Postcard killers

Chapter 23

"They're charming, pleasant people, these killers," Jacob said 34 to Dessie, stretching his back in the thin sunlight. "They find it easy to make new friends. Are you sure you don't want a cinnamon bun?"

Dessie shook her head, letting the American eat the last one.

They were sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Bel evue on Dalaro, with a coffeepot, cups, and an empty plate in front of them. There was a sharp wind from the sea.

It was real y too cold to be sitting outside, but Dessie couldn't bear Jacob Kanon's body odor after feeling sick at the murder scene.

"So, you think there's two of them? A couple – a man and a woman?

Why?"

Jacob nodded, chewing hungrily on the bun. He seemed completely unaffected by the grisly scene they had just witnessed.

"A couple is less of a threat. They're probably young, attractive, a pair of carefree travelers meeting others doing the same thing. People who drink champagne, smoke dope, live it up a bit…"

He drank some coffee.

"And they probably speak English," he said.

Dessie raised her eyebrows quizzical y.

"The postcards. They're written with perfect grammar, and most of the victims have been native English speakers. I'm guessing the rest have been fluent."

Dessie pul ed her long hair up into a bun on her neck and pushed her pen through it to keep it up. Her notepad was already ful of information about the victims, the murders, and the kil ers.

"These postcards," she said. "Why do they send them?"

Jacob Kanon looked out over the water. The wind pul ed at his messed-up hair.

"It's not unusual for pattern kil ers to communicate with the world around them to get attention," he said. "There are lots of examples of that."

"They kil to get in the paper?"

Jacob Kanon poured himself some more coffee.

"We had our first Postcard Kil er in the U.S. over a hundred years ago, a man named John Frank Hickey. He spent more than thirty years kil ing young boys along the East Coast before he was caught. He sent postcards to his victims' families, and that was what gave him away in the end."

He drained his cup again and seemed strangely content.

Dessie was freezing her ass off in the bitter wind.

"But why me? " she asked.