Postcard killers

Chapter 20

It had stopped raining, but the pavement was stil wet. The tires hissed as Dessie steered the Volvo from the newspaper's auto pool through the puddles outside the paper's garage. She braked at the main entrance and 30 opened the passenger door for Jacob Kanon.

The stench of him once he shut the door was quite dreadful. This was a big mistake.

"God," she said, opening the window. "Haven't you learned to use soap and water in America?"

He fastened his seat belt.

"We're in good time," he said. "Almost as quick as the police. That's a good source you've got."

Dessie switched gears and drove off. She paused for a moment before replying.

"She's my ex."

The American sat in silence for a moment.

"Your ex, as in…"

"Girlfriend, yes," Dessie said, concentrating on the thin traffic.

Why was it so hard to talk about it? It was 2010.

She put her foot down to avoid having to stop at a red light. She peered up at the sky to see if the clouds were showing any sign of breaking up, which they weren't. She turned on the car radio and found Gentle Favorites. She tried to sing along but didn't know half the words.

"What about you?" she asked, to put an end to the silence. "Have you got a girl?"

"Not anymore," he said, looking out through the windshield.

"If you tried showering occasional y, maybe she would have stayed."

"She was murdered. In Rome."

Shit, shit, shit, what an idiot she was.

"Sorry," she said, staring straight ahead now.

"Don't worry about it," he said, looking at her. "Kimmy was my family. It was just her and me."

So, what happened to the mother? Dessie thought, but she decided to keep her mouth shut this time.

They headed south along Route 73 in silence, passing the Tyreso road and the vast suburb of Brandbergen. The American leaned forward to study the huge, ugly concrete buildings.

She peered intently at the road signs and found the exit for Jordbro. The motorway vanished, replaced by a minor road, the 227.

Not far now.

She felt her pulse rise. She had been to a lot of crime scenes. She was used to broken patio doors and overturned drawers, but she had never been to the site of any murder, let alone a real y bad one.

"When we get there," Dessie said, "what can we expect to find?"

Jacob Kanon looked at her, his eyes sparkling.

"Blood," he said. "Even smal amounts of blood look huge when they're spread across furniture and floors. You know the stain on the wal when you 31 squash a mosquito? We're talking about large amounts here."

Dessie clutched the wheel harder and took the hard right toward Bjorno.