Death Changes Everything Read Online Free PDF Page A

house room by room, puzzled by the lack of destruction, until he located the lab crew chief, Cam Elmwood.
    "Nothing to write home about, Matt," said Elmwood when he spotted the detective. "Some prints, but not many, and not in areas where items are missing so they probably aren't our guy. No prints on the safe. Looks like the door was wiped down."
    "Why wipe down the door if you’re wearing gloves?"
    “I’ll show ya.” Elmwood led Matt to the closet. The safe was about four inches tall and nine inches wide. It was typical of many dressing room safes, which were built to hold small items, like jewelry and important documents. "Dial would’ve been a bear wearing gloves."
    "Thanks, Cam. Let me know if you find anything exciting."
    "Will do." Elmwood returned to his team and Matt went to consult with Officer Luis Altrez, who led the team that had canvassed the neighborhood.
    "Anybody see anything, Luis?"
    "Nope." Altrez was leaning against his squad car, typing on a laptop computer. "Everybody's up in arms about it. ‘ Nobody's safe anymore, We’ll all be murdered in our beds one of these days .’ Same old, same old."
    “I'm going to go have a chat with the alarm company."
    "I see how ya are," Altrez chided with a grin. "Show up, get in good with the family, then leave the dirty work to us uniforms."
    "The privilege of rank, my friend, the privilege of rank." He gave Altrez a good-natured punch on the shoulder and climbed back into his car. He radioed the dispatcher to get an address for the alarm company, then headed out to their warehouse near the airport.
     

 
     
     
     
     
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    Jake stood in the middle of the stream, casting and recasting his fly line, hoping to tempt an unwary fish. Dressed in thigh-high waders and a long-sleeve shirt to guard against the mosquitoes, he was the picture of contentment. A floppy hat shielded his face from the sun and held extra flies.
    Jake and his father had spent many happy hours in the stream behind the cabin, catching trout that his mother cooked over an open fire in the clearing behind the tiny kitchen. Standing in that stream, cold water rushing all around them, he and his dad had talked about everything from baseball to philosophy to women. Sometimes they didn't talk at all, happy to just be together as they patiently waited for the fish to bite.
    His father had never pressured him to follow in his footsteps, but when he chose pre-law over engineering, his dad had nearly burst with pride. There was never a question that Jake would join his father's practice and until his father's death, they worked side by side in adjoining offices in the Odessa Oil Building.
    Jake had inherited his father’s nine-foot bamboo fly rod, along with the cabin and the house he now shared with Emma. His parents had bought the house while Jake was away at college and he’d lived in town until after his parents died. It was at the cabin that he felt the light, loving spirit of his mother and the steady, calming spirit of his dad.
    The line jerked. Jake gave it a yank and began the slow dance that set fly fishing apart from other forms of the sport. Jake was using a special line made for catching river trout and a fly he'd tied himself that morning. He alternated between giving the fish more line so it would tire itself and slowly reeling it closer.
    When it was within ten feet of the end of the pole, Jake carefully unhooked the net that floated in the water next to him and pulled up and back with the rod. With a last burst of energy, the fish flipped out of the water, biting through the line and making its escape. Jake fell backwards, flailing his arms in an unsuccessful attempt to remain upright. Submerged in the fast-moving stream, he twisted to get his feet beneath him and came up sputtering.
    The initial shock faded and Jake found himself laughing and coughing up water in equal measure. His father would have gotten a kick out of that, Jake thought, remembering a time when a fish had