Postcard killers

Sylvia shrugged.

"I can't understand what the papers say. It was a girl in the hotel who told us. Isn't that right, Mac, that two tourists were murdered on an island near 56 here?"

Mac nodded. "Yes, that's right. Two Germans. An awful business, apparently. Their throats had been cut."

Now Mr. Dutch Boyfriend's eyes opened wide as wel.

"Their throats were cut?" he said. "We had a case like that in Hol and actual y. In Amsterdam, not al that long ago. That's right, isn't it, Nienke?"

"Is it?" the Dutch woman said, licking dessert off her spoon. "When was that, then?"

"They're being cal ed the Postcard Kil ers," Mac said. "They've sent a postcard to some newspaper here."

"That's sick," the Dutch woman said, scraping her bowl for the last remnants of the brulee. "Where did you get that blouse?"

This directed at Sylvia. The murdered Germans were already gone from the Dutch woman's pretty little blond head.

"Emporio Armani," Sylvia said. "There's a great boutique, fabulous. It's just around the corner from here, on Biblioteksgatan."

She stood up, walked around the table, and settled down on Mac's lap.

"Darling," she cooed, "it's such a lovely day. I'd real y love a souvenir, something to remember it by…"

"No," Mac said, standing up quickly.

Sylvia almost fel on the floor.

"What?" she said, laughing, as Mr. Dutch Boyfriend stood up and helped steady her. "Do you think it would be too expensive?"

"No, Sylvia," he said. "Not now. Not today." His lips curled in irritation.

Sylvia laughed and wound her arm around the Dutchman's shoulder.

"Ooh," she said, "what a kil joy he is. I think you're much more fun."

She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him ful on the lips.

"We've got to go now, Sylvia," Mac said, taking hold of her other arm.

Chapter 40

"Hang on," the dutchman said, handing Mac his card. "Get in touch if you fancy going out for a meal one evening. We'd enjoy it."

"Sure, we'l do that!" Sylvia cal ed as Mac pul ed her out of the restaurant.

When they were out of sight, Sylvia pul ed herself free of his grip.

"I presume you have a good explanation," she said, stroking his arm.

Mac didn't answer at first. Then he said, "Why did you bring up the murders? We don't make mistakes like that."

"It wasn't a mistake. The city is too hot now. We couldn't kil them.

Though, Christ, I wanted to. I wanted to cut them both."

The Berzeli Park was crawling with people with ice creams and bicycles and buggies.

Sylvia sidled closer to Mac and kissed his neck. "Are you angry with me?" she whispered. "How can I make it up to you?"

"We've got some work to do," he said tersely. "We stil have to get out of Stockholm."

She sighed theatrical y but took hold of his hand, sucking his finger and then kissing him on the lips.

"I'm your slave," she whispered. "I just don't want to end up in prison. I couldn't bear to be without you, Mac."

They walked across the bridge over Strommen back to the Old Town.

Sylvia had both her arms around Mac's waist, which made it hard to walk as she stumbled along the edge of the quay.

Final y Mac cheered up and put his arm around her shoulders. "You're forgiven."

They walked to the 7-Eleven on Vasterlanggatan, tucked in among al the medieval buildings, and Sylvia bought the day's papers while Mac got half an hour on the Internet.

"Is there anything about Oslo?" Sylvia asked.

Mac tapped quickly on the keyboard.

"Nope," he said.

Sylvia turned to pages 6 and 7 of Aftonposten, recognizing the house in the picture.

"You know something?" she said. "We left the Dutch couple with the bil."

Mac laughed. Then he logged in and set to work.

Chapter 41

The shop assistant at nk was a forty-year-old woman from Riga named Olga. She had bleached-blond hair and big earrings, held a goldsmith's diploma, and was fluent in five languages. Swedish wasn't one of them. She had gotten the job in the jewelry section of the department store during the tourist season to take care of foreign customers.

Two days before, she had sold an Omega watch, a Double Eagle Chronometer in steel and gold with a mother-of-pearl case, to the murdered German tourist Rolf Hetger.

Now she was sitting in the interrogation room on the fourth floor of Stockholm's police headquarters, clearly il at ease.

Jacob studied the woman from his position by the wal.

She looked considerably older than her forty years. The question was, Why was she so nervous?

"Can you tel us about your encounter with Rolf Hetger?" Mats Duval 58 asked.

The Latvian licked her lips.

"He wanted to look at a watch. That's pretty much it," she said. "There was another man with him. They spoke English to each other. They were both very stylish."

She blushed.

"Can you describe the other man's appearance for me? Please."

"The American? He was blond and real y fair. He looked like a film star.

He was very charming. Humorous, attentive."

She looked down at the table.

Jacob felt his muscles tense: the kil er was a flirtatious American? Of course he was.

"What made you think the fair-haired man was American?" the superintendent asked.

Olga fingered one of her earrings.

"He spoke American," she said.

"Are you sure of that?"

She blushed deeper.

"He sounded… he looked… like that nice actor with long hair… from Legends of the Fal."

Mats Duval looked confused.

"Brad Pitt," Jacob said.

The superintendent cast a surprised glance in Jacob's direction.

"What happened at the store? Tel us everything. Please."

"They looked at watches. The German was thinking of buying a Swatch at first, but the American persuaded him to buy a different one. So that's what he did."

Over 22,000 kronor for an impulse buy, Jacob thought. The kil er was very persuasive.

"Did Rolf Hetger sign for it or use his PIN?"

Olga breathed deeply for a few seconds.

"He used his code."

"And where was the American while this was going on? The purchase transaction."

"He was standing right next to him."

"Do you think you'd recognize the American if you saw him again?"

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Why's that?" Mats Duval asked.

Olga looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You must have hundreds of customers every day. How come you remember these two in particular?"

"Not hundreds," she said and seemed slightly a

She looked down and Jacob could tel that she was lying.

Olga remembered the men because they were young, wealthy, handsome, and had flirted with her.

He knotted his hands. This was what he'd been waiting for: a mistake.

They'd been sloppy and had made themselves visible. They had final y left a trail. Now could he fol ow it?

"Have you got the equipment to do electronic composite pictures?" he asked.

"Two floors down," Mats Duval replied. "We can do anything you can do in America."

They ended the session.