With a certain amount of effort she put the car in gear. She wasn’t used to driving cars with gears and a clutch. Then she sped off to the far side of the next bend.
There she stopped.
She wound down the window and listened over the sound of the engine. The trees sighed; some sort of animal was bleating in the forest. The sound of a car rose and fell in the distance, but nothing came past. She would have to wait here for a while.
Her eyes settled on some sort of construction in the trees. Planks, a ladder. A tree house, or maybe a hunting post.
Suddenly she was filled with a feeling of intense hatred and disgust. Imagine, there were people who lived the whole of their pointless lives in godforsaken places like this, working and drinking and fucking and building hunting posts without any awareness that there was anything else, that a higher level of human consciousness even existed. People out here abandoned their lives to meaningless banality, never bothering about
She tore her eyes from the hunting post and concentrated on the rearview mirror.
Mac was driving the red Volvo now. He didn’t slow down as he passed her, just carried on at the same carefully precise speed: not too slow, but not too fast either.
She put the car in gear and followed at a safe distance. Careful. No mistakes.
Now they had to find a good spot to dump the car from Stockholm, somewhere it would be found relatively quickly, but not immediately. She licked her thumb and pressed it against the wheel. A lovely print.
It made her giddy to think of what they’d already achieved, and that was only the start.
The next part could be even more impressive, their next act. She and Mac were maturing as artists.
Chapter 125
THE WHOLE CASE WAS breaking open now -
They were both deeply religious, and both claimed that they were in direct contact with “the creating God, the unknowable ruler of all the universe.” They admitted to what had happened in Athens, but denied it was murder. Their work was part of a global conceptual artwork intended to reveal humankind’s divinity.
The murders in Salzburg were traced to a young British couple from London. They were enrolled at a fashionable art college in the middle of London. They hadn’t attended any classes for the past four months. Their fingerprints and DNA were found at the scene of the crime, and the murder weapon was discovered under a loose floorboard in the couple’s apartment.
They didn’t comment on the accusations. They didn’t respond to any of the authorities’ questions, and they even refused to talk to their own lawyer. On their blogs they had written that
The killers in Copenhagen were arrested that evening, both the repeat offender whose details had been in the DNA register and his accomplice, a younger woman who was deeply remorseful once she was captured. The woman confessed at once, in floods of tears, and said that she had changed her mind and tried to stop the killings. Her change of heart had occurred when her colleague had raped the young American woman, which hadn’t been part of the
“artwork” design.
Dessie looked at Jacob and saw how his eyes registered everything that was reported about the murderers, how his jaw clenched every time new information was received.
The other police officers exhibited the sort of relief that comes after an arrest and a confession, but not Jacob. The others’ shoulders relaxed, became less tense, and the way they walked seemed somehow freer, but Jacob’s face remained carved from stone.
She knew why.
Chapter 126
DURING THE DAY, THREE cars had been stolen in the Stockholm region. An almost-new Toyota from the suburb of Vikingshill. A Range Rover out in Hдsselby garden suburb, at the end of the underground network. An old Mercedes from a parking garage beneath the Gallerian shopping center in the middle of the city.
“The Merc makes sense, right?” Jacob said. “They wouldn’t take the underground all the way out to the suburbs just to get a car.”
He picked up the map again.
“So now they’re driving north. That’s how Dessie and I figure it,” he said.
“They might even have changed cars by now. I would have. They’re traveling on minor roads and heading for Haparanda. They’re sticking close to the speed limit. So they should get there early tomorrow morning, at the latest.”
Mats Duvall looked skeptical. “That’s just speculation,” he said. “There’s nothing to prove that they’d choose that particular route, or even that mode of transport. We don’t know anything for certain.”
Dessie watched Jacob stand up. He was making an effort not to attack anything, or anyone.
“You’ve got to reinforce the border crossings in the north,” he said.
“What’s the name of that river right on the border? The Torne River?”
“We can’t allocate manpower simply on the strength of guesswork,” Mats Duvall said, closing up his electronic gadget, a sign that the conversation was over.
At that, Jacob stormed out of the room, closely followed by Dessie.
“
He spun around, standing right next to her.
“The Swedish police are never going to catch them,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t let them get away again. I can’t do that!”
Dessie looked into his eyes.
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
“When’s the next flight to Haparanda?” Jacob asked.
She took out her cell and called the twenty-four-hour travel desk at
The closest airport was in Luleе, and the last flight that evening was an SAS plane, leaving Arlanda at 9:10.
She looked at her watch.
It was nine o’clock exactly.
The airport was forty-five kilometers away.
The first plane the next morning was a Norwegian Air Shuttle, due to leave at 6:55.
“We can be in Luleе at 8:20,” Dessie said. “Then we have to rent a car and drive up to the border. It’s another hundred and thirty kilometers away.”
Jacob stared at her.
“Do you know any police up there? Or some customs officer who can keep an eye on things until we get there?”
“No,” she said, “but I can call Robert. He lives in Kalix. It’s a forty-fiveminute drive from the border.”
“Robert?”
