The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [17]
From her position behind his back she saw Mats Duvall, the superintendent who had questioned her on Friday, turn around and stare at them. He was wearing a light gray suit with a mauve shirt and bright red tie, and he had blue coverings on his shoes. He was holding his electronic notepad in his hand.
Gabriella was standing by the window, writing something on her own pad. Outside in the sound a yacht glided by.
“What the hell?” Gabriella said, taking a couple of quick steps toward them.
Jacob held up his badge.
“I’m not here to sabotage things,” he said quickly. “I’ve got important information that will help your investigation. I know more about these killers than anyone else does.”
He stepped to one side to let Dessie into the living room. She stopped beside him and caught sight of the sofa. My god, dear god.
The bloody bodies were still sitting and looked frozen in their peculiar pose.
The blood covering their bodies was dark, almost black. It had run onto the floor, down into the cracks in the wood, to be sucked up by a colorful rug. The woman’s light blond hair hanging down across her breasts was stiff with blood.
The man was lying in her lap, half on the floor, just like in the photograph. The opening in his throat was like a gaping gill, Dessie thought. The wound to his windpipe had been so violent that his head had almost come away from his body.
Dessie felt her blood pressure sink into her toes and grabbed at Jacob to stop herself from falling.
“So you’re Jacob Kanon,” Mats Duvall said, looking the American up and down. “I’ve heard about you.”
He didn’t sound aggressive, just curious.
“You’ll find at least one empty champagne bottle somewhere in here,” Jacob said, “probably Moët and Chandon. Four glasses, and in two of them you’ll find traces of the drug cyclopentolate. It a muscle relaxant used in eye examinations to dilate the pupil.”
Gabriella took a couple of long strides across the room and stopped right next to Jacob Kanon.
“You’re trespassing on a crime scene,” she said and pointed back at the door. “Get out of here!”
“Eyedrops?” Mats Duvall asked.
Jacob looked at the Swedish detectives, ready to fight his side of the ring.
“In the States it’s sold under several different names,” he said. “Ak-Pentolate, Cyclogyl, Cylate, and a couple more. In Canada it’s also known as Minims Cyclopentolate. You can get it here in Europe, too.”
Dessie could feel the room starting to spin. There was a very good chance that she’d throw up. That was pretty much all she was thinking about now.
“So the killers drug their victims?” Mats Duvall said, stepping over and putting his hand on Gabriella’s shoulder. “With eyedrops in the champagne?”
Gabriella cast a furious glance at Dessie and moved even closer to Jacob Kanon.
“And cut their throats once they’re unconscious,” he said. “The killer is right-handed and uses a small, sharp implement. He does it from behind, sticking the knife right into the left jugular vein, then cutting deeply through the sinews and windpipe.”
He mimed the act with his arms as he spoke. He’d obviously done it before.
Dessie realized that all the colors and sounds were starting to fade away.
“Pulse and breathing probably stop after a minute or so,” Jacob said.
“Sorry,” Dessie said, “but I have to get out.”
She went out onto the gravel drive, raised her face to the sky, and took several long, deep breaths. Her first big case, she thought, and probably her last.
Chapter 23
“THEY’RE CHARMING, PLEASANT PEOPLE, THESE killers,” Jacob said to Dessie, stretching his back in the thin sunlight. “They find it easy to make new friends. Are you sure you don’t want a cinnamon bun?”
Dessie shook her head, letting the American eat the last one.
They were sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Bellevue on Dalarö, with a coffeepot, cups, and an empty plate in front of them. There was a sharp wind from the sea.
It was really too cold to be sitting outside, but Dessie couldn’t bear Jacob Kanon’s body odor after feeling sick at the murder