Death Match

When he opened the mailbox, his first sense was relief: there was mail today, it hadn’t been pilfered. If anything, he realized, there was too much mail: at least a dozen magazines lay scattered among the circulars and catalogues. There was a gay lifestyles magazine, another devoted to S&M and bondage fetishists; many others. All had subscription labels bearing his name and address. Among the envelopes were another dozen subscription notices with demands for payment.

Somebody had been filling out subscription requests under his name.

He walked toward the house, pausing to dump everything but a utility bill into a garbage can. It seemed Mary English had switched tactics. It was regrettable, but a call to the Westport police might be necessary after all.

He stepped up to the door, put his key in the lock, then stopped. A courier package marked BY EXPRESS — HAND DELIVER and bearing Eden’s logo lay against it. Probably more confidentiality agreements for my signature, he thought bleakly. He stooped to pick it up, tore away one end. Moonlight revealed a single sheet of paper inside, to which a small pin had been attached. He pulled out the sheet.

Christopher Lash

17 Ship Bottom Road

Westport, Co

Dear Dr. Lash:

We at Eden are in the business of providing miracles. Yet I never tire of having the honor to a

Once again, our congratulations on completing this journey, and our best wishes as you embark on another. And in the months and years to come, I feel certain you will find that bringing the two of you together is the begi

Kind regards,

John Lelyveld

Chairmain, Eden Inc.

TWENTY-EIGHT

When the elevator doors opened onto the penthouse perched atop Eden’s i

“Christopher,” he said. “How are you faring?”

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” Lash shook the proffered hand.

“Not at all. I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you again.”

Silver guided Lash to a seat. Sunlight slanted through the windows, throwing the still parade of ancient thinking machines into sharp relief, gilding the polished surfaces of the vast room.

“I’m also glad to have the chance to apologize in person,” Silver said as they sat down. “Mauchly told me about the letter, your getting the nod. Such a mistake has never happened before, and we’re still looking into what went wrong. Not that a mere explanation could make it less humiliating for you. Or for us.”

Lash glanced over as Silver fell silent. Again, he was struck by the man’s lack of artifice. Silver seemed genuinely concerned about how Lash would feel: rejected as an applicant, only to later learn a match had been mistakenly found for him. Perhaps, up here in his aerie, consumed with his ongoing research, Silver had remained free of the dehumanizing corporate taint.

Silver looked up, caught Lash’s eye. “Of course, I’ve instructed Mauchly to roll back the match, and to contact this woman — sorry, I don’t know her name — and inform her another match will be found.”

“Her name’s Diana Mirren,” Lash said. “But that’s not what I wanted to see you about.”

Silver looked surprised. “Really? Then forgive my assumption. Tell me why you’re here.”

Lash paused. The conviction he’d felt the night before now seemed blurred by weariness and the remaining traces of more Seconal. “I wanted to tell you personally. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Stay on this investigation.”

Silver frowned. “If it’s a question of money, we’d be happy to—”

“It’s not that. I’ve been paid too much already.”

Silver sat back again, listening carefully.

“I’ve been away from my patients two weeks now. That’s a geologic age in psychiatry. But it’s more than that.”

He hesitated again. This was the kind of thing that normally he’d never admit to himself, let alone discuss with anybody else. But there was something about Silver — an unstudied frankness, a complete lack of arrogance — that seemed to invite confidence.

“I don’t think I can be of any more help to you,” Lash continued. “Early on, I thought all I needed was access to your files. I thought I’d find some magic answer in your evaluations of the Thorpes. And after the death of the Wilners, I grew certain it was homicide, not suicide. I’d hunted serial killers before, I was sure I could hunt this one as well. But I’ve come up blank. The profile I’ve drawn up is self-contradictory. Useless. With your help, we’ve now examined all the likely suspects: Eden rejects or employees, the people who could have known both couples. There’s no place else to go. At least, no place I can help with.”

He sighed. “There’s something else. Something I’m not proud to talk about. I’m too close to this case. It was the same in the Bureau, toward the end. I grew too absorbed. And it’s happening again. It’s intruding on my personal life, I brood about it day and night. And look at the result.”

“What result is that?”

“Handerling. I was tired, overeager. And I had a lapse of judgment.”

“If you’re blaming yourself for Handerling’s interrogation, you shouldn’t. The man isn’t a murderer — our tests confirm that. But he abused his position terribly, committed grave offenses. Information can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands, Christopher. And we’re grateful for your help exposing him.”

“I did very little, Dr. Silver.”

“Didn’t I ask you to call me Richard? You’re selling yourself short.”

Lash shook his head. “I’d suggest you go to the police, but I’m not sure we could convince them a crime’s been committed.” He stood up. “But if this is a serial killer, he’s likely to strike again very soon. Perhaps as soon as today. And I don’t want that to happen on my watch. I don’t want to sit here, looking on helplessly. Waiting.”

Silver watched him rise. And then, unexpectedly, a smile surfaced on the careworn face. “We’re not exactly helpless,” he said. “As you probably know, Mauchly and Tara have security teams ru

“That might not stop a determined killer.”

“Which is exactly why I’m taking additional steps myself.”

“What do you mean?”

Silver rose himself. “Come with me.”

He led the way to a small door Lash had not noticed before, built cleverly into the wall of bookcases. It opened noiselessly, revealing a narrow staircase, covered in the same rich carpeting. “After you,” Silver said.

Lash climbed at least three dozen steps, emerging at the end of a hallway. After the floor below, almost dizzying in its ope