Postcard killers

Chapter 109

Jacob sat in the car with the GPS switched off and his duffel bag beside him on the passenger seat. The more he found out about the Rudolphs' background, the weirder they became. Taboo went way beyond Territorial Pissing.

If he started with this latest piece of information, the signals he had picked up on from the recording at the Museum of Modern Art had been correct. The siblings had an erotic relationship. It was possible that people had different preferences within the world of conceptual art, but in Jacob's reality, you didn't have intercourse with your twin in public, not unless you had a whole toolbox ful of loose screws.

The long trail of slashed throats they had left behind them couldn't be a coincidence either. The question was, What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Had Sylvia discovered her murdered parents and been traumatized for life? Was she trying to get over the experience by repeating it, again and again, in the form of macabre works of art? Or was she the one who had kil ed her mother and father at the age of thirteen? Was that even physical y possible?

Would she have had the strength to do it? The neck was tough. It was ful of muscles, sinews, and ligaments. But above al, why would she have kil ed her parents?

He took it for granted that the twins had murdered the guardian who had embezzled the whole of their inheritance.

And who was Sandra Schulman, the friend mentioned by the gardener?

He would have to track her down, too. And the boyfriend, Wil iam Hamilton.

For some reason he suddenly saw Dessie Larsson before him, her long hair and graceful profile, her slender fingers, her vigilant green eyes.

Had the mob of journalists final y given up waiting outside Dessie's door?

Had she gone back to her old routine?

Was she thinking of him? Was she al right?

Irritated, he shrugged off the thought. He had more work to do in L.A.