Postcard killers

Why had she told the American she'd been on a date? Why had she mentioned Bergman's name? Was it that she wanted Jacob Kanon to know that she dated men as wel? Why would she want him to know that?

She put the glass down on the draining board and realized that she was quite hungry. Al she had eaten were those damn mashed potatoes!

Chapter 30

The poet had gone back to Finland, leaving Jacob alone in his cel.

There was no space for a chair or table in the narrow room, so he had settled down on the Fi

He leaned forward and ran his finger along his daughter's smiling cheek.

This was the picture he had given the press after she died, taken the day she'd been accepted at Juil iard.

Jacob got up, went over to his duffel bag, and opened a bottle of wine. He stood with the bottle in his hand, staring out at the light summer night.

There was a smal beach under his window. A few alcohol-fueled youngsters wearing mortarboards were noisily soaking one another without taking their clothes off.

He let his eyes roam over the dark water.

Kimmy didn't like swimming.

Al the other kids on the block loved going down to Brighton Beach, but Kimmy never learned to swim wel. Instead she preferred the big forest parks on Staten Island, or up in Westchester or Putnam County, with their teeming wildlife, especial y deer.

There was only one thing she loved more than her graceful deer, and that was his aunt Isabel e's piano. Kimmy would go and play on it after school every afternoon, and every day in the summer. She was gifted, so Jacob paid for lessons with the best teacher available in Brooklyn.

But that afternoon a couple of years ago when she told him she'd applied to Juil iard, the most famous col ege in the world for music, drama, and dance, he'd felt almost terrified. He'd never heard of anyone from Brooklyn's Bay Ridge area even getting close to being accepted there. He'd checked: only five percent of al applicants got in.

But Kimmy was special. She specialized in Franz Liszt, one of the most technical y demanding composers in the world, and she had chosen his suggestive piano concerto Totentanz no.1 as her audition piece.

He had been so proud that he'd burst into tears when the acceptance letter came – and back in those days, he hardly ever cried. Not like the present.

Kimmy had met Steven on her very first day at Juil iard, a budding classical composer. They got engaged and decided to get married as soon as they graduated.

Steven was a great guy, but Jacob thought they should see something of the world before they settled down.

So he had given them a trip to Rome as a Christmas present. 44 They were murdered the day before they were due to return to New York.

Jacob took a deep breath and found himself back in the narrow cel at the hostel.

The shrieking kids on the beach had vanished.

He sank onto the lower bunk with Kimmy's picture in his lap.

He had identified her dead body in the cold room of a mortuary on the outskirts of Rome on New Year's Day, the first day of what had been the very worst year of his life.

This year.

He picked up his pistol and put the muzzle in his mouth, just as he had done so many nights before, tasting the powder and metal, taking comfort from the idea that there could be an end to this. One slight movement of his finger and his desperate loss and longing would be over.

But not yet. Not until he found her murderers.

Chapter 31

Monday, June 14

The Paper Aftonposten was stuck in a downward sales and readership spiral that was probably hopeless. In an attempt to break it, the management was making increasing use of unusual and risky i

Usual y they failed.

On other occasions everyone busted their butt to get things moving.

This was one of those days.

Dessie had parked herself at her desk with the first edition that day.

Aftonposten had fil ed practical y the whole paper with the Dalaro murders.

The front-page headline was "Butchered by the Postcard Kil ers." The photo that dominated the paper was a beautiful picture of the two young Germans. Claudia Schmidt and Rolf Hetger were in each other's arms, laughing happily toward the camera.

Dessie leafed through to the paper's heavyweight news spread, pages 6 and 7. "Death in the Archipelago" was the dramatic headline.

And the picture editors had chosen one of her shots of the yel ow wooden house.

It came out quite wel, actual y, with the contradiction between the idyl ic veranda and the heavily clouded sky.

She ran her eyes over the text. It was written by Susa

Page 8 had an updated run-through of the kil ings around Europe, with 45 maps and graphics.

Page 9 was written by Alexander Andersson under the heading "Postcard Kil ers – Vicious Murderers Kil ing for Kicks."

Andersson referred to "anonymous sources close to the investigation" who claimed to have "a clear picture of the kil ers."

The Postcard Kil ers were at least two men, seriously deranged, probably with PTSD, according to the sources. They kil ed purely for pleasure, and they enjoyed seeing people suffer. The extent of the violence indicated that at least one of the men was very wel built and extremely strong. Seeing as the victims were usual y wel -off tourists, the motive was similar to that of terrorism: the kil ings were an attack on Western lifestyles.

Dessie read the text twice with growing astonishment, and final y, anger and disgust.

Then she got up and went over to the news desk. The group around Forsberg were laughing loudly at something as she approached.

"Alexander," she said, holding up page 9. "Where did you get this from?"

The reporter raised an eyebrow and smiled her way.

"Are you after my sources?"

"No need," Dessie said. "They're completely worthless."

Alexander Andersson's smile died and he stood up. Dessie felt al the men looking at her. They expected her to get her ass kicked now, didn't they?

"This doesn't make any sense," she said. "There's nothing in the investigation to suggest terrorism or kil ing for kicks. Quite the opposite."

"And you know that, do you, just because they sent you a postcard?"

Several of the men laughed and waited for more from Andersson. Dessie felt the blood rush to her face.

"This article is completely wrong, I know that much. If you real y have got a source, they must be several miles from the center of the investigation."

Forsberg stood up and took hold of Dessie's arm. "Come."