Postcard killers

"Who's offering the biggest advance?" Sylvia asked.

The lawyer blinked at her over the thick black frame of her glasses.

"There are a number of different conditions attached to the various bids," she said. "Nielsen and Berner in New York, for instance, have a very interesting proposal including a television series, a computer game, a lecture tour… for the two of you."

"Excuse me," Sylvia interrupted, "but how much are they offering as an advance?"

Dear Andrea took a theatrical deep breath.

"Not much at al. Their package is the largest in total, but it's conditional upon your ful participation in the marketing campaign."

Malcolm stretched, making his T-shirt ride up. He scratched his stomach.

"The advance?" he said, smiling toward Andrea.

Her angular face broke into a foolish smile and she fumbled with the papers again.

"The largest advance is offered by Yokokoz, a Japanese company that real y wants only the digital rights. They wil make a manga series, with al the spin-offs that entails – col ectable cards, clothing, and so on. They want to sel the book and film rights, without you having any say in where they end up…"

"How much?" Malcolm asked.

"Three mil ion dol ars," Andrea said.

Sylvia stretched her back.

"That sounds pretty good," she said. "Sign up with Yokokoz."

The lawyer blinked.

"But," she said, "the agreement has to be refined. We can't leave the question of subsidiary sales open. You have to have control over the finished product…"

"Try to get them up to three and a half mil ion," Sylvia said, "although that's not a deal breaker. But they have to pay us now. Anything else and the deal's off with them. Right? We're clear?"

Andrea Friederichs shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Clearly, she wasn't clear.

"If I could just remind you about my fee," she said. "I can't take a percentage because I'm a member of the Association of Swedish Lawyers, but I presume we're fol owing usual practice?"

Sylvia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Are we? I don't remember signing an agreement like that. Nor does Malcolm."

"No, I don't."

Andrea Friederichs clicked her bal point pen in irritation.

"A quarter of the total is usual in cases like this. We discussed it the first time we spoke. I must tel you that some agents take considerably more."

Sylvia nodded.

"I know twenty-five percent is the norm," she said, "but in our case I think five percent is more appropriate."

The lawyer looked as though she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"What do you mean? A hundred and fifty thousand dol ars? That's quite absurd!"

Sylvia smiled again.

"You're getting five percent."

Andrea Friederichs started to get up from her chair. Her blushes had grown into fiery blotches covering her whole neck.

"Almost a mil ion and a half Swedish kronor for a few days' work,"

Sylvia said. "You think that's absurd? I suppose that it is."

"There's such a thing as legal precedent…," the lawyer began.

Sylvia leaned over and lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper.

"Have you forgotten who we are?" she breathed, and she saw how Andrea Friederichs sank back in her chair, her face drained of color.

Part Three

Chapter 115

Wednesday, June 23

Stockholm, Sweden

Urvadersgrand was deserted and doing its best to show why it had been named after bad weather.

Gusts of rain tore and tugged at the street lamps and signs, the shutters and gables.

The reporters had finally given up and gone the hel home. That was the good news.

Dessie paid the taxi driver and hurried in through the doorway. Her steps echoed in the empty stairwel. She felt like she'd been away for ages.

Her apartment welcomed her with gray light and complete silence and a certain unappealing mustiness.

She pul ed off her clothes, letting them fal in a heap on the hal floor.

Then she sank down and sat on the telephone table in the hal, staring at the wal opposite. Suddenly she was far too exhausted to take the shower she had been looking forward to al day.

For some reason her mother came to her mind.

They hadn't been in regular contact during the last years she was alive, but right now Dessie would have liked to cal her and tel her what had been written about her, about the terrible murders, about her own loneliness.

And about Jacob.

She would have liked to tel her about the unusual American with the sapphire blue eyes. Her mother would have understood. If there was one thing she had experience in, it was doomed relationships.

At that moment the phone rang right next to her. It startled her so much that she jumped.

"Dessie? The phone didn't even ring on my end. You must have been sitting on it."

It was Gabriel a.

"Actual y, I was," Dessie said, standing up.

She got hold of a towel and grappled with it to pul it around her with one hand, then took the cordless phone out through the kitchen and into the living room.

"How are things with you? You sounded so down when I last spoke to 154 you."

Dessie slumped onto the sofa and looked out at the harbor. It was stil gorgeous; at least that never changed.

"Everything got a bit much in the end," she muttered.

"Is it Jacob?"

Unable to stop herself any longer, Dessie started to cry.

"Sorry," she sniffled into the phone. "Sorry, I…"

"You fel for him hard, didn't you?"

Gabriel a sounded neither angry nor disappointed, but more like a good friend now.

Dessie took a deep breath.

"I suppose so," she said.

There was a moment's silence.

"Things don't always work out as you hope," Gabriel a said, so quietly that her words were almost inaudible.

"I know," Dessie whispered. "Sorry."

Gabriel a laughed.

"That took its time," she said.

"I know," Dessie repeated.

Silence again.

"What's happening today?" Dessie asked, to break the silence more than anything else.

"The Rudolphs have a

Dessie bit her lip. "Do you real y think they're i

"There's nothing to link them to the murders," Gabriel a said. "No forensic evidence, no witnesses, no confessions, no murder weapons…"

"So who did it? Sel me on a new explanation," Dessie said. "Who are the real Postcard Kil ers, then?"

Before Gabriel a could answer, the doorbel rang.

What the -?

Who could it be now? A reporter who stil hadn't given up?

She had no peephole and no safety chain.

"Hang on a moment while I get the door," Dessie said, going out to the hal and unlocking the door.

She opened it cautiously, then suddenly she couldn't breathe.

"I'l cal you later," she said into the phone and hung up on Gabriel a.