Postcard killers

"We think we've found the victims," Gabriel a said. "A German couple out on Dalaro. It's a real mess."

Chapter 19

Dessie took a deep breath

"Who found them?" she asked in Swedish.

Jacob Kanon walked around her desk so that he was in front of her again.

"The cleaner," Gabriel a said through the phone. "We've got a local patrol out there now."

"Have they found the victims?" Jacob asked.

Dessie turned away from him again, twisting her body.

"Are you sure it's the couple in the picture?" she asked.

"They've found them, haven't they?" the American persisted, a

"Who's that talking in the background?" Gabriel a asked.

"The coroner wil find traces of several different substances in the victims' blood," Jacob Kanon said loudly, right next to the phone. "Partly THC and alcohol, but also a drug that wil be identified as -"

"When did the murders take place?" Dessie asked, putting her finger in her ear to shut out the noisy American.

"I'm worried about you," Gabriel a said. "These kil ers mean business. I want you to take special care."

Jacob Kanon grabbed Dessie's office chair and swung it around so that her knees ended up between his.

"Get the address!" he said, looking her right in the eyes. "Get the address of the crime scene right now."

"What's the address of the crime scene?" Dessie asked, flustered, feeling the warmth from his legs through the thin fabric of her trousers.

"Are you at the paper? Is that the crazy Yank?"

Gabriel a's voice turned shril and accusing again.

"What's he doing there? You let him come into the newsroom? Why?"

Dessie avoided the man's bright blue eyes, feeling her irritation at Gabriel a bubbling over. She was very close to shouting at her.

"The address, Gaby. This is a newspaper, and these murders are news.

We'l have to send someone out there."

"What? Since when are you a newshound?"

A stubborn streak that should have vanished when she was three years old wel ed up inside her and made her cheeks burn.

"Would you rather we sent Alexander Andersson? I can arrange for that."

Gabriel a Oscarsson gave her an address out on Dalaro.

"But whatever you do," she said abruptly, "don't bring the Yank with you."

Then she hung up.

Dessie put her cel down. Jacob Kanon let go of her chair and took a step back.

"Where is it? Where's the crime scene?"

"Forty-five minutes away," Dessie said, looking at her watch. "South of here, on an island."

She walked around the desk, hoisted her knapsack onto her back, picked up a pen and notepad, and stopped in front of Jacob Kanon.

"Shal we go?"

Chapter 20

It had stopped raining, but the pavement was stil wet. The tires hissed as Dessie steered the Volvo from the newspaper's auto pool through the puddles outside the paper's garage. She braked at the main entrance and 30 opened the passenger door for Jacob Kanon.

The stench of him once he shut the door was quite dreadful. This was a big mistake.

"God," she said, opening the window. "Haven't you learned to use soap and water in America?"

He fastened his seat belt.

"We're in good time," he said. "Almost as quick as the police. That's a good source you've got."

Dessie switched gears and drove off. She paused for a moment before replying.

"She's my ex."

The American sat in silence for a moment.

"Your ex, as in…"

"Girlfriend, yes," Dessie said, concentrating on the thin traffic.

Why was it so hard to talk about it? It was 2010.

She put her foot down to avoid having to stop at a red light. She peered up at the sky to see if the clouds were showing any sign of breaking up, which they weren't. She turned on the car radio and found Gentle Favorites. She tried to sing along but didn't know half the words.

"What about you?" she asked, to put an end to the silence. "Have you got a girl?"

"Not anymore," he said, looking out through the windshield.

"If you tried showering occasional y, maybe she would have stayed."

"She was murdered. In Rome."

Shit, shit, shit, what an idiot she was.

"Sorry," she said, staring straight ahead now.

"Don't worry about it," he said, looking at her. "Kimmy was my family. It was just her and me."

So, what happened to the mother? Dessie thought, but she decided to keep her mouth shut this time.

They headed south along Route 73 in silence, passing the Tyreso road and the vast suburb of Brandbergen. The American leaned forward to study the huge, ugly concrete buildings.

She peered intently at the road signs and found the exit for Jordbro. The motorway vanished, replaced by a minor road, the 227.

Not far now.

She felt her pulse rise. She had been to a lot of crime scenes. She was used to broken patio doors and overturned drawers, but she had never been to the site of any murder, let alone a real y bad one.

"When we get there," Dessie said, "what can we expect to find?"

Jacob Kanon looked at her, his eyes sparkling.

"Blood," he said. "Even smal amounts of blood look huge when they're spread across furniture and floors. You know the stain on the wal when you 31 squash a mosquito? We're talking about large amounts here."

Dessie clutched the wheel harder and took the hard right toward Bjorno.

Chapter 21

The murder house was on the shore by the sound, facing the island of Edeso. Dessie didn't want to be here.

It was smal, ordinary, yel ow, with carved detailing on the veranda and a little hexagonal tower topped by a pe

A policeman was busy cordoning off the site with blue-and-white tape down by the shore.

A second officer was talking into his cel phone by the corner of the house.

Dessie stopped by the fence. She held up her compact digital camera and took a few pictures of the house.

Jacob Kanon pushed past her, opened the gate, and snuck under the plastic cordon.

"Hang on," Dessie said, stuffing the camera in her pocket. "You can't just -"

"You there!" cal ed the policeman who was tying the cordon around a rowan tree down by the shore. "You can't come in here, it's closed to the public."

Jacob Kanon held up his police badge as he sped up, heading straight for the house.

Dessie was half ru

"New York Police Department," Jacob cal ed back. "They want to talk to me about the investigation. It's al set."

The policeman with the cel stared at them but kept hold of his phone.

"Jacob," Dessie said, "I don't know if -"

The American kept going and climbed up onto the veranda. He took a quick look around and kicked off his shoes.

The outer door was wide open. Jacob stopped at the threshold. Dessie caught up with him and instinctively put her free hand up to cover her nose and mouth.

"Bloody hel," she said. "What's that smel?"