Postcard killers

Chapter 92

JACOB CAME TOWARD HER in the departure hal of the Central Station and something fluttered in Dessie's chest, something that made her catch her breath and break into a broad, genuine smile. Even here, even now.

But then she saw his eyes and clenched jaw, and the smile froze on her lips.

"Have you got the copies?" he asked in a monotone.

Dumbly she handed over the faxed copies of the Danish postcard, front and back. He put his duffel bag down beside him, clutching the sheets of paper, staring at them.

The card was a picture of the Tivoli pleasure gardens. She knew the place wel.

Apart from the name of the city, the back of the postcard had exactly the same capital letters and layout as Dessie's.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE IN COPENHAGEN THAT IS THE QUESTION WE'LL BE IN TOUCH

"I'l be damned," he said, studying the copies. "It's quicker to get hold of evidence through the media than through useless bloody Interpol. That's unbelievable."

She swal owed hard. So that was why he'd agreed to meet her, because she had access to information that the police hadn't yet gotten hold of.

"What do you think about the handwriting?" she asked, trying to sound neutral. "Is it the same person?"

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. She thought of last night, couldn't help it. What had she been thinking?

"It's impossible to tel with this lettering. Looks like it. Can I keep this?"

She nodded, unsure if she would be able to control her voice if she tried to say anything.

"You've heard about the Grand Hotel?" she final y managed to say.

"The press conference at two o'clock, yeah."

He heaved his duffel bag onto his shoulder again. 122 She tried to smile.

"So at least you know where they are," she said. "You don't have to go to the ends of the earth after al."

He stopped in the middle of what he was doing and looked at her, and she suddenly wanted the floor to swal ow her up.

How could she be so clingy? She wasn't that way – not ever – not even as a kid, especial y not then.

"I've had a reply from the States," he said. "From my contacts, those emails I sent from your computer."

"That's good," she said.

"I'm on my way to Los Angeles right now," he said, looking at his watch.

"My plane leaves in two hours."

She felt like someone had just poured a bucket of ice cold water over her.

"You're – Los Angeles? But…" She'd been about to say, "But what about me?"

She bit her cheek so hard she could taste blood.

She was acting like an idiot. She wanted to shrivel up, to be anywhere but here.

He looked at his watch again, hesitating. Then he took a step toward her and gave her a clumsy hug. The duffel bag was in the way and she got no contact with his body. How very fitting, she thought. The perfect ending for them.

"See you," he said, turning around and walking quickly toward the express train to Arlanda.

She watched him go until he was swal owed up by the mass of people and disappeared in the crowd.

"See you."