Postcard killers

Chapter 121

The investigating team had gathered in Mats Duval 's office. Their faces were pale and drawn.

"Do we have any idea where the hel the Rudolphs have gone?" Jacob asked, sitting down opposite Sara Hoglund.

The head of the unit shook her head. She looked to be in utter despair. As she ought to be.

"They were let out the back door of the Grand Hotel this morning. No one's seen them since then."

"And the key? The key that no one on the team paid much attention to?"

"We know it belongs to a left-luggage locker."

Jacob slammed his fist on the table so hard that the coffee cups jumped.

"We've put out a national alert and informed Interpol," Mats Duval added quickly. "Arlanda, Skavsta, Landvetter, Vasteras, Sturup, and every other airport with international co

Jacob stood up.

"For fuck's sake, they've just gotten hold of three and a half mil ion dol ars! They can buy their own plane!"

"The whole amount is in an account in the Cayman Islands," Gabriel a said, reading from a document in front of her. "The transfer has been confirmed by the bank they used here in Stockholm."

Jacob was close to upending the table and al the useless paperwork on it.

"So they haven't got much cash at the moment," Dessie said, just to be clear.

Jacob leaned back in his chair, pressing the palms of his hands to his forehead.

Dessie had already given him the hopeless details. The Rudolphs were free and had vanished, in a country with fewer inhabitants than New York and 162 an area almost as big as Texas. There were thousands of miles of unguarded borders with both Norway and Finland, and just as much coastline. A couple of hours in a fast boat would get them to Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Russia, Denmark, or Germany.

Silence fel around the table.

Gabriel a Oscarsson was concentrating on a bundle of papers, Mats Duval was fiddling with his BlackBerry. Evert Ridderwal, the hotshot prosecutor, was staring blankly out the window.

Jacob clenched his fists at the sight of the fat little man.

He was the one who had let the bastards out in the first place.

"What does the analysis of the website tel us?" Dessie eventual y asked.

Sara Hoglund leaned forward.

"Your first assumption turned out to be correct," she said. "The Rudolphs have set themselves up as masters of their own universe. Their project aims to integrate life, death, and art, to find the ultimate form of expression. The Society of Limitless Art is their own university. As far as we can make out, they've got about thirty-five fol owers around the world. There could be more.

Other art students who share their worldview and admire their ambitions."

Dessie looked down at her hands. "Three other couples have taken the 'exam' that the Rudolphs provide. Hard to believe, isn't it? So many crazies out there."

The pages of the website contained detailed instructions on how to pass the exam, or "graduate," as the Rudolphs cal ed it, in the special project of the Society of Limitless Art. By causing death in a particularly artistic way, humankind could become a creating divinity, and thus immortal.

The procedure of "the Work" was described in detail, from the dialogue to be spoken when the victims were seduced, to how the champagne, eyedrops, and knife were to be used. Al the postcards and Polaroid pictures had been uploaded as JPEG files onto the site. Links and PDFs of the media coverage in each of the countries were also cataloged. It seemed that the press clippings were an important part of the artwork.

"But none of the so-called graduates have actual y passed the exam,"

Jacob said, aware of how hoarse his voice sounded. "The amateurs always messed up the murders somehow. Sometimes there was no symbolism in their choice of postcard. Or they didn't manage to imitate famous works of art with their Polaroids."

No one responded; they just listened to the American now.

"It isn't easy to kil, no matter how motivated or focused you are," Jacob said in a low voice. "The others have al panicked and lost their grip on the situation."

"Athens, Salzburg, and Copenhagen were probably carried out by different members of the group," Sara Hoglund confirmed. "The police in each country are tracing the IP addresses of computers that accessed the site. We'l 163 have located them by this evening."

Mats Duval stood up, holding his electronic gadget. "The perpetrator in Copenhagen has just been identified," he said. "He's a repeat sex offender. His DNA was on file."

"He's a member," Dessie said softly. "His user ID is Batman. "

"How do you know that?" Gabriel a asked.

"He graduated on Sunday," she said. "They had a ceremony on line."

Chapter 122

The meeting broke up and the members of the investigating team went back to their respective rooms. Everyone was excited about the new leads but also shocked about the Rudolphs being on the loose.

Jacob and Dessie ended up sitting beside the coffee machine in the unofficial staff room on the fourth floor. On the table in front of them was a map of northern Europe.

"They never go back to where a murder was committed," Jacob said.

"They keep moving on to new places, new countries."

Dessie ran her hand over the map.

"So we can probably discount Denmark, Norway, and Germany," she said.

"They know things are heating up," Jacob said. "They'l want to lie low for a while now. So they'l avoid any transport that involves passenger lists.

They won't pay with credit cards or anything that means they have to provide ID. So where the hel are they going, and how?"

Dessie put both hands over the Stockholm district on the map.

"They're pretty much broke," she said, "and they're on the run."

"So?" Jacob said.

"They'l steal a car," Dessie said. "If you're right, they're heading for Finland."

Jacob looked at the map, his finger landing on the Baltic Sea.

"Why not a boat? It's only a couple of inches to the Baltic states."

"In this country we guard our leisure craft like they were gold reserves.

It's much easier to steal a car. Then they'l have to get up to Haparanda."

She indicated a point on the map where the two countries met. "That's over a thousand kilometers from here."

"So they're behaving like petty criminals again," Jacob said.

"There are no motorways north of Uppsala. The E-four isn't bad, but there are speed cameras the whole way. They'l have to drive up inland, past Ockelbo, Bol nas, Ljusdal, Ange…"

Jacob fol owed her finger as it moved along the narrow, winding roads 164 leading up the oblong country.

"Your home territory," he said. "When wil they get to the border? How long?"

Dessie bit her lip.

"They'l have to stick to the speed limit – they can't risk getting stopped for speeding. And there's a lot of wildlife out on those roads. Elk, deer, maybe reindeer farther north…"

"Are there self-serve gas pumps where they can pay cash to refuel without being seen?"

"They're everywhere," Dessie said.

Jacob ran his hands through his hair.

"We've got to check al cars stolen in Stockholm this morning, and any that are stolen in the north of Sweden over the next few hours."

He put his index finger on the map and screwed his eyes shut. Postcard Kil ers, he thought, where the hel are you?