The Postcard Killers by James Patterson, Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page A

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.
    “Hello,”
Jacob called out. “My name’s Jacob Kanon and I’m an American homicide officer with information about this case. I only speak
     English. I’m now entering the crime scene.”
    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 bottlesomewhere in here,” Jacob said, “probably Moët 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. “Ak-Pentolate, 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.