Postcard killers

Chapter 71

The investigating team was gathered in Mats Duval 's office.

They made a hol ow-eyed, determined crowd as they settled on the sofas and chairs.

"We've gone through their hotel room in the Amaranten," the superintendent said. "A preliminary search hasn't re-vealed anything that can help our case. Quite the reverse, in fact…"

He looked through his papers.

"Malcolm Rudolph real y was tested for salmonel a on February ninth in Madrid, the same day the murders in Athens were committed. Here's the receipt."

Jacob shut his eyes, covering them with his hand. He almost couldn't bear to hear any more.

Mats Duval went on to summarize the state of the investigation: No drugs had been found in the hotel room, neither marijuana nor any muscle relaxant containing cyclopentolate. No weapons had been found. No knives or scalpels.

Inquiries at the 7-Eleven shop on Vasterlanggatan confirmed that one of their computers had been used at lunchtime on Tuesday to book a Helsinki cruise with Silja Line for four people. The four passengers were Peter Visser, Nienke van Mourik, Sylvia Rudolph, and Malcolm Rudolph.

No stolen property, neither that of the victims in Sweden nor from anywhere else in Europe, had been found, and no champagne. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that Sylvia or Malcolm Rudolph had ever been in contact with any of the other murder victims.

A response from Berlin indicated that no trace of the Rudolph siblings had been found at any of the European crime scenes.

On the other hand, their fingerprints were found in various places in the room in the Grand Hotel.

There was complete silence after the superintendent finished with his list.

"Reactions?"

"It's them," Jacob said. "I know it is. I don't know how they've done it, or what the purpose of this little charade of theirs is, but they're guilty as fuck."

"And how do we prove that, sir?" Sara Hoglund said. "They've looked at paintings, which isn't a crime, at least not here in Europe. They've been traveling around and they visited friends in their hotel room. What can we possibly charge them with? And based on what evidence?"

Jacob recal ed the reassuring hand she had laid on Sylvia Rudolph's arm.

"We have to go through the confiscated material more thoroughly," he said. "There's something there, something we've missed. Let me help you.

Please."

"They turned themselves in," Sara Hoglund said. "They're being very cooperative. They've declined legal representation. They're horrified by the 96 deaths of their friends. And they've got an alibi for the murders in Athens."

There was an oppressive silence when she stopped talking.

"This won't hold," Evert Ridderwal said. "We have to have something more than this. I can hold them until lunchtime on Saturday. Then I'll have to let them go."

Chapter 72

Jacob stepped onto the street. His whole body was numb and felt hol owed out.

He couldn't imagine a worse scenario than these two kil ers walking free.

As if it weren't bad enough that they had kil ed and humiliated their victims, they'd be able to stand there laughing at everyone afterward.

He had to stop himself from kicking over a motorcycle leaning against the wal.

"See you tomorrow," Dessie said, walking past him with her bike helmet in her hand.

"Wait up," Jacob said instinctively, holding his hand out toward her.

"Hold on…"

She stopped, surprised.

He looked at her, his mouth open, apparently not knowing what to say next.

Don't go, I can't stand being alone anymore?

I can't go back to my prison cel at the hostel. Not tonight?

They're laughing at me, can't you hear them laughing at me?

"Jacob," the journalist said, walking over to him. "What's wrong? I mean, I know what's wrong in a particular sense, but what's wrong?"

He made an effort to breathe normal y.

"There are… a few things I've been wondering about. Have you got a couple of minutes?"

She hesitated.

"It won't take long," he said. "You've got to eat anyway, haven't you? I'l pay tonight. I'l even make an effort to be civil."

"I'm so exhausted. I need to go home. We can get something along the way."

Chapter 73

They headed off down toward the Central Station side by side.

"What does it mean that the Rudolphs are being held according to Swedish law?" Jacob asked.

"The prosecutor can hold them for up to three days."

"Can they post bail?"

"No, we don't have that sort of system here. Have you ever eaten a flatbread rol?"

"A what?"

They stopped at a little kiosk sel ing hot dogs and hamburgers. Dessie ordered something in her incomprehensible language and let him pay for whatever it was.

Gradual y the solid panic inside him started to let go and open up some.

"Here you are," Dessie said.

She handed him a sort of pancake fil ed with mashed potato, hamburger dressing, gril ed hot dog, chopped dil pickle, onion, mustard, ketchup, and prawn mayo

"Jeezuz," he said.

"Just eat," Dessie said. "It's real y good."

"I thought you didn't eat meat," Jacob said.

She looked at him in surprise.

"How'd you know that?"

He took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders.

"Just something I noticed, I guess. What do you think of the Rudolphs?

Are they our Postcard Kil ers?"

"Probably," she said. "Mine's vegetarian, by the way."

They sat on the bench inside a bus shelter and ate the sticky rol s. Jacob, who considered himself an expert in junk food, had to admit she was right: it was real y good.

He wolfed it down and thought he might even have another 98 hot-dog-withmashed-potatoes thing.

Dessie Larsson had a calming effect on him. He'd known that almost from the begi

He looked at this woman next to him in the yel ow glow of the streetlights.

She was actual y very beautiful without being conspicuously pretty. Her profile was classical y clean and simple. She didn't seem to wear any makeup at al, not even mascara.

"What makes you think they're guilty?" he asked, studying her reaction.

She glanced at him and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"The bodies," she said. "We know they're arranged as works of art, and the Rudolphs are art students. I don't know, but there's something there, in that mix of art and reality. Also, I don't believe them, especial y her."

He threw the foil wrapping and the smal remains of mashed potato into the bus shelter's trash bin.

"What do you mean, 'that mix of art and reality'? Either it's art or it's reality, right?"

Dessie gave him a serious look.

"It's not unusual for art students to blend them together. We had several cases like that a year or so ago.

"First there was a girl who faked a nervous breakdown in a psychiatric ward as part of her degree show for the Art School. She had the resources of a whole ward focused on her for an entire night. Anyone who was sick or real y suicidal had to wait because of her act."

"You're kidding," Jacob said.

"Nope. Then we had a guy who smashed up a car on the subway. He covered it in black graffiti and broke several windows. He filmed the whole thing and cal ed it 'Territorial Pissing.' Believe it or not, it was exhibited in an art show. The cost to repair the car was one hundred thousand kronor."

"And I thought we had a monopoly on crazies in the States," Jacob said, looking at his watch. "Speaking of the States, there are a few things I have to check on there. Do you know where I can get hold of a computer?"