2010.
She put her foot down to avoid having to stop at a red light. She peered up at the sky to see if the clouds were showing any sign of breaking up, which they weren’t. She turned on the car radio and found
“What about you?” she asked, to put an end to the silence. “Have you got a girl?”
“Not anymore,” he said, looking out through the windshield.
“If you tried showering occasionally, maybe she would have stayed.”
“She was murdered. In Rome.”
“Sorry,” she said, staring straight ahead now.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking at her. “Kimmy was my family. It was just her and me.”
So, what happened to the mother? Dessie thought, but she decided to keep her mouth shut this time.
They headed south along Route 73 in silence, passing the Tyresц road and the vast suburb of Brandbergen. The American leaned forward to study the huge, ugly concrete buildings.
She peered intently at the road signs and found the exit for Jordbro. The motorway vanished, replaced by a minor road, the 227. Not far now.
She felt her pulse rise. She had been to a lot of crime scenes. She was used to broken patio doors and overturned drawers, but she had never been to the site of any murder, let alone a really bad one.
“When we get there,” Dessie said, “what can we expect to find?”
Jacob Kanon looked at her, his eyes sparkling.
“Blood,” he said. “Even small amounts of blood look huge when they’re spread across furniture and floors. You know the stain on the wall when you squash a mosquito? We’re talking about large amounts here.”
Dessie clutched the wheel harder and took the hard right toward Bjцrnц.
Chapter 21
THE MURDER HOUSE WAS ON the shore by the sound, facing the island of Edesц. Dessie didn’t want to be here.
It was small, ordinary, yellow, with carved detailing on the veranda and a little hexagonal tower topped by a pennant. A white picket fence with a gate lined the road. Freshly green birches framed the house, marsh marigolds edging the gravel drive up to the door.
A policeman was busy cordoning off the site with blue-and-white tape down by the shore.
A second officer was talking into his cell phone by the corner of the house.
Dessie stopped by the fence. She held up her compact digital camera and took a few pictures of the house.
Jacob Kanon pushed past her, opened the gate, and snuck under the plastic cordon.
“Hang on,” Dessie said, stuffing the camera in her pocket. “You can’t just-”
“You there!” called the policeman who was tying the cordon around a rowan tree down by the shore. “You can’t come in here, it’s closed to the public.”
Jacob Kanon held up his police badge as he sped up, heading straight for the house.
Dessie was half running behind him on trembling legs. “Jacob - stop!” she called.
“New York Police Department,” Jacob called back. “They want to talk to me about the investigation. It’s all set.”
The policeman with the cell stared at them but kept hold of his phone.
“Jacob,” Dessie said, “I don’t know if -”
The American kept going and climbed up onto the veranda. He took a quick look around and kicked off his shoes.
The outer door was wide open. Jacob stopped at the threshold. Dessie caught up with him and instinctively put her free hand up to cover her nose and mouth.
“Bloody hell,” she said. “What’s that smell?”
Chapter 22
TO THEIR RIGHT WAS A half-open door that seemed to lead to a small kitchen. Ahead and to the left they could see people moving, the floor tiles creaking as they walked about.
“
Dessie fumbled her way out of her shoes, still covering her nose and mouth, desperately trying not to retch. She saw Jacob pull on a pair of thin gloves that he took out of his jacket pocket and then open the door in front of them.
From her position behind his back she saw Mats Duvall, the superintendent who had questioned her on Friday, turn around and stare at them. He was wearing a light gray suit with a mauve shirt and bright red tie, and he had blue coverings on his shoes. He was holding his electronic notepad in his hand.
Gabriella was standing by the window, writing something on her own pad. Outside in the sound a yacht glided by.
“What the hell?” Gabriella said, taking a couple of quick steps toward them.
Jacob held up his badge.
“I’m not here to sabotage things,” he said quickly. “I’ve got important information that will help your investigation. I know more about these killers than anyone else does.”
He stepped to one side to let Dessie into the living room. She stopped beside him and caught sight of the sofa. My god, dear god. The bloody bodies were still sitting and looked frozen in their peculiar pose.
The blood covering their bodies was dark, almost black. It had run onto the floor, down into the cracks in the wood, to be sucked up by a colorful rug. The woman’s light blond hair hanging down across her breasts was stiff with blood.
The man was lying in her lap, half on the floor, just like in the photograph. The opening in his throat was like a gaping gill, Dessie thought. The wound to his windpipe had been so violent that his head had almost come away from his body.
Dessie felt her blood pressure sink into her toes and grabbed at Jacob to stop herself from falling.
“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
