Postcard killers

Chapter 39

Sylvia signaled the waiter over with a wel -manicured hand and a smal, delicate wave. She was playing rich girl again today.

"We'd like to look at the wine list again," she said, then giggled and leaned against the shoulder of the beautiful Dutch woman sitting next to her.

"It feels so naughty, doesn't it, drinking wine at lunchtime?"

The Dutch woman cackled and nodded. "Very good wine, too."

They were sitting in Bistro Berns, a high-class French restaurant with a rather vaudevil ian atmosphere, situated by the Berzeli Park in the middle of town.

Sylvia and the Dutch woman had eaten chevre chaud with a beetroot and walnut salad, and the men had each had boeuf bourguignon, and now they were ready for another bottle of red, the good stuff.

"I think the financial crisis wil lead to the sort of clear-out that the capital markets real y need today," the Dutchman said, looking important.

He was terribly keen to impress Mac, and Mac was playing along and pretending to be interested in his every pronouncement. Mac kept getting better with each new couple they met.

"That's the positive scenario," Mac said. "On the other hand, maybe we ought to learn from history. Financial worries at the turn of the last century didn't break until after the First World War."

"God, you're both soooooooo boring," Sylvia groaned, waving the waiter over again. "Wel, I'm going to have a sinful y rich dessert. Anyone joining me?"

The Dutch woman ordered a creme brulee, and the men asked for coffee.

"Have you heard what happened here?" Sylvia asked, pouring more wine into their glasses. "Two tourists were murdered on some island."

The Dutch woman's brown eyes opened wide. She was absolutely gorgeous, this one.

"Is that true?" she said in horror. "Was it in the papers?"

Sylvia shrugged.

"I can't understand what the papers say. It was a girl in the hotel who told us. Isn't that right, Mac, that two tourists were murdered on an island near 56 here?"

Mac nodded. "Yes, that's right. Two Germans. An awful business, apparently. Their throats had been cut."

Now Mr. Dutch Boyfriend's eyes opened wide as wel.

"Their throats were cut?" he said. "We had a case like that in Hol and actual y. In Amsterdam, not al that long ago. That's right, isn't it, Nienke?"

"Is it?" the Dutch woman said, licking dessert off her spoon. "When was that, then?"

"They're being cal ed the Postcard Kil ers," Mac said. "They've sent a postcard to some newspaper here."

"That's sick," the Dutch woman said, scraping her bowl for the last remnants of the brulee. "Where did you get that blouse?"

This directed at Sylvia. The murdered Germans were already gone from the Dutch woman's pretty little blond head.

"Emporio Armani," Sylvia said. "There's a great boutique, fabulous. It's just around the corner from here, on Biblioteksgatan."

She stood up, walked around the table, and settled down on Mac's lap.

"Darling," she cooed, "it's such a lovely day. I'd real y love a souvenir, something to remember it by…"

"No," Mac said, standing up quickly.

Sylvia almost fel on the floor.

"What?" she said, laughing, as Mr. Dutch Boyfriend stood up and helped steady her. "Do you think it would be too expensive?"

"No, Sylvia," he said. "Not now. Not today." His lips curled in irritation.

Sylvia laughed and wound her arm around the Dutchman's shoulder.

"Ooh," she said, "what a kil joy he is. I think you're much more fun."

She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him ful on the lips.

"We've got to go now, Sylvia," Mac said, taking hold of her other arm.