The Postcard Killers

    They parked on a pedestrian crossing right outside the shop, then hurried inside.

    On the front counter stood a digital camera, a box containing an emerald ring, a few other pieces of jewelry - and an Omega in steel and gold in a mother-of-pearl case.

    Mats Duvall, impeccably dressed in a blazer and chinos, was standing with Dessie, the shop’s owner, and two detectives. Duvall was leaning over a computer screen.

    “Is he on video?” Jacob asked breathlessly.

    “We’re hoping he is,” the superintendent said.

    “What ID did he use?”

    Duvall pushed the pawnbroker’s ledger toward him without taking his eyes from the screen.

    The items on the counter in the shop had been pawned by a man who had used an American driving licence as his ID, issued in the state of New Mexico in the name Jack Bauer. He had received 16,430 kronor in total.

    “Is this some sort of fucking joke?” Jacob asked. “How the hell can someone get away with calling himself Jack Bauer? Jack Bauer! The TV

    show? Twenty-four?”

    “Here he is,” Mats Duvall said, turning the screen to face Jacob. A tall man in a long, dark coat, with brown hair, a cap, and sunglasses, was shown signing the agreement on the counter in the shop. No well-built blond. No Brad Pitt. No Jack Bauer.

    What had he been expecting?

    “I presume you recognize him,” Mats Duvall said.

    Jacob gave a quick nod.

    It was the same man who had been photographed taking money out of ATMs on the murder victims’ credit cards throughout Europe.

Chapter 56

    “OKAY, THEN,” THE SUPERINTENDENT SAID a few minutes later.

    “We’ll meet again at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. You’re all working hard. We’ll get these people.”

    He stood up and walked quickly from the shop without looking back. The two detectives on his team followed close on his heels. Dessie was left standing by the pawnbroker’s desk together with Jacob and Gabriella. On a shelf next to the computer was a copy of that day’s Aftonposten. Her own words screamed out its battle cry: “Accept My Challenge - If You Dare.”

    She turned the paper over to avoid having to see it. Gabriella noticed her doing it.

    “I agree that publishing the letter wasn’t very smart,” she said, nodding toward the paper.

    Dessie took a deep breath and pulled on her knapsack.

    “See you tomorrow,” she said abruptly, heading for the door.

    “I’ve got the car,” Gabriella called after her. “I can give you a lift.”

    Dessie kept walking.

    “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got my bike at police headquarters. It’s close. I’m fine.”

    She opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

    “I’ll walk with you,” Jacob Kanon called, catching up with her.

    “I can put the bike in the back,” Gabriella said, jogging after them. Dessie spun around.

    “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, anyway.”

    It was evening. The air was damp and cool, and the sun was low in the sky.

    “Whatever you want,” Gabriella said, getting into the Saab and speeding off, sour as hell.

    With a sense of melancholy, Dessie watched the car drive away.

    “You were the one who finished it, weren’t you?” Jacob said. She gave a deep sigh.

    “Hungry?” the American asked.

    She thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “Strangely, I am.”

Chapter 57

    THEY PICKED A CHEAP ITALIAN restaurant with red-checked tablecloths and pasta and pizza on the menu. Jacob ordered a bottle of red wine from Tuscany and poured them each a glass. “This is good for whatever ails you,” he said.

    Dessie took a small sip, leaned back, and shut her eyes. “I doubt it very much, but thank you.”

    So far the letter had done no good at all. Had Gabriella’s unpleasant comment been justified? Had she been completely crazy to write it?

    “You did the right thing,” Jacob said, reading her thoughts. “We’ve already ruffled their feathers. They’re going to make a mistake. Cheers.”

    Jacob ordered Parma ham and spaghetti Bolognese. Dessie the insalatacaprese and cannelloni.

    “I heard you were the one who actually found the watch,” he said. “Good thinking.”

    She was suddenly embarrassed.

    “They aren’t just killers,” she said. “They’re petty thieves, too.”

    “True, but why did you make that connection?” the American asked, pouring more wine into his glass.

    Dessie laughed, not even sure why she thought it was funny.

    “Remember I told you I was writing my thesis? Well, it’s on the social consequences of small-scale property break-ins. Let’s just say it’s been an interest of mine since I was a child.”

    Jacob raised his eyebrows quizzically. He had a very expressive face. When he got angry, his face turned black with rage, when he was happy, he glowed like a woodstove, and when he wasn’t sure of something, like now, his face looked like a big question mark.

    “I grew up with my mother and her five brothers. My mother worked as home help all her life, but my uncles were villains and bandits, the whole lot of them.”

    She glanced at him to see how he reacted.

    “‘Home help’?” he said.

    “Helping old people, sick people. None of my uncles married, but they had loads of kids with different women.”