The Postcard Killers Read Online Free PDF Page B

yesterday evening.
    She stretched her back and looked out across the newsroom.
    Presumably his not getting in touch again had something to do with her behavior — the fact that she was always so brusque and never let anyone get close to her.
    She shook off her feelings as ridiculous, then leafed through the printouts again.
    She ran her fingers over the pictures of the victims.
    The victims in Rome.
    This was her, this was what she looked like before she was murdered. Smiling, shy, fair curly hair.
    Kimberly Kanon.
    Jacob Kanon’s daughter.
    She had her father’s bright blue eyes, didn’t she?

Chapter 15
    THE WIND HAD DROPPED BY the time they stepped into the bright sunshine outside the house the Germans had rented in the archipelago. Yachts with slack, chalk white sails glided slowly past in the sound below as Sylvia waved to an older man piloting a large yacht.
    Mac filled his lungs with air and stretched his arms out toward the islands, trees, water, and glittering sunlight.
    “This is wonderful,” he exclaimed. “I love Sweden! This could be my favorite country so far.”
    Sylvia smiled and threw him the car keys.
    “Can you find the way back out of here?”
    Mac laughed loudly. He shoved the backpack onto the backseat of the rental car, pulled on a new pair of latex gloves, got in behind the wheel, and put the car in gear.
    As they turned left onto the gravel track, Sylvia opened the window to let the fresh air into the coupe.
    The landscape was sparse, yet simultaneously beautiful and tastefully minimalist. The green of the deciduous trees was still tender, almost transparent, the sky clear blue as glass. Shy flowers that had only just emerged from the frozen soil swayed in the turbulence caused by the car as it flashed by.
    They passed two cars just before they crossed the bridge leading back onto the mainland. Neither of the drivers seemed to take any particular notice of them.
    “Party time tonight,” Sylvia said, stroking Mac’s neck. “Are you up for it?”
    “I want you here, right now,” he whispered sexily.
    She ran her hand slowly across his crotch, feeling how hard he was.
    When they were on the motorway heading north toward Stockholm, Sylvia put on a new pair of gloves. She reached into the backseat for the backpack and started to go through the dead Germans’ valuables.
    “Look at this,” she said, taking out an ultramodern digital camera. “A Nikon D3X. That’s pretty neat.”
    She rummaged through the woman’s jewelry.
    “A lot of it’s rubbish, sentimental, but this emerald ring is okay. I guess.”
    She held it up to the sunlight and examined the gemstone’s sparkle.
    “He had a platinum Amex,” Mac said, glancing at the things spread out on the floor of the car and in Sylvia’s lap.
    “So did she,” Sylvia said, waving the metallic card.
    Mac grinned.
    “And we’ve got the Omega watch itself, of course,” Sylvia said, triumphantly holding up the German woman’s recently purchased gift. “And it’s even in the original packaging!”
    “The cheap Kraut bastard was thinking of buying her a Swatch,” Mac said.
    They burst out laughing, heads thrown back, as they passed through the commercial center of Stockholm.
    “We’re back, ” Sylvia said in an eerie voice.

Chapter 16
    THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER MAC MADE a turn into the long-term parking lot at Arlanda Airport. Just to be safe, Sylvia wiped down the surfaces she might have touched with her fingers: the buttons that controlled the side windows, the instrument panel, Mac’s seat.
    Then they left the car among a couple of thousand others, a dark gray Ford Focus that even they lost sight of after walking just a few meters. It would probably be there for weeks before anyone noticed it.
    The free bus to the airport’s terminal buildings was almost empty. Sylvia sat on one of the seats, Mac standing beside her, wearing the backpack. No one paid any attention to them. Why should they?
    They got off at International