Postcard killers

Chapter 112

Lyndon Crebbs answered after the first ring.

"How's it going, you amateur? Are you getting anywhere?" Lyndon asked.

"Can you check on a Sandra Schulman? Last known address Wilshire Avenue, corner of Veteran Avenue."

"Anything special about her?"

"She may have disappeared, permanently. Take this as a tip from an anonymous source: she could be buried in the hil s above Montecito. Sylvia was jealous of her. Enough said."

Jacob could hear the FBI agent's pen scratch.

"What about Wil iam Hamilton?" Lyndon Crebbs asked as he wrote. "Is he stil alive, I hope?"

"If the LAPD takes a look there, they'l find a heap of snow in the bedroom. He's alive. But he's an obnoxious little prick."

Lyndon chuckled.

"By the way," he said, "I was reading the report on the search of the Rudolphs' hotel room in Stockholm. What did that key belong to?"

"What key?" Jacob said.

"The little key that's mentioned at the bottom of page three."

"How the hel could you read that, Lyndon? It's in Swedish."

"Haven't you ever used the site www.tyda.se?" Lyndon Crebbs said. "Just an old man wondering."

The police in Stockholm must have checked it out, Jacob thought. "Christ, this is mad," he said. "Do you know why the twins were thrown out of UCLA?

They had sex with each other in public."

"Ah, today's youth," the FBI agent said. "Something else occurred to me: what if there are other kil ers? What if the Rudolphs have inspired copycats?"

"The thought has occurred to me, too," Jacob said. "But it doesn't fit. The content of the postcards has never been made public, for instance. If there are more kil ers, they have to be working together."

"Sicker things have been known to happen," Lyndon Crebbs said. "When do you think you'l be back at Citrus Avenue?"

Jacob grew serious. "I won't be back this visit," he said. "I'm heading off now."

Lyndon Crebbs was silent, a silence that only grew. Jacob was treading water. He couldn't bring himself to ask the only relevant question: exactly how bad was the prostate cancer?

Jacob spoke again. "Just one more thing. Could you pul a few strings and see if you can find out anything about Lucy? My ex? I should tel her about Kimmy."

The old man let out a sigh.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Thanks for everything," Jacob said.

"Wel, adios, amigo, then," Lyndon Crebbs replied.

"Hasta la vista," Jacob said. "Til next time."

But the line was already dead, and Jacob wondered if he'd ever hear his friend's voice again.