Death Match Read Online Free PDF

as a faint smile of reminiscence crossed the old man’s face. For a moment the sunken eyes brightened, the tense jaw relaxed. “They met for Sunday brunch, then somehow ended up Rollerblading.” He shook his head at the memory. “I don’t know whose crazy idea that was, neither of them had ever tried it. Maybe it was Eden’s suggestion. Anyway, within a month, they were engaged. And it just seemed to get better. Like I said, I’ve never seen a happier couple. They kept discovering new things. About the world. About each other.”
    As quickly as it had come, the light left Torvald’s face. He pushed his coffee cup away.
    â€œWhat about Lindsay’s daughter? What kind of an impact did she have on their life?”
    Torvald fixed him with a sudden gaze. “She
completed
it, Mr. Berger.”
    Lash made another notation, a real one this time. The interview was not progressing quite as he’d expected. And the way the man pushed away his cup made Lash think he might be limited to just a few more questions.
    â€œTo the best of your knowledge, have there been any recent setbacks in the life of your daughter or her husband?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo unexpected difficulties? No problems?”
    Torvald stirred restlessly. “Unless you call the approval of Lewis’s grant and the arrival of a beautiful baby girl problems.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Torvald?”
    â€œTwo weeks ago.”
    Lash took a sip of his coffee to conceal his surprise. “Where was this, may I ask?”
    â€œAt their house in Flagstaff. I was on my way back from a yacht race in the Gulf of Mexico.”
    â€œAnd how would you characterize the household?”
    â€œI would
characterize
it as perfect.”
    Lash scribbled another note. “You noticed nothing different from previous visits? No appetite loss or gain, perhaps? Changes in sleep patterns? Lack of energy? Loss of interest in hobbies or personal pursuits?”
    â€œThere was no affective disorder, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
    Lash paused in his scribbling. “Are you a clinician, Mr. Torvald?”
    â€œNo. But before her death, my wife was an occupational therapist. I know the signs of depression when I see them.”
    Lash put the legal pad to one side. “We’re just trying to get a grasp of the situation, sir.”
    Suddenly, the older man leaned toward Lash, bringing their faces very close. “
Grasp?
Listen. I don’t know what you or your firm hope to learn from this. But I think I’ve answered enough questions. And the fact is there’s not a damn thing to grasp. There
is
no answer. Lindsay wasn’t suicidal. Neither was Lewis. They had everything to live for,
everything
.”
    Lash sat silently. This was not just grief he was seeing. This was
need
: a desperate need to understand what could not possibly be understood.
    â€œI’ll tell you one thing more,” Torvald said, his face still close to Lash’s, speaking low and fast now. “I loved my wife. I think we had just about as good a relationship as a married couple could ever hope to have. But I’d have cut off my right arm without a thought if that could’ve made us as happy as my daughter and Lewis were together.”
    And with that, the man pushed back, rose from the table, and left the restaurant.

FIVE
    Flagstaff, Arizona. Two days later.
    T he carport was already taken up by two Audi A8s, so Lash left his rented Taurus at the curb and started up the flagstone walk. Brown pine needles crunched underfoot. 407 Cooper Drive was an attractive bungalow with a broad low roof and fenced backyard. Beyond the fence the hillside fell away, revealing a panorama of downtown, faintly blurred by morning mist. Behind and to the north rose the purple-and-brown bulk of the San Francisco Peaks.
    Reaching the front door, Lash tucked several large envelopes under one