“By using the communication channel they’ve already opened,” Jacob said.
Ten pairs of eyes looked skeptically at him.
“The postcard to the paper
Gabriella Oscarsson lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Mats Duvall nodded in encouragement.
“Go on.”
Jacob looked at each and every one of the people at the table before answering.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Get Dessie Larsson to write an open letter to the killers and have it published in tomorrow’s paper. Have her offer to interview them.”
Evert Ridderwall snorted indignantly. “Why on earth would the killers respond to something like that?”
Jacob looked steadily at him.
“Because we’re going to offer them a hell of a lot of money,” he said.
Chapter 39
SYLVIA SIGNALED THE WAITER OVER with a well-manicured hand and a small, delicate wave. She was playing rich girl again today.
“We’d like to look at the wine list again,” she said, then giggled and leaned against the shoulder of the beautiful Dutch woman sitting next to her.
“It feels so naughty, doesn’t it, drinking wine at lunchtime?”
The Dutch woman cackled and nodded. “Very good wine, too.”
They were sitting in Bistro Berns, a high-class French restaurant with a rather vaudevillian atmosphere, situated by the Berzelii Park in the middle of town.
Sylvia and the Dutch woman had eaten chиvre chaud with a beetroot and walnut salad, and the men had each had boeuf bourguignon, and now they were ready for another bottle of red, the good stuff.
“I think the financial crisis will lead to the sort of clear-out that the capital markets really need today,” the Dutchman said, looking important. He was terribly keen to impress Mac, and Mac was playing along and pretending to be interested in his every pronouncement. Mac kept getting better with each new couple they met.
“That’s the positive scenario,” Mac said. “On the other hand, maybe we ought to learn from history. Financial worries at the turn of the last century didn’t break until after the First World War.”
“God, you’re both soooooooo boring,” Sylvia groaned, waving the waiter over again. “Well, I’m going to have a sinfully rich dessert. Anyone joining me?”
The Dutch woman ordered a crиme brыlйe, and the men asked for coffee.
“Have you heard what happened here?” Sylvia asked, pouring more wine into their glasses. “Two tourists were murdered on some island.”
The Dutch woman’s brown eyes opened wide. She was absolutely gorgeous, this one.
“Is that true?” she said in horror. “Was it in the papers?”
Sylvia shrugged.
“I can’t understand what the papers say. It was a girl in the hotel who told us. Isn’t that right, Mac, that two tourists were murdered on an island near here?”
Mac nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Two Germans. An awful business, apparently. Their throats had been cut.”
Now Mr. Dutch Boyfriend’s eyes opened wide as well.
“Their throats were cut?” he said. “We had a case like that in Holland actually. In Amsterdam, not all that long ago. That’s right, isn’t it, Nienke?”
“Is it?” the Dutch woman said, licking dessert off her spoon. “When was that, then?”
“They’re being called the Postcard Killers,” Mac said. “They’ve sent a postcard to some newspaper here.”
“That’s sick,” the Dutch woman said, scraping her bowl for the last remnants of the brыlйe. “Where did you get that blouse?”
This directed at Sylvia. The murdered Germans were already gone from the Dutch woman’s pretty little blond head.
“Emporio Armani,” Sylvia said. “There’s a great boutique, fabulous. It’s just around the corner from here, on Biblioteksgatan.”
She stood up, walked around the table, and settled down on Mac’s lap.
“Darling,” she cooed, “it’s such a lovely day. I’d really love a souvenir, something to remember it by…”
“No,” Mac said, standing up quickly.
Sylvia almost fell on the floor.
“What?” she said, laughing, as Mr. Dutch Boyfriend stood up and helped steady her. “Do you think it would be too expensive?”
“No, Sylvia,” he said. “Not now. Not today.” His lips curled in irritation. Sylvia laughed and wound her arm around the Dutchman’s shoulder.
“Ooh,” she said, “what a killjoy he is. I think you’re much more fun.”
She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him full on the lips.
“We’ve got to go now, Sylvia,” Mac said, taking hold of her other arm.
Chapter 40
“HANG ON,” THE DUTCHMAN SAID, handing Mac his card. “Get in touch if you fancy going out for a meal one evening. We’d enjoy it.”
“Sure, we’ll do that!” Sylvia called as Mac pulled her out of the restaurant.
When they were out of sight, Sylvia pulled herself free of his grip.
“I presume you have a good explanation,” she said, stroking his arm. Mac didn’t answer at first. Then he said, “Why did you bring up the murders? We don’t make mistakes like that.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. The city is too hot now. We couldn’t kill them. Though, Christ, I wanted to. I wanted to cut them both.”
The Berzelii Park was crawling with people with ice creams and bicycles and buggies.
Sylvia sidled closer to Mac and kissed his neck. “Are you angry with me?” she whispered. “How can I make it up to you?”
“We’ve got some work to do,” he said tersely. “We still have to get out of Stockholm.”
She sighed theatrically but took hold of his hand, sucking his finger and then kissing him on the lips.
“I’m your slave,” she whispered. “I just don’t want to end up in prison. I couldn’t bear to be without you, Mac.”
They walked across the bridge over Strцmmen back to the Old Town. Sylvia had both her arms around Mac’s waist, which made it hard to walk as she stumbled along the edge of the quay.
Finally Mac cheered up and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re forgiven.”
They walked to the 7-Eleven on Vдsterlеnggatan, tucked in among all the medieval buildings, and Sylvia bought the day’s papers while Mac got half an hour on the Internet.
“Is there anything about Oslo?” Sylvia asked.
Mac tapped quickly on the keyboard.
“Nope,” he said.
Sylvia turned to pages 6 and 7 of
“You know something?” she said. “We left the Dutch couple with the bill.”
