Postcard killers

Chapter 37

There was a deathly silence in the room.

He had managed to get their attention, though. Now he had about ten seconds before he would be thrown out.

"You've probably worked out that the victims' passports and wal ets are missing," he said. "Jewelry, cameras, and other valuables are gone. Their bank accounts have been emptied, their credit cards taken right to the limit with cash withdrawals. When you go through their credit-card transactions, you'l discover at least one large purchase before the cash withdrawals take over."

He paused. No one moved.

"What you're looking for is a very attractive couple around twenty-five years old," he went on. "Maybe even younger. A man and a woman, English speaking. They're wel off, probably white, posing as normal tourists."

Mats Duval cleared his throat. Then he spoke in nearly perfect English.

"I should explain to my col eagues that this man is a homicide detective from the New York police. His name is Jacob Kanon, and he has been tracking al the investigations since New Year's. He has personal reasons -"

"My daughter, Kimberly, was one of the victims in Rome," Jacob said.

He looked around the group. Their shock at his appearance had started to turn to anger in a few of the faces. One of the older men, a bald man in a suit and vest, seemed particularly irritated.

"This is Sweden," the bald man said now. "The Swedish police are 52 responsible for official business here. We don't need any lessons in investigative technique, not from the FBI, nor from any other New York cowboys."

"Cross-border cooperation is absolutely vital if these kil ers are going to be stopped," Jacob said. "Al we've got to go on is their pattern, and we need coordination for that to become clear."

"That isn't necessarily true," the bald man said. "What we need is a decent, honest investigation, and we're very good at that here in Sweden."

Jacob stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled over behind him.

"I'm not here to take part in some pissing contest," he said in a gruff voice. "And New York doesn't have cowboys, by the way!"

The bald man in the vest also stood up. His forehead was sweating and his eyes were narrow and smal.

"Evert, let him speak."

The woman in the suit had said this. Her voice was low and calm. She stood up and walked over to Jacob.

"Sara Hoglund," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Head of the National Crime Investigation Department. You'l have to excuse Prosecutor Ridderwal, he's an extremely dedicated judicial investigator."

The prosecutor sat down and ran his hand angrily over his scalp.

The woman in the suit looked Jacob careful y up and down.

"Detective Kanon from New York City," she said. "What district?"

"Thirty-second," Jacob replied.

Her eyes lit up in recognition.

"Harlem," she said.

He nodded. The police chief knew her NYPD.

She turned to Mats Duval.

"We need al the help we can get on this case," she said. "Formalize Mr.

Kanon's status with Interpol. These bastards have to be stopped."

Jacob clenched his fists in triumph.

He was on board, and his intuition had been correct – something was going to break here in Stockholm. He hoped it wasn't him.