Postcard killers

Chapter 126

During the day, three cars had been stolen in the Stockholm region.

An almost-new Toyota from the suburb of Vikingshil. A Range Rover out in Hasselby garden suburb, at the end of the underground network. An old Mercedes from a parking garage beneath the Gal erian shopping center in the middle of the city.

"The Merc makes sense, right?" Jacob said. "They wouldn't take the underground al the way out to the suburbs just to get a car."

He picked up the map again.

"So now they're driving north. That's how Dessie and I figure it," he said.

"They might even have changed cars by now. I would have. They're traveling on minor roads and heading for Haparanda. They're sticking close to the speed limit. So they should get there early tomorrow morning, at the latest."

Mats Duval looked skeptical. "That's just speculation," he said. "There's nothing to prove that they'd choose that particular route, or even that mode of 168 transport. We don't know anything for certain."

Dessie watched Jacob stand up. He was making an effort not to attack anything, or anyone.

"You've got to reinforce the border crossings in the north," he said.

"What's the name of that river right on the border? The Torne River?"

"We can't al ocate manpower simply on the strength of guesswork," Mats Duval said, closing up his electronic gadget, a sign that the conversation was over.

At that, Jacob stormed out of the room, closely fol owed by Dessie.

"Jacob…," she began, taking hold of his arm. "Stop. Look at me."

He spun around, standing right next to her.

"The Swedish police are never going to catch them," he said in a low voice. "I can't let them get away again. I can't do that!"

Dessie looked into his eyes.

"No," she said. "You can't."

"When's the next flight to Haparanda?" Jacob asked.

She took out her cel and cal ed the twenty-four-hour travel desk at Aftonposten.

The closest airport was in Lulea, and the last flight that evening was an SAS plane, leaving Arlanda at 9:10.

She looked at her watch.

It was nine o'clock exactly.

The airport was forty-five kilometers away.

The first plane the next morning was a Norwegian Air Shuttle, due to leave at 6:55.

"We can be in Lulea at 8:20," Dessie said. "Then we have to rent a car and drive up to the border. It's another hundred and thirty kilometers away."

Jacob stared at her.

"Do you know any police up there? Or some customs officer who can keep an eye on things until we get there?"

"No," she said, "but I can cal Robert. He lives in Kalix. It's a forty-fiveminute drive from the border."

"Robert?"

She smiled, a smile that was almost a grimace.

"My criminal cousin. The big one who protected me when I was a kid.

And even now."

Jacob ran his fingers through his hair and paced quickly around the coffee machine.

"How long would it take to drive up there?" he asked. "If we leave now."

She looked at her watch again.

"If we go for it, and the road isn't ful of trailers and lumber trucks, we'l be there by six."

He slapped the wal with his hand, nearly putting a hole in it. 169 "That's not good enough," he said.

"If Robert keeps an eye on things, they won't get through," she said. "A blue Mercedes, registration TKG two-nine-seven, wasn't it?"

He looked at her, fire in his eyes.

"Have you got access to a car?"

"No," she said, "but I've got a bicycle."

She waved her American Express card.

"We'l rent one, you idiot."

Chapter 127

Thursday, June 24

Norrland, Sweden

It was past one o'clock in the morning when Dessie sailed past the town of Utansjo. She had driven almost five hundred kilometers and needed to get petrol, drink coffee, and go to the bathroom. Not in that order actual y.

She glanced at Jacob in the reclined seat next to her as he slept the comatose sleep of the jet-lagged. The diesel would last until they got to the twenty-four-hour truck stop in Docksta, but she had a much better idea.

It would mean a slight detour, but it might be worth the trouble.

She reached the turning to Lunde, hesitated just for a second, and then headed left along Route 90.

The car's rhythm changed and the very poor road surface made Jacob stir.

"What the hel…?" he said, confused, as he sat up straight. "Are we there?"

He looked around, astonished, at the early dawn light. Mist was lying in thin veils on the water, black fir trees reached up to the heavens, several deer fled across the fields.

"We're exactly halfway to Haparanda," Dessie said. "Those are reindeer, by the way."

He looked at his watch.

"This whole midnight sun thing is pretty fucked up," he said, shaking his watch. "And the reindeer, too. Where's Santa?"

Dessie slowed the car and pointed ahead.

"See that?" she said. "Wasterlunds Bakery. I lost my virginity in the parking lot around the back."

This nugget of information woke him up properly.

"So these are your old stomping grounds? Interesting. You're real y a 170 hick."

"Until I was seventeen. I spent a year at Adal high school in Kramfors, then went to New Zealand as an exchange student. I ended up staying there nine years."

Jacob looked at her.

"Your weird English accent," he said. "I've been trying to place it. Why New Zealand?"

She glanced over at him.

"It was as far away as I could get… from being a hick. See that? There's the memorial to the workers who were shot by the military in nineteen thirtyone. Remember our talk, fascist?"

She pointed to a sculpture of a horse and a ru

They drove up onto Sando Bridge, and Jacob peered down at the river below.

"When it was built, this was the longest single-span concrete bridge in the world. I had to cross it every day to get to school."

"Lucky you," Jacob said.

"It scared me every single time, every day, twice a day. The bridge col apsed once, kil ing eighteen people. The most forgotten tragedy of the last century, because it happened on the afternoon of August thirty-first, nineteen thirty-nine."

"The day before the Second World War broke out," Jacob said. "I have a good memory for history, too. Where are we actual y going?"

"Past Klockestrand," she said. "It's not far now."

She slowed down and turned off to the right, onto a narrow dirt road.

"I thought we might need some expert help," she said, driving up to a huge wooden building in a state of more or less complete ruin.

"What the hel is this place? The House on Haunted Hil?"

"Welcome to my childhood home," Dessie said, switching the engine off.