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

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 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 Gentle Favorites . She tried to sing along but didn’t know half the words.
    “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.”
    Shit, shit, shit, what an idiot she was.
    “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 Tyresö 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 Björnö.

Chapter 21
    THE MURDER HOUSE WAS ON the shore by the sound, facing the island of Edesö. 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