Postcard killers

Chapter 36

Jacob got off the bus outside the central police headquarters on Kungsholmen in the middle of Stockholm.

On his first night in Stockholm he had walked around the huge complex that housed the central Swedish police authority ten times or more, feeling like a nut, not caring in the least.

Various different sections had been added over the course of the past century, giving the building an extremely schizophrenic appearance. The eastern section looked like some Disney castle, the southern bit was functional concrete, the northern section was a concrete monstrosity, and the western piece was inherited from the same Soviet era as the suburb he and Dessie had passed on the way to the crime scene on Dalaro.

The unconventional-looking building hadn't made the people inside particularly flexible – he knew that much already. The investigating team refused to take his cal s. The receptionist kept putting him through to an automated message box that acted as the telephone tip-off line.

Enough was enough, though.

Now he was going to get inside, no matter what the cost to his reputation.

He clenched his fists and steeled himself for the upcoming confrontation.

The entrance was in the old, communist part of the complex. He walked into the lobby and got a sense of deja vu. Like the Aftonposten lobby, it had a stone floor, pale wood, and a glass cubicle.

He hoped the similarities would end there and cleared his throat as he laid his police badge on the desk.

"Jacob Kanon, NYPD," he said as calmly as he could manage. "I'm here to see Superintendent Mats Duval. It's about the murders on Dalaro."

The overweight woman on the other side of the desk looked impressed at the sight of his police badge.

"Is he expecting you?"

"He should be," Jacob replied, entirely truthful y.

"I'l just cal him," the plump woman said, picking up the phone.

"No need," Jacob said. "I'l find him myself. He's on the fifth floor, isn't he?"

He had studied the building from outside and counted seven floors in the office section.

"Fourth floor," the woman said, putting the receiver down as she clicked open the inner door.

He took the elevator up to the fourth floor and exited into a narrow corridor with a low ceiling and humming strip lighting. He took several steps before knocking on a random door. He stuck his head into a smal office and 51 said, "Hel o, excuse me, but Duval, can you tel me where he is?"

A woman with a ponytail and glasses looked up in surprise.

"He's in a meeting about Dalaro at the moment," she said. "Conference Room C, I think."

"Thanks," Jacob said and turned back. He had already passed Conference Room C.

He retraced his steps, slipped into the room, and closed the door behind him.

There were ten people inside, the core of the investigating team: Mats Duval, Gabriel a Oscarsson, a woman in her fifties in a suit, two fairly young women, and five men of varying ages. There were thermoses of coffee and refreshments on the table.

Coffee cups stopped in midair, hands stiffened, and ten pairs of eyes stared at him.

"Your investigation is about to go seriously wrong," he said, pul ing up a chair and sitting right down at the table with them.