Postcard killers

Chapter 133

They sat in silence, watching the passengers as the Ford went past on its way to the border crossing: two elderly couples, the men in the front, the women in the back.

Dessie turned to him, hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Who was Kimmy's mother?"

Now it was his turn to put his sandwich down.

"Her name's Lucy," he said. "We grew up together in Brooklyn. She was a singer, blues and jazz, real y talented. We were both eighteen when she got pregnant. When Kimmy was three months old, she left us."

"Left you? To do what?"

Jacob shrugged.

"Live another life, I guess. Drugs, money, music… The first few years, she saw Kimmy a couple of times, but that died out. It must be fifteen years since I last saw her."

"Does Lucy know… about Kimmy…?"

Jacob shook his head.

"No. At least, I haven't told her. I don't know where she is. I don't even know if she's stil alive."

"She sounds like an idiot to me."

"We were both young, both idiots."

Silence fel inside the car.

A green VW Passat drove past.

Jacob looked at his watch. 8:54.

A blue Saab sped past them. They could hear the sound of rock and rol coming from the open windows. Two young males. Punk-style haircuts.

Jacob looked at his watch. 8:55. He was conscious that he was doing it obsessively, but he couldn't help it.

Dessie's phone rang. She listened in silence, said not a word, then turned to Jacob.

"They've passed through Salmis and Vuono," she said. "Two vil ages just outside this town. Stil in the red Volvo. They're almost here."

"Robert's men, are they reliable?"

Dessie nodded. "Very."

"I don't want them involved at the border. I'l take it from here."

She passed on the message and hung up.