Death Match Read Online Free PDF

Torvald?”
    “Two weeks ago.”
    Lash took a sip of his coffee to conceal his surprise. “Where was this, may I ask?”
    “At their house in Flagstaff. I was on my way back from a yacht race in the Gulf of Mexico.”
    “And how would you characterize the household?”
    “I 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?”
    “There was no affective disorder, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
    Lash paused in his scribbling. “Are you a clinician, Mr. Torvald?”
    “No. 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.
    “I’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 arm and sounded his pocket for the key. He fished it out, white evidence tag dangling from its chain. The chief of the Phoenix field office had been a classmate in the drab gray dorms of Quantico and fellow-sufferer on the obstacle courses of the Yellow Brick Road, and owed him several favors. Lash had turned one of them in for the key to the Thorpes’ house.
    He glanced up, noticing the security camera bolted beneath the eaves. It had been installed by the previous owner of the house and was deactivated for the police investigation. Since the house would go on the market once the investigation was officially closed, the system remained off.
    Lash looked down again, fitted the key to the door, and unlocked it with a twist of his hand.
    Inside, the house had that peculiar watchful, listening quality he found in homes that had seen unnatural death. The front door opened directly onto the living room, where the bodies had been found. Lash walked forward slowly, looking around, noting the location and quality of the furniture. There was a butternut-colored leather sofa with matching armchairs, an antique armoire, an expensive-looking flatscreen television: clearly, the Thorpes weren’t hard up for cash. Two beautiful silk rugs had been arranged over the wall-to-wall carpeting. One still bore powder traces from the medical examiner’s team. This unexpected sight stirred memories of the last crime scene he’d witnessed, and he moved quickly onward.
    Beyond the living room, a hallway ran the width of the house. To his right was a dining room and