Postcard killers

Chapter 128

There was a faint light coming from a window on the ground floor, the sort of blue light that an old television set gives off.

Dessie wondered how many of her family were there. The house was a base for her uncles, the few who were stil alive, and for a number of her cousins.

"Wil anyone be awake at this time of day?" Jacob asked.

"Granddad," Dessie said. "He usual y sleeps during the day. At night he watches old black-and-white films that he downloads il egal y from the Net. 171 Are you coming in with me?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Jacob said, climbing out of the car.

The held each other's hand as they walked up to the huge building.

The structure was an old-style farmhouse, with four chimneys, two floors, and a loft tal enough to stand up in. The red iron-oxide paint had peeled off decades ago and the wooden wal s shone a grayish white in the early light.

Dessie opened the outside door without knocking and kicked off her shoes.

Apart from the sound from the television, the house was quiet. If anyone was here besides Granddad, they were sound asleep.

Her grandfather was sitting in his usual armchair, watching a film with Ingrid Bergman in it.

"Granddad?"

The old man turned around and took a quick look at her.

Then he went right back to the television screen.

"Drag ata dorn for moija," he said.

Dessie shut the outside door.

"This is Jacob, Granddad," she said, walking toward him, stil holding Jacob by the hand.

Her grandfather hadn't aged much, she thought. Maybe it was because his hair had been white for as long as she could remember, and his face had always had the same miserable scowl. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see her in his living room for the first time since her mother's funeral. Instead, he just glowered suspiciously at Jacob.

"Vo jar hajna for ein?"

"Jacob mostly does rough work," Dessie said, taking the remote and turning off the television.

Then she sat down on the table directly in front of the old man.

"Granddad, I want to ask you something. If I'm on the run from the police and haven't got any money and want to hide out in Finland, what should I do?"

Chapter 129

The old man's eyes twinkled. He cast a quick, approving look at Jacob, straightened up in his armchair, and regarded Dessie with new interest.

"Vo hava ja djart?"

"What language is that?" Jacob asked, bewildered. "It doesn't sound like any Swedish I've heard."

"Pitemal," Dessie said. "It's an almost extinct dialect from where he grew up. It's further from Swedish than either Danish or Norwegian. This farm belonged to my maternal grandmother's family. No one around here real y understands him."

She turned to her grandfather again.

"No," she said, "we haven't done anything bad. Not yet, anyway. I'm just 172 wondering, purely hypothetical y."

"Sko ja hava nalta a ita?"

"Yes, please," Dessie said. "Coffee would be good, and a sandwich, if you've got any cheese."

The old man stood up and staggered off toward the kitchen. Dessie took the opportunity to go out into the gloom of the hal and crawl in under the stairs, where the only toilet in the house was situated.

When she got back, the old man had prepared some bread and cheese and had boiled water for instant coffee. He was sitting with his hands clasped on the wax tablecloth, his eyes squinting as he mul ed over Dessie's question.

"A djoom sa i Finland," he said. "Ha ga et…"

Dessie nodded and took a bite of the sweet bread and Port Salut.

Then she interpreted simultaneously for Jacob so he could fol ow.

Hiding in Finland wouldn't work. The Fi

But if you absolutely had to get to Finland, that was no problem, as long as you had a freshly stolen car, of course.

Anyone could cross the Torne River wherever they liked. There were bridges in Haparanda, Overtornea, Pel o, Kolari, Muonio, and Karesuando.

Each had its advantages and disadvantages. Haparanda was the biggest and slowest, but the guards there were the laziest, so you might not get questioned.

Kolari was the least used and fastest, but you were more likely to be noticed there. You had to choose your route in Morjarv – north toward Overkalix or south to Haparanda. Then you just had to aim straight for Russia as quickly as you could.

"Russia?" Jacob said. "How far away is that?"

"Ja nogges tjoor over Kuusamo, ha jar som rattjest…"

"Three hundred kilometers," Dessie said.

"Christ," Jacob said. "That's nothing. Manhattan to the end of Long Island."

According to Dessie's grandfather, it was hard to get into Russia, and it always had been.

In his day, the no-man's-land along the border had been mined with explosives, but they were al gone now. Nowadays it was the most remote boundary of the European Union. It was tricky but not impossible.

The biggest problem wasn't getting out of the EU, but into Russia. You had to leave the car and then walk across, maybe just north of Tammela. There was a main road on the other side of the border that would take you to Petrozavodsk, and from there to St. Petersburg.

Dessie and Jacob sat in silence until the old man had finished.

Then he stood up, put the coffee cups on the draining board, and wandered off toward the television again.

"Stang ata dorn for moija da ja ga," he said.

"We have to shut the door to stop the midges from getting in when we leave," Dessie said. "I think he likes you."

Chapter 130

They filled the car with diesel from the farm's il egal agricultural tank.

Then Jacob took the wheel.

"Where am I going?"

"Straight on until you see 'Suomi Finland' on the signs," Dessie said, putting the seat back down and stretching out.

He aimed north and emerged onto the main road again.

If the Rudolphs managed to reach Russia, he'd never see them again, that much he was sure of. Anyone with a lot of money could buy protection there, and anyone without it could disappear among the country's homeless mil ions.

He stiffened his grip on the wheel and pressed the accelerator. His head stil felt groggy from his long nap. The car was smal and sluggish, with a weirdly noisy engine. He'd never driven a diesel before.

The landscape glided past and it real y was astonishingly beautiful.

Craggy cliffs fal ing to the sea. Blue peaks rising to the north. The road wound its way along the coast, getting ever narrower and more twisted and scenic.

He was on his way toward the end of the world. The Rudolphs were on their way there, too.

Dessie's cel phone started to ring on the dashboard.

He glanced at the woman beside him. She was fast asleep, mouth open in a narrow line.

Jacob grabbed the phone and said, "Yeah?"

"We've found the left-luggage locker," Gabriel a said. "It was in the basement of the Central Station. You were right. Both of you were."

He clenched his fist in triumph.

"It contained everything you suspected: light shoes, brown wig, coat, trousers, sunglasses, Polaroid camera, a couple of packs of film, pens, stamps, postcards, eyedrops, and a real y sharp stiletto knife, as wel as some other stuff."

She fel silent.

"What?" Jacob said. "What else was there?"

His raised voice woke Dessie, and she sat herself up beside him.

"We found the passports and wal ets of al the murder victims – apart from Copenhagen and Athens and Salzburg."

He braked and stopped the car by a twenty-four-hour cafe. He was searching for words but couldn't find any.