The Postcard Killers

    She had recognized the work of art immediately, and it was famous. Edvard Munch’s The Scream, a painting that had become world-famous to a new generation as the logo for the horror movie Scream. Dessie could feel her eyes welling up. She didn’t know if it was because of the wind or the thought of the dead couple.

    They had been saving up to buy this vehicle ever since they got married. Six bunks, so there would be room for the children when they came along. Did they have time to feel afraid?

    Did they feel any pain?

    She turned away from the motor home and walked toward the exit, not wanting to think about the dead anymore.

    Instead she conjured up Jacob’s image. His messy hair, the crumpled suede jacket, the sparkling blue eyes. He hadn’t been in touch. He’d disappeared from her life as though he’d never been there. This past week could have been a dream, or, rather, a nightmare, in which her whole life had been turned upside down by forces she had no control over. Dessie shivered.

    She stopped by the exit and turned around to look back at the abandoned campsite.

    Willowy birch trees bent beneath the wind; the water down below was gray with geese. The cordon around the motor home flapped in the wind. The Rudolphs could have been responsible for these murders. They hadn’t been arrested yet in the middle of May.

Chapter 114

Stockholm, Sweden

    SYLVIA LET MALCOLM GO in first.

    She enjoyed watching the effect he had on poor, dull Andrea Friederichs: the lawyer clearly became positively moist the moment he walked into a room.

    “Dear Malcolm,” the lawyer said, standing up and grasping his hand with both of hers. Her cheeks glowed bright red. Her eyes swept from his biceps down toward the curve of his backside.

    Sylvia sat down opposite her and smiled.

    “It’s great that we’re getting close to a financial agreement,” she said. The lawyer’s smile faded as she glanced at Sylvia. She put on her uglyduckling reading glasses and started to leaf through the papers on the table. They were in one of the smaller conference rooms of the Grand Hotel, the room the lawyer had reserved to conduct negotiations for the global rights to Sylvia and Malcolm’s story.

    “Well, I’ve had final bids for both the book and the film rights,” she said, putting the documents in two piles in front of her.

    “There are four parties bidding for both packages, six who want only the book, and three, possibly four, who just want to make the film. I thought we might go through them together so that you -”

    “Who’s offering the biggest advance?” Sylvia asked.

    The lawyer blinked at her over the thick black frame of her glasses.

    “There are a number of different conditions attached to the various bids,”

    she said. “Nielsen and Berner in New York, for instance, have a very interesting proposal including a television series, a computer game, a lecture tour… for the two of you.”

    “Excuse me,” Sylvia interrupted, “but how much are they offering as anadvance?”

    Dear Andrea took a theatrical deep breath.

    “Not much at all. Their package is the largest in total, but it’s conditional upon your full participation in the marketing campaign.”

    Malcolm stretched, making his T-shirt ride up. He scratched his stomach.

    “The advance?” he said, smiling toward Andrea.

    Her angular face broke into a foolish smile and she fumbled with the papers again.

    “The largest advance is offered by Yokokoz, a Japanese company that really wants only the digital rights. They will make a manga series, with all the spin-offs that entails - collectable cards, clothing, and so on. They want to sell the book and film rights, without you having any say in where they end up…”

    “How much?” Malcolm asked.

    “Three million dollars,” Andrea said.

    Sylvia stretched her back.

    “That sounds pretty good,” she said. “Sign up with Yokokoz.”

    The lawyer blinked.

    “But,” she said, “the agreement has to be refined. We can’t leave the question of subsidiary sales open. You have to have control over the finished product…”

    “Try to get them up to three and a half million,” Sylvia said, “although that’s not a deal breaker. But they have to pay us now. Anything else and the deal’s off with them. Right? We’re clear?”

    Andrea Friederichs shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Clearly, she wasn’t clear.

    “If I could just remind you about my fee,” she said. “I can’t take a percentage because I’m a member of the Association of Swedish Lawyers, but I presume we’re following usual practice?”

    Sylvia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

    “Are we? I don’t remember signing an agreement like that. Nor does Malcolm.”

    “No, I don’t.”

    Andrea Friederichs clicked her ballpoint pen in irritation.

    “A quarter of the total is usual in cases like this. We discussed it the first time we spoke. I must tell you that some agents take considerably more.”

    Sylvia nodded.

    “I know twenty-five percent is the norm,” she said, “but in our case I think five percent is more appropriate.”