The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [28]
Mats Duvall cleared his throat and continued going through the victims’ credit-card transactions. He spoke in English for Jacob’s benefit. None of the others objected, but they couldn’t have liked it.
The last purchase had been made in the NK department store around lunchtime on Saturday. Claudia Schmidt had been shopping at the perfume counter, and Rolf Hetger in the jewelry department.
After that, there was a gap of a few hours before the cash withdrawals began.
Jacob studied the printout. It was in Swedish, but the times and amounts were clear enough. And it was the same damn pattern as in the other cities.
In fewer than six hours, the killers had managed to trick their victims out of their bank cards, drug them, kill them, steal their possessions and rental car, drive off in the vehicle, and start emptying their bank accounts.
“The Germans died between the perfume counter and the cash withdrawals,” he clarified.
Prosecutor Ridderwall leaned forward across the table.
“The preliminary autopsy results haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact time of death,” he said. “Are we really going to sit here and guess?”
Jacob put the papers down and looked at the fat little man, at his aggrieved expression and small, hostile eyes. He needed to set some firm boundaries with these people from the beginning.
“Are we going to run through the investigation,” he said, “or are the two of us going to go outside and fight in the yard? I like to fight, by the way. Golden Gloves in Brooklyn.”
Gabriella gave an audible sigh and muttered something that sounded like “Good god.”
The prosecutor didn’t reply and remained seated. So Jacob picked up the papers again.
Rolf Hetger had spent 22,590 kronor in the jewelry department — almost $3,000.
“What did he buy?” Sara Höglund asked.
“We’ve got people at NK right now,” the superintendent said. “We’ll know soon.”
They moved on to the next sheet and went through the cash withdrawals. The addresses meant nothing to Jacob.
“Where are these cash machines?”
“In the city center.”
Jacob nodded. Thus far the killers were following the pattern exactly. That was good news, he believed.
“Some of the machines have camera surveillance,” Gabriella Oscarsson said. “We’ve requested the recordings for the times in question.”
“What did the cameras in the other cities show?” Mats Duvall asked.
Jacob fished out a notebook from his sports bag. He replied without opening the book; he knew the answer by heart.
“A tall man with brown hair, a cap, and sunglasses. He’s wearing a dark, medium-length coat, and light shoes.”
“Every time?” the superintendent asked.
“Every time,” Jacob said.
They went through the valuables that, according to the victims’ families, had probably been stolen from Dalarö.
“The make of camera? What karat ring?” Jacob asked.
“The parents are going to go through old receipts,” Gabriella said, irritated. “They’ve just lost their kids. Surely some level of sympathy…”
Jacob looked at her and felt his jaw clench.
Silence fell on the room. Finally Sara Höglund took over.
“How do we proceed from here? Suggestions?”
Jacob swiveled in his chair for a few seconds before replying.
“We have to break their pattern somehow,” he said. “We have to provoke them to start making mistakes.”
Sara Höglund raised her eyebrows. “How do we do that?”
“By using the communication channel they’ve already opened,” Jacob said.
Ten pairs of eyes looked skeptically at him.
“The postcard to the paper Aftonposten,” he said. “The killers obviously want to communicate — and now we’re going to give them a reply.”
Gabriella Oscarsson lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Mats Duvall nodded in encouragement.
“Go on.”
Jacob looked at each and every one of the people at the table before answering.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Get Dessie Larsson to write an open letter to the killers and have it published in tomorrow’s paper. Have her offer to interview