Postcard killers

Chapter 21

The murder house was on the shore by the sound, facing the island of Edeso. Dessie didn't want to be here.

It was smal, ordinary, yel ow, with carved detailing on the veranda and a little hexagonal tower topped by a pennant. A white picket fence with a gate lined the road. Freshly green birches framed the house, marsh marigolds edging the gravel drive up to the door.

A policeman was busy cordoning off the site with blue-and-white tape down by the shore.

A second officer was talking into his cel phone by the corner of the house.

Dessie stopped by the fence. She held up her compact digital camera and took a few pictures of the house.

Jacob Kanon pushed past her, opened the gate, and snuck under the plastic cordon.

"Hang on," Dessie said, stuffing the camera in her pocket. "You can't just -"

"You there!" cal ed the policeman who was tying the cordon around a rowan tree down by the shore. "You can't come in here, it's closed to the public."

Jacob Kanon held up his police badge as he sped up, heading straight for the house.

Dessie was half running behind him on trembling legs. "Jacob – stop!" she cal ed.

"New York Police Department," Jacob cal ed back. "They want to talk to me about the investigation. It's al set."

The policeman with the cel stared at them but kept hold of his phone.

"Jacob," Dessie said, "I don't know if -"

The American kept going and climbed up onto the veranda. He took a quick look around and kicked off his shoes.

The outer door was wide open. Jacob stopped at the threshold. Dessie caught up with him and instinctively put her free hand up to cover her nose and mouth.

"Bloody hel," she said. "What's that smel?"