“Forensics? Of course they did.”
“Have you got a copy?”
Dessie handed him a photocopy of the ordinary oblong envelope. The address was written in neat capital letters across the front.
DESSIE LARSSON
AFTONPOSTEN
115 10 STOCKHOLM
She looked uncomfortably at her own name.
“They won’t find anything on it,” Jacob Kanon said. “These killers leave no fingerprints, and they don’t lick the stamps. Was there anything on the back?”
She shook her head.
He held up the picture of the bodies.
“Can I have a copy of this?”
“I’ll print a new one for you,” Dessie said, clicking the command through her computer and pointing at a printer some distance away. “I’m going to get a coffee,” she said, getting up. “Do you want one?”
“I thought I’d lost my chance,” Jacob Kanon replied, heading off toward the printer to get the picture.
Dessie went over to the coffee machine with a gathering feeling of unreality. She pressed for coffee with milk for herself, and black, extra strong for the American. He looked like he needed it.
“They have to make a mistake sometime,” Jacob said as he took the coffee. “Sooner or later they’ll get lazy, or overconfident, or just unlucky. That moment can’t be far off now. That’s what I’m thinking.”
Dessie pushed the terrible coffee away from her and fixed her gaze on the American.
“I’ve got a lot of questions,” she said, “but this one will do for a start: Why me? Why did they pick me? You seem to have a lot of answers. Do you know why?”
At that moment her cell phone began to vibrate. She looked at the display.
“It’s one of the police team,” she said.
“One of the team on this case? Answer it, then!”
She took the call and turned her chair so she had her back to Jacob Kanon.
“We think we’ve found the victims,” Gabriella said. “A German couple out on Dalarц. It’s a real mess.”
Chapter 19
DESSIE TOOK A DEEP BREATH.
“Who found them?” she asked in Swedish.
Jacob Kanon walked around her desk so that he was in front of her again.
“The cleaner,” Gabriella said through the phone. “We’ve got a local patrol out there now.”
“Have they found the victims?” Jacob asked.
Dessie turned away from him again, twisting her body.
“Are you sure it’s the couple in the picture?” she asked.
“They’ve found them, haven’t they?” the American persisted, annoying her.
“Who’s that talking in the background?” Gabriella asked.
“The coroner will find traces of several different substances in the victims’ blood,” Jacob Kanon said loudly, right next to the phone. “Partly THC
and alcohol, but also a drug that will be identified as -”
“When did the murders take place?” Dessie asked, putting her finger in her ear to shut out the noisy American.
“I’m worried about you,” Gabriella said. “These killers mean business. I want you to take special care.”
Jacob Kanon grabbed Dessie’s office chair and swung it around so that her knees ended up between his.
“What’s the address of the crime scene?” Dessie asked, flustered, feeling the warmth from his legs through the thin fabric of her trousers.
“Are you at the paper? Is that the crazy Yank?”
Gabriella’s voice turned shrill and accusing again.
“What’s he doing there? You let him come into the newsroom? Why?”
Dessie avoided the man’s bright blue eyes, feeling her irritation at Gabriella bubbling over. She was very close to shouting at her.
“
“What? Since when are you a newshound?”
A stubborn streak that should have vanished when she was three years old welled up inside her and made her cheeks burn.
“Would you rather we sent Alexander Andersson? I can arrange for that.”
Gabriella Oscarsson gave her an address out on Dalarц.
“But whatever you do,” she said abruptly, “don’t bring the Yank with you.”
Then she hung up.
Dessie put her cell down. Jacob Kanon let go of her chair and took a step back.
“Where is it? Where’s the crime scene?”
“Forty-five minutes away,” Dessie said, looking at her watch. “South of here, on an island.”
She walked around the desk, hoisted her knapsack onto her back, picked up a pen and notepad, and stopped in front of Jacob Kanon.
“Shall we go?”
Chapter 20
IT HAD STOPPED RAINING, BUT the pavement was still wet. The tires hissed as Dessie steered the Volvo from the newspaper’s auto pool through the puddles outside the paper’s garage. She braked at the main entrance and opened the passenger door for Jacob Kanon.
The stench of him once he shut the door was quite dreadful. This was a big mistake.
“God,” she said, opening the window. “Haven’t you learned to use soap and water in America?”
He fastened his seat belt.
“We’re in good time,” he said. “Almost as quick as the police. That’s a good source you’ve got.”
Dessie switched gears and drove off. She paused for a moment before replying.
“She’s my ex.”
The American sat in silence for a moment.
“Your ex, as in…”
“Girlfriend, yes,” Dessie said, concentrating on the thin traffic. Why was it so hard to talk about it? It was
