The Postcard Killers

    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 millions. He stiffened his grip on the wheel and pressed the accelerator. His head still felt groggy from his long nap. The car was small and sluggish, with a weirdly noisy engine. He’d never driven a diesel before. The landscape glided past and it really was astonishingly beautiful. Craggy cliffs falling 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 cell 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,” Gabriella 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 really sharp stiletto knife, as well as some other stuff.”

    She fell 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 wallets of all the murder victims - apart from Copenhagen and Athens and Salzburg.”

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

    “Your daughter’s were there,” Gabriella said quietly. “I’ve got them on the desk in front of me. Her fiancй’s as well. You’ll get them when you’re back.”

    “Okay,” he muttered.

    “You wanted to know if any cars had been stolen in northern Sweden late yesterday, didn’t you? A farmer north of Gysinge has just reported the theft of a Volvo two forty-five. A nineteen eighty-seven model, red. License number CHC four-one-one.

    “A two forty-five - that’s a sedan?”

    “A wagon. I’m sending a text message with all the details.”

    He put the car in gear and looked round. They were in a small village. A tractor trailer pulled out of the parking lot just ahead of him.

    “How far have you gotten?” Gabriella asked.

    Jacob pulled out onto the road behind a gigantic lumber truck billowing smoke.

    “Halfway. Thanks for the call,” he said.

    “I wish there were more I could have done,” Gabriella said quietly. Dessie looked at him.

    “Call your cousin,” Jacob said. “We have the make of the potential getaway car.”

    She took the phone.

    The sun was just rising to the north.

Chapter 131

    THE FOREST GREW THICKER after Цrnskцldsvik, and signs of habitation thinned out. Between the towns of Umeе and Skellefteе, a distance of almost 150 kilometers, Jacob hardly saw a single house. The end of the world was getting closer and closer, wasn’t it?

    In the town of Byske, the jet lag struck him like a sudden fog. The last traces of his ability to judge distances abandoned him and he woke Dessie to take over at the wheel.

    Even with the sun in his eyes, he fell into a restless sleep. Kimmy was there with him.

    She looked like she had when she set off for Rome. She had on her new winter coat and her yellow woolly hat. So beautiful and talented. Jacob could see she was upset, crying. She was standing in a glass box, banging her fists against the transparent walls and calling for him, calling for her dad. He tried to answer, but she couldn’t hear him. Kimmy! he shouted in the dream. I’m here! I’m coming!

    “Jacob?”

    He woke with a start.

    “What?” he said.

    “You were shouting. Having a bad dream.”

    He sat up and rubbed his eyes hard with his fists.

    The car had stopped. They were on the outskirts of a town. On the left was a large warehouse, and on the right, a long row of office buildings. It was full daylight, a dull sort of light, filtered through a thin cloud cover. The landscape was flat and bare, not like anything he’d ever seen before.

    “Where are we?”

    “The bridge over to the Finnish side is only a kilometer from here. Robert’s a bit closer, on the other side of the rotary. Nothing came through during the night. No red Volvo. No young couple.”

    He blinked and looked around.

    “This is Haparanda?”

“Kyllд.”

    He looked at her, confused.

    “Finnish for yes, babe. Let’s go. Robert’s waiting for us.”

    She started the car and drove toward a large rotary with what was practically a small forest at its center.

    “He’s got men watching all the bridges across the river, and a couple at the main harbors for small boats. No one’s seen anything. Robert’s men are vigilant.”

    “Thank god for organized crime,” Jacob said.

    “Robert’s rough, but he’s a good guy.”

    A huge building with an immense parking lot spread out to the left of the car.

    “What the hell is that?” he asked.

    “That’s the most northerly IKEA in the world. And there’s Robert!”