Postcard killers

Chapter 57

They picked a cheap italian restaurant with red-checked tablecloths and pasta and pizza on the menu. Jacob ordered a bottle of red wine from Tuscany and poured them each a glass. "This is good for whatever ails you," he said.

Dessie took a smal sip, leaned back, and shut her eyes. "I doubt it very much, but thank you."

So far the letter had done no good at al. Had Gabriel a's unpleasant comment been justified? Had she been completely crazy to write it?

"You did the right thing," Jacob said, reading her thoughts. "We've already ruffled their feathers. They're going to make a mistake. Cheers."

Jacob ordered Parma ham and spaghetti Bolognese. Dessie the insalata caprese and ca

"I heard you were the one who actual y found the watch," he said. "Good thinking."

She was suddenly embarrassed.

"They aren't just kil ers," she said. "They're petty thieves, too."

"True, but why did you make that co

Dessie laughed, not even sure why she thought it was fu

"Remember I told you I was writing my thesis? Wel, it's on the social consequences of smal -scale property break-ins. Let's just say it's been an interest of mine since I was a child."

Jacob raised his eyebrows quizzical y. He had a very expressive face.

When he got angry, his face turned black with rage, when he was happy, he glowed like a woodstove, and when he wasn't sure of something, like now, his face looked like a big question mark.

"I grew up with my mother and her five brothers. My mother worked as home help al her life, but my uncles were vil ains and bandits, the whole lot of them."

She glanced at him to see how he reacted.

"'Home help'?" he said.

"Helping old people, sick people. None of my uncles married, but they had loads of kids with different women."

Jacob ate some bread. He didn't wolf down his food like some men she knew.

"What's the name of the town you grew up in?"

"I come from a farm in the forests of Adalen," she said. "That's part of Norrland, where the military were cal ed in to shoot workers as recently as the nineteen thirties."

The American looked at her stonily.

"I'm sure they must have had a good reason," he said.

Dessie's mozzarel a caught in her throat. "What did you say?"

"The military don't usual y shoot their fel ow citizens for no reason,"

Jacob said.

Dessie couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Are you defending state-sanctioned murder?"

Jacob stared at her, simultaneously concentrating on the chewy ciabatta.

"Okay," he said. "Wrong topic of conversation. Let's move on."

Dessie put her cutlery down. "Do you think it's okay to shoot people for demonstrating against their wages being cut?"

Jacob held up both hands in a disarming gesture.

"Shit, I didn't know you were a communist."

And I didn't know you were a fascist," Dessie said, picking up her knife and fork again.

Chapter 58

Dessie honestly didn't know what to make of Jacob Kanon.

He was an entirely new species to her, both shut off and extremely demonstrative at the same time. The way he moved seemed a bit clumsy and uncomfortable, as if he weren't quite house-trained.

"Tel me more about your uncles."

Dessie pushed aside the plate of ca

"Two of them drank themselves to death," she said. "Uncle Ruben was beaten to death outside the church in Pitea the night before May Day three years ago. He had just been released from a stretch in Porson, in Lulea."

She said it to shock him, but Jacob just seemed amused.

"Were they often inside?"

"Mostly short sentences. They only managed one big thing in the whole of their miserable careers: raiding a security van where they discovered 79 considerably more money than they'd been expecting."

The waiter came over to ask if they wanted dessert.

They both said no.

"Were they convicted?" Jacob asked. "For the security van job?"

"Of course," Dessie said, grabbing the bil. "Although some of the takings were never found."

"Let me get that," Jacob said.

"Stop being so macho," Dessie said, taking out her Amex card. "This is Sweden. Men stopped paying for dates in the sixties." She motioned the waiter over and handed him her card.

The American poured the last of the wine into their glasses with a grin.

"So this is a date, is it?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "That's interesting."

Dessie looked at him in surprise.

"This? A date? Of course it isn't."

"You said it was. You said this was a date. 'Men stopped paying for -'"

Dessie shuddered.

"That was a figure of speech. This isn't a date. This wil never be a date."

She signed the credit-card slip and said, "Let's go. It's late."

They stepped out into a light blue evening that would soon be night.

"Where are you staying?" Dessie asked as they walked toward the entrance of police headquarters on Polhemsgatan.

"Langholmen," he said. "A youth hostel, actual y."

"It used to be a prison," Dessie said.

"Thanks for the reminder," Jacob said. "I know."

She got her bicycle, and with Jacob walking alongside, she started slowly cycling home through the Stockholm night. A low mist hung over the waters of Riddarfjarden, thin veils sweeping in and hiding the sounds of the city: the cars, the drunken shouting, the music coming from open windows.

He kept her company al the way to her door.

She looked up at him and he was no more than a silhouette against the moon.

"See you tomorrow," he said, raising a hand in farewel as he disappeared down toward Gotgatan.

Chapter 59

Wednesday, June 16

Theletter arrived with the first delivery of the morning.

Dessie recognized immediately both the envelope and the writing on it.

This time it hadn't been preceded by a warning postcard.

She opened it with her letter knife, wearing gloves on her trembling hands. She was in the presence of the police forensics team and they made her jumpy.

The envelope contained a Polaroid picture, just as the last one had.

"I'l take care of that," said one of the officers, grabbing the picture from her.

She had time to register the bodies and the blood.

She went over to her desk and sank down in the chair. An intense feeling of uneasiness started to spread from her stomach out to her limbs. "Oh, dear god, dear god," she muttered softly.

The text she'd written for the paper had evidently worked. The kil ers had broken their pattern. They had carried out more murders in Stockholm instead of moving on to the next city.

The realization made it hard to breathe.

She had caused the deaths of two more i

How could she live with herself after this?

Forsberg, the news editor, red-eyed with lack of sleep, sat down on a chair beside her.

"Feeling rough?" he asked.

She looked at him without replying.

"Maybe you should take the day off? Get some rest? You real y ought to go home."

She stared at him, speechless. Day off? Rest?!

He drummed his fingers on her desk for a few seconds before getting up and going back to the news desk.

Dessie stayed where she was until Mats Duval, Gabriel a, and Jacob Kanon arrived at the office. They got there less than five minutes apart, Duval and Gabriel a looking white as paper.

"What have I done?" she said, looking up at Jacob. "What damage have I caused?"

He looked at her with a surprisingly calm expression.

"Aren't you crediting yourself with a bit too much? They did this, not you."