The Postcard Killers

    “So you’re Jacob Kanon,” Mats Duvall said, looking the American up and down. “I’ve heard about you.”

    He didn’t sound aggressive, just curious.

    “You’ll find at least one empty champagne bottle somewhere in here,”

    Jacob said, “probably Moлt and Chandon. Four glasses, and in two of them you’ll find traces of the drug cyclopentolate. It a muscle relaxant used in eye examinations to dilate the pupil.”

    Gabriella took a couple of long strides across the room and stopped right next to Jacob Kanon.

    “You’re trespassing on a crime scene,” she said and pointed back at the door. “Get out of here!”

    “Eyedrops?” Mats Duvall asked.

    Jacob looked at the Swedish detectives, ready to fight his side of the ring.

    “In the States it’s sold under several different names,” he said. “AkPentolate, Cyclogyl, Cylate, and a couple more. In Canada it’s also known as Minims Cyclopentolate. You can get it here in Europe, too.”

    Dessie could feel the room starting to spin. There was a very good chance that she’d throw up. That was pretty much all she was thinking about now.

    “So the killers drug their victims?” Mats Duvall said, stepping over and putting his hand on Gabriella’s shoulder. “With eyedrops in the champagne?”

    Gabriella cast a furious glance at Dessie and moved even closer to Jacob Kanon.

    “And cut their throats once they’re unconscious,” he said. “The killer is right-handed and uses a small, sharp implement. He does it from behind, sticking the knife right into the left jugular vein, then cutting deeply through the sinews and windpipe.”

    He mimed the act with his arms as he spoke. He’d obviously done it before.

    Dessie realized that all the colors and sounds were starting to fade away.

    “Pulse and breathing probably stop after a minute or so,” Jacob said.

    “Sorry,” Dessie said, “but I have to get out.”

    She went out onto the gravel drive, raised her face to the sky, and took several long, deep breaths. Her first big case, she thought, and probably her last.

Chapter 23

    “THEY’RE CHARMING, PLEASANT PEOPLE, THESE killers,” Jacob said to Dessie, stretching his back in the thin sunlight. “They find it easy to make new friends. Are you sure you don’t want a cinnamon bun?”

    Dessie shook her head, letting the American eat the last one. They were sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Bellevue on Dalarц, with a coffeepot, cups, and an empty plate in front of them. There was a sharp wind from the sea.

    It was really too cold to be sitting outside, but Dessie couldn’t bear Jacob Kanon’s body odor after feeling sick at the murder scene.

    “So, you think there’s two of them? A couple - a man and a woman?

    Why?”

    Jacob nodded, chewing hungrily on the bun. He seemed completely unaffected by the grisly scene they had just witnessed.

    “A couple is less of a threat. They’re probably young, attractive, a pair of carefree travelers meeting others doing the same thing. People who drink champagne, smoke dope, live it up a bit…”

    He drank some coffee.

    “And they probably speak English,” he said.

    Dessie raised her eyebrows quizzically.

    “The postcards. They’re written with perfect grammar, and most of the victims have been native English speakers. I’m guessing the rest have been fluent.”

    Dessie pulled her long hair up into a bun on her neck and pushed her pen through it to keep it up. Her notepad was already full of information about the victims, the murders, and the killers.

    “These postcards,” she said. “Why do they send them?”

    Jacob Kanon looked out over the water. The wind pulled at his messed-up hair.

    “It’s not unusual for pattern killers to communicate with the world around them to get attention,” he said. “There are lots of examples of that.”

    “They kill to get in the paper?”

    Jacob Kanon poured himself some more coffee.

    “We had our first Postcard Killer in the U.S. over a hundred years ago, a man named John Frank Hickey. He spent more than thirty years killing young boys along the East Coast before he was caught. He sent postcards to his victims’ families, and that was what gave him away in the end.”

    He drained his cup again and seemed strangely content. Dessie was freezing her ass off in the bitter wind.

“But why me? ” she asked.

Chapter 24

    JACOB KANON DID UP HIS suede jacket, the first sign that he felt anything.

    “You’re talented, ambitious, and your career comes first above almost everything else in your life. You’re well educated - really too well for the type of journalism you’re involved in, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.”

    Dessie made an effort to look cool and neutral as she sipped her coffee.

    “Why do you think that?”

    “Am I right?”

    She cleared her throat quietly.

    “Well,” she said. “Maybe a bit. Some of that is true. Continue, please.”

    He gave her an indulgent look.

    “It’s not rocket science,” he said. “I think I’ve worked out what they do when they pick their contacts.”

    Dessie wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Everything about this was so creepy and unreal.

    “What?”