie ideas myself. I’ve written more than forty scripts. Romantic comedies, heist pictures, westerns.’ His speaking manner was rapid fire and disjointed. ‘I’d love to show them to her.’

I tugged at my ear, wondering if he was a celebrity stalker, a country oddball or what. ‘She’s not here, like I said.’

‘But she’d read them, wouldn’t she? She isn’t the sort of snob who’d just throw them in the garbage.’

‘It’s her agent’s job to read any submissions that are made to her. She doesn’t have the time to read them herself.’

He tilted her head at me curiously. ‘Are you in movies, too?’

‘I’m a novelist.’

‘I’ve written those, too. Dozens of them. I’ve got them in a trunk somewhere. Want to read one?’

‘I’m in the middle of a book of my own right now. If I read someone else’s work it can affect my voice. Thank you for the offer, though. Tell me, what else do you do?’

Austin furrowed his brow at me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When you’re not writing screenplays, novels and helping provide the state police with vital assistance in rural areas – do you have a regular job?’

‘This is my job.’

Country oddball it was. Lyme had quite its share of them. It was a remote, rural area that had been settled by a very small number of families more than 300 years ago. Many of the descendants still lived there. I also wondered if Austin was a stoner. But if he were high on weed, would he be driving around playing Officer Krupke?

‘If you’re her ex-husband, how come you still live with her?’ he demanded, peering at me.

‘That would fall under the category of none of your business.’ As I circled around his tricked-out cruiser I noticed that the entire back seat was a toxic waste dump of greasy fast food wrappers, pizza boxes and plastic jugs of Coca-Cola. I stopped when I got to the front of the car, studying it.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

‘Memorizing your license plate number.’

‘What for?’ A whiny quaver had crept into his voice.

‘It’s a mental exercise. My short-term memory’s a work in progress. I dropped a lot of acid when I was in college.’

‘Oh, I get it. You’re a wise guy, huh?’

‘And I get paid a lot of money for it, too.’

He reddened again. ‘A word of warning. You don’t want to get on my bad side.’

‘That’s funny, I didn’t realize that totally round objects had sides.’

He shook a stubby finger at me. ‘You’re going to be sorry you said that. And you still haven’t shown me your ID. Hand it over right goddamned now!’

‘That’s not going to happen, Austin. You have no authority to make me show it to you. I think we’re done here now, so why don’t you get in your toy car and go back the way you came?’

He stuck his chin out at me, his hands parked on what would have been his hips if he’d had hips. ‘You don’t seem to understand. I’m conducting a criminal investigation.’

‘A criminal investigation of what?’

‘Trespassing, possible breaking and entering …’

‘OK, that does it. I’ve tried to be patient with you but you’ve exhausted my reserves of goodwill. I’m going inside the house now to phone the resident trooper and lodge a complaint that you’re trespassing and harassing me.’

‘You don’t want to do that,’ Austin warned me.

Lulu let out another growl, this one considerably more menacing. I told her to let me handle it. ‘I don’t want to do what, Austin?’

‘Make me angry. I can cause you more problems than you already have.’

‘Actually, there are no problems here – except for you. So why don’t you make the problem go away by leaving?’

He glared at me some more with those close-set eyes of his, shoving his pouty lower lip in and out. ‘Fine, I’ll go. But I want it understood that I don’t care for your attitude. Next time you see me you’d better show more respect.’

‘And here I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see or smell you again.’

‘That was a really nasty thing to say.’

‘I’m so sorry. I deeply regret it if I hurt your feelings. You have until the count of ten to get back in your car and off of this property. If you don’t I’ll sic Lulu on you.’

His eyes