The Postcard Killers

    “How nice,” Sylvia said. “What are you wondering about? How can we help?”

    “Your attitude toward art and reality,” Dessie said. “I’m thinking about the murders in Amsterdam and Berlin, for instance. The killers mimicked two real people, Nefertiti and Vincent van Gogh.”

    Both Sylvia and Malcolm looked at her, a little wide-eyed. Their contented expressions were replaced by one of watchful interest.

    “I’ll explain,” Dessie said. “It isn’t at all clear that the Egyptian queen Nefertiti was missing her left eye. It’s just that the bust of her in the Neues Museum is. Yet you still took out Karen’s and Billy’s eyes. I suppose you chose to imitate the art and not the person, didn’t you?”

    Sylvia laughed.

    “This might even be exciting, your theory, this line of questioning,” she said, “if it wasn’t so crazy and absurd.”

    “Do you know how I realized it?” Dessie said. “Lindsay and Jeffrey -

    you remember them? - the British couple you killed in Amsterdam. You cut off their right ears, even though van Gogh cut off his left. But in the painting, his self-portrait, the bandage is on the right-hand side, of course, because he was painting his reflection. So you chose to re-create the artworks, rather than the people themselves.”

    “This is obviously going nowhere,” Sylvia said. “I thought you were going to ask us some questions that might help catch the killers.”

    “We are,” Jacob said, turning to Malcolm. “Where have you hidden your disguise?”

Chapter 82

    THE SIBLINGS REMAINED COOL AND controlled, but their supercilious attitude had vanished. Dessie noted how they unconsciously leaned closer to each other as the questions suddenly got tougher. They were a very tight-knit team, weren’t they?

    Malcolm manufactured a laugh.

    “Disguise? I don’t understand…”

    Dessie looked at Jacob. He was clenching his teeth. He was presumably having to strain every muscle to overcome the desire to smash the killer’s head in.

    “The brown wig,” Jacob said. “The cap, the sunglasses, the coat you wear when you go around emptying your victims’ accounts. The outfit you wore when you pawned Claudia’s Omega watch? And that you were wearing when you pretended to kill Nienke and Peter?”

    Malcolm held his arms out, a questioning expression on his face.

    “What are you talking about?”

    “And the eyedrops,” Jacob said. “They weren’t in your hotel room. So you must have hidden them in the same place as the disguise.”

    Malcolm looked over at his sister.

    “Do you understand what he’s talking about?”

    “The recording from the Grand Hotel was good,” Jacob went on, “but not good enough.”

    He turned to Sylvia.

    “It’s obvious that you were kissing thin air when you pretended to kiss their cheeks, and that you were faking a conversation. And you forgot about the shadow.”

    Sylvia shook her head, but her smile seemed far less certain now.

    “Sorry,” she said, “but where are you going with this? I’m completely lost.”

    “I’m telling you about your mistakes,” Jacob said. “I’m talking about the shadow, the one formed when a dead body got in the way of the daylight coming through a window.”

    Sylvia’s eyes had narrowed and turned quite dark and small.

    “This is harassment,” she said.

    “The statue from Millesgеrden,” Dessie said. “The one clearly visible on the floor of the corridor when you opened the door to Peter and Nienke’s room. That’s the shadow he’s talking about.”

    “We want a lawyer,” Sylvia said.

Chapter 83

    THE PAIR CLAMMED UP. THEY refused to say another word without a lawyer present.

    The interrogation was stopped. The two of them were taken back to their cells, and Dessie and Jacob headed off to Mats Duvall’s office, where the investigating team had gathered.

    Sara Hцglund looked distinctly pleased.

    “That business with the shadow worked very well,” she said.

    “A shame we made it up,” Jacob said. “Otherwise we really would have a case. Anyway, it’s a start.”

    “Now we just have to hope that they get tangled up in their various lies and explanations,” the head of the crime unit said.

    The theme music to the 4:45 Eko news bulletin came over the radio, and Mats Duvall turned up the volume.

    The lead story was the “questionable arrest” of the two American art students traveling through Sweden.

    The newsreader’s voice sounded stuffy and pompous.

    “According to reports received by Dagens Eko, the suspects have solid alibis for several of the murders in Europe. Video recordings from security cameras in the Grand Hotel show that the Dutch couple were still alive when the brother and sister left them on Wednesday afternoon…”

    The air in the room had turned to ice.

    Obviously, someone in, or very close to, the investigation had talked to the press.

    No one looked at anyone else. They all just stared straight ahead or down at the table.

    Dessie felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine.

    She was the one whom these detectives would suspect of leaking information. And because it was against the law for the authorities to investigate the media’s sources, no one would ask her straight out, but she knew what they were thinking. She was the journalist, the outsider, the one who was the most likely to be disloyal.

    From now on, she wouldn’t be welcome here, that much was clear to her. The superintendent’s face stiffened into a mask that grew more rigid the longer the broadcast went on.

    The chair of the Swedish Bar Association gave a statement, seriously criticizing the fact that “the two American youngsters” hadn’t been given a lawyer until late this afternoon, a whole day after they were taken into custody. Sara Hцglund was quoted saying in an irritated voice that the investigation was proceeding - a sound bite that was probably taken from the very last minutes of the press conference, when she had already answered the same question umpteen times.

    Then the Dagens Eko bulletin turned its attention to criticism of the media.

    The newsreader’s voice was full of indignation as he trumpeted the next item.

    “In a letter that has received harsh criticism, a newspaper reporter at Aftonposten, Dessie Larsson, attempted to buy an interview with the suspected killers.

    “For one hundred thousand dollars, almost a million kronor, she wanted to secure an exclusive interview with the American youths. The chair of the Journalists Federation, Anita Persson, considers the development a scandal that should be investigated.”

    Dessie felt the floor sway beneath her. Her mouth went dry and her pulse was racing.

    “Dessie Larsson has brought shame on the entire profession,” Anita Persson said over the radio. “She should be expelled from the Journalists Federation right away.”

    The author and journalist Hugo Bergman was next to be interviewed. He added to the criticism, saying