Postcard killers

Chapter 5

"So, Dessie, you've no idea why the postcard was sent to you in particular?"

The police had taken over the conference room behind the sports desk.

Police superintendent Mats Duval sat on the other side of the table, looking at her through a pair of designer glasses.

An old-fashioned tape recorder, the sort that actual y used a cassette, was slowly winding on the table in front of her.

"Not the faintest idea," Dessie said. "I don't get it at al. No."

The newsroom was cordoned off. A team of forensics officers had taken the postcard, photographed it, and sent it off for analysis. After that, they had laid siege to the mail room.

Dessie didn't understand what they were expecting to find there, but they had a whole arsenal of equipment with them.

"Have you written any articles about this? Have you reported on any of the other murders around Europe?"

She shook her head.

The superintendent looked at her cool y.

"Can I ask you to reply verbal y so that your response gets picked up on the tape?"

Dessie sat up in her chair and cleared her throat.

"No," she said, a little too loudly. "No, I've never written about these murders."

"Is there anything else you might have done to provoke them into contacting you specifical y?"

"My obvious charm and flexibility?" she suggested.

Duval tapped away at a smal gadget that Dessie assumed was some sort of electronic notepad. His fingers were long and thin, the nails wel manicured.

He was dressed in a suit, a pink shirt, and a gray-on-blue striped tie.

"Let's move on to you: how long have you been working here at Aftonposten? "

Dessie clasped her hands in her lap.

"Almost three years," she said. "Part-time. I do research when I'm not here."

"Research? Can I ask what in?"

"I'm a trained criminologist, specializing in property crime. And I've done the extension course in journalism at Stockholm University, so I'm a trained journalist as wel. And right now I'm writing my doctoral thesis…

Glad you asked?"

She had let the sentence about her thesis trail off. Focusing on the social consequences of smal -scale property break-ins, it had been placed on the back burner – to put it mildly. She hadn't written a word of it in over two years. 12 "Would you describe yourself as a high-profile or famous reporter?" the superintendent asked.

Dessie let out a rather inappropriate laugh, partly through her mouth, partly her nose.

"Hardly." She recovered slightly. "I never write about the news. I come up with my own stories. For instance, I had an interview with Burglar Bengt in yesterday's paper. He's Sweden's 'most notorious' burglar. Found guilty of breaking into three hundred eighteen properties, and that doesn't include -"

Superintendent Duval interrupted her, leaning in closer across the table.

"The usual scenario is that the people who sent the postcard carry on a correspondence with the journalist. You may get more mail from the kil ers."

"If you don't catch them first," she said.

She met the policeman's gaze. His eyes were calm, inscrutable behind his shiny glasses. She couldn't tel if she liked or disliked him. Not that it mattered.

"We don't know the kil ers' motives," he said. "I've spoken to the security division, but we don't think you need personal protection for the time being. Do you think you need it?"

A shiver ran up Dessie's spine.

"No," she said. "No personal protection."