"This smart and original mystery is a true page-turner will baffle, surprise, and draw out suspicion until the final few pages. With each book, Higashino. Read "Malice" by Keigo Higashino available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get £3 off your first download. Acclaimed bestselling novelist Kunihiko. Malice: A Mystery by Keigo Higashino. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format.

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Malice. [Keigo Higashino; Alexander O Smith] -- "This smart and original mystery is a true page-turner will baffle, surprise, and draw out suspicion until the final. Download and Read Free Online Malice: A Mystery Keigo Higashino Malice: A Mystery by Keigo Higashino Free PDF d0wnl0ad, audio books, books to read. Editorial Reviews. Review. “Keigo Higashino combines Dostoyevskian psychological realism with classic detective-story puzzles reminiscent of Agatha Christie.

Years ago when they were both teachers, they were colleagues at the same public school. Kaga went on to join the police force while Nonoguchi eventually left to become a full-time writer, though with not nearly the success of his friend Hidaka. As Kaga investigates, he eventually uncovers evidence that indicates that the two writers' relationship was very different that they claimed, that they were anything but best friends.

But the question before Kaga isn't necessarily who, or how, but why. In a brilliantly realized tale of cat and mouse, the detective and the killer battle over the truth of the past and how events that led to the murder really unfolded.

And if Kaga isn't able to uncover and prove why the murder was committed, then the truth may never come out. Malice is one of the bestselling—the most acclaimed—novel in Keigo Higashino's series featuring police detective Kyochiro Kaga, one of the most popular creations of the bestselling novelist in Asia. Fiction Mystery Publication Details Publisher: Martin's Press Imprint: Palle Rosenkrantz.

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David Bezmozgis. The Hidden Keys. Adrian McKinty. I felt bleak inside when I thought of walking all the way to the station and taking the train all the way home. I decided to accept the offer of a lift home from the police. A crowd of police were still outside the room, mostly walking back and forth in the hall. A tall man was standing next to the patrol car. He stepped forward out of the shadows.

It was a familiar face, with narrow eyebrows and close-set eyes. I knew I knew him, but it took a moment for the memory to surface. I looked at him again.

He had good features, and age had improved them. Never imagined our reunion would be under these circumstances. When I heard who discovered the body, I wondered if it was someone else with the same name. At least until I saw your business card. Kaga, fresh out of university, had come to work at the middle school where I used to teach social studies. Like most new teachers, he was passionate about the job.

I shook my head.

I left back in March. What are you doing now? I write stories for children. Is that how you knew Kunihiko Hidaka? Kaga nodded with every detail.


But not much. Just a couple of short stories a year. I wondered if he was comparing my choice to his own. I know I should read more, two or three a month. Two or three books a month had been my catchphrase back when I was teaching composition.

If Kaga had been making an intentional reference, it was a good one. Then there were the awards and his rise to the bestseller lists. I also mentioned that he wrote works of literature as well as pure entertainment. She seemed young. It was his second marriage.

I wondered if I had just ended my unimportant meeting and gone to see him right away, I might have saved him. I knew there was no point in thinking about it, yet the regret was hard to keep down. Anything from his novels or personal life? Tetsuji Osano and Hajime Nakane.

But as you well know, writing is a start-and-stop kind of thing. He told me once that he averaged four pages an hour. He seemed to be doing some calculations in his head. It was after six when the phone call from Hidaka came.

That meant the question was, how many more pages had he actually written? Kaga gave me a wondering look. To be honest, I was frightened. I explained myself and Kaga nodded, understanding. Like, with their hands, or a rope? It was still wrapped around his neck. It appears he was struck on the back of the head.

We believe the weapon was a brass paperweight. That was much better than having to take the train.

Thanks for the chat. It was very helpful. Kaga wrote it down in his notes and we said our goodnights. Back in my apartment, I sat vacantly on the sofa for a while. I tried thinking back over the events of the day, but none of it felt real. It was the kind of day you seldom experience, if ever. The thought came to me that, even though it had been tragic, it was almost a shame to have such a day end by merely going to sleep.

Not that I would be able to sleep, anyway. Not tonight. Then I had an idea. I should record my experience. I should write the story of how my friend was killed. That is the story behind these notes. The article laid out the facts more or less accurately, with one notable exception. According to the article, the investigators were looking into two possibilities.

I closed the paper and was about to start making breakfast when the doorbell rang. I looked at the clock and it was just after eight. It was unusually early for callers. I almost never use my door intercom, I simply go and open the door, but today, I picked it up.

We heard that you were there with his wife when the body was found. Is this true? Mr Nonoguchi? Her tone was overly deferential, almost sycophantic. I rolled my eyes. Can you comment on what you thought was strange? I felt that I should pay Rie a visit or maybe just check on the house, but it would be impossible to get near the place today.

I was warming up a mug of milk in the microwave when the doorbell rang again. Again I picked up the intercom.

I was hoping I could talk to you? I sighed. I was worried less about the imposition and more about the trouble it would cause my neighbours if news crews were camped outside my door all day. A forest of microphones were thrust into my face.

Finally, a little after noon, I retreated back inside my apartment. I was eating some instant udon noodles and watching TV when I saw a close-up of my face on the screen.

I choked on my noodles. What sort of person would you say Mr Hidaka was? On the screen, I seem to be thinking far too deeply about the question.

I had noticed at the time that my silence was uncomfortably long. You could see the reporters around me growing impatient. But perhaps you can say that about anyone.

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You could tell she was disappointed. Behind the many varied worlds he had created, the reporter said, were the complicated human relations of the author himself. This clearly suggested that his death might be related to the intersection of his literary and private lives. The reporter talked about the recent troubles Hidaka had had with his novel Forbidden Hunting Grounds.

I got a sour taste in my mouth and turned off the television. I wished the NHK would cover the situation. For accurate information about something big, one of their networks was usually the best option.

The phone rang. How did you do last night? I got a call from the police this morning, and they said they wanted to go over the scene with me and ask me a few more questions. Though some of the detectives are still around. They giving you any trouble?

They must be pestering you endlessly. I was worried, so I called.

By rights, she should have been one of the saddest people in the world right then, but she was taking the time to worry about me. She really does have a backbone, I thought again.

I wondered what she would do now, how she would live. Before meeting Hidaka, Rie had been a passionate fan of his novels. That meant that last night she lost two important things: I was still lost in thought when the phone rang again. They wanted me to appear on a variety news programme. I turned them down on the spot. I answered the doorbell with a despondent certainty that it was the press again and found him on my doorstep instead.

I had two or three more questions. Come on in. I was thinking of getting something, though. Did we? Where would you like to go? The one you went to with Mr Oshima, your editor. Do you want to go there? I wondered why Kaga wanted to go to that restaurant. Did he have some reason for wanting to see it? Or was it just because it was close and he could drink coffee? Detective Kaga and Detective Makimura ordered lamb steak and meat loaf respectively.

The Gates of Ice, was it? It looks like it was new material, written yesterday.

Based on what you told us yesterday, he could only write four to six pages in an hour. That is quite a lot. You can spend hours at your desk without writing a single page. Which is to say, I think most authors are that kind of writer.

All that means is that he did some amount of work in the time before he was killed. Kaga, my former colleague, now a detective, seemed unable to let even the slightest detail go without thoroughly working through it. I suppose that was part of the job. The waitress brought our food and talk ceased for a while. You mentioned there was going to be an autopsy?

He turned back to me. While we ate, he said nothing about the case. He wanted to know what the current trends were. What were people reading? What did I think about the decline in reading overall? Those books are all insufferably boring and, as a result, the kids learn to hate books.

I secretly wondered whether they had the slightest interest at all. Coffee came after the meal. I ordered myself a hot milk. It was wrecking my stomach. Sorry, we should have sat in the non-smoking section. I guess when I think of authors, I always imagine them smoking. Was there still smoke in the room? I was a little upset, as you can imagine.

Setting it down, he slowly pulled out his notebook. All of them? Did you go around to the back garden?I just mixed in some pesticide with cat food and left them out in the garden. I wondered if I had just ended my unimportant meeting and gone to see him right away, I might have saved him.

Kaga nodded with every detail. I waved him back down into his seat. Your display name should be at least 2 characters long.

Which one of the two writers was ultimately guilty of malice?

GARRY from Kenosha
Also read my other posts. I have a variety of hobbies, like home roasting coffee. I am fond of reading books urgently.