The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [51]
She knew exactly what he was thinking. He thought her mother was the sort who jangled their jewelry in front of the poor at charity galas.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Do you really want to know this story? I don’t do chitchat very well.”
“I really want to know.”
She put her glass down on the coffee table.
“That security van raid I mentioned yesterday — you remember?”
He nodded and emptied his glass, then filled it again.
“Three of my uncles were involved,” she said. “They got hold of almost nine million kronor, which was something like eight and a half million more than they were expecting, and they panicked. They didn’t know what to do with all the money. They buried some of it, but they put most of it in my mother’s savings account.”
“What!” Jacob exclaimed, almost choking on his wine. “You’re kidding me.”
“It was pretty smart of them, as it turned out. All the money they buried was found, but no one thought to check my mother’s account.”
She watched carefully for his reaction. Was he about to turn his back on her? Dismiss her as the daughter of a scheming criminal?
“Your uncles can’t have been the sharpest knives in the drawer,” he said.
She avoided his gaze as she went on with the story.
“They all got the same punishment, five and a half years for aggravated robbery. They were due to be released in May four years ago. That winter had been unusually snowy in Ådalen, and my mother helped the old folks clear the snow, which she wasn’t supposed to do because the doctor told her… But she was stubborn. And proud.”
Dessie picked up her glass and turned it slowly in her hand.
“She died on Hilding Olsson’s drive with a snow shovel in her hand.”
She took a careful sip. “The amount in her savings account was completely untouched, and I was her only heir.”
Chapter 76
“SHIT,” JACOB SAID. “THAT’S A hell of a story.”
He didn’t seem horrified, more like impressed.
“Didn’t your uncles come and ask for their money when they got out?”
She sighed.
“Of course. They were pretty persistent until I called my cousin Robert in Kalix and asked him for a favor. For two hundred thousand and a bottle of Absolut every Christmas, he’s promised to make sure the rest of the family leaves me alone. Which they pretty much do.”
Jacob was staring at her, wide-eyed.
“Wow,” he said.
“Robert’s two meters tall and weighs a hundred and thirty kilos,” Dessie said. “He’s very persuasive.”
“I might have guessed,” Jacob said.
She looked at him.
The story of how she had been able to afford the apartment had gnawed away at her for almost four years now. She had been terrified that someone would find out what had really happened. Now she had dragged her secret out, and Jacob didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Instead, he seemed amused.
All of a sudden she realized she was weak with tiredness from all the tension of the day.
She stood up, clutching her glass like someone’s hand.
“I really have to go to bed,” she said.
Jacob took the almost empty bottle back to the kitchen. He pulled on his shoes by the door and stood up straight again. He hesitated by the door.
“You’re pretty cool,” he said in a quiet voice.
“You’re pretty weird,” she said. “Do you know that?”
He shut the door soundlessly behind him.
She leaned her forehead against the door and listened to the sound of his footsteps as they disappeared down the marble staircase.
“Plus, I’m stubborn. And proud,” said Dessie.
Chapter 77
Thursday, June 17
MALCOLM RUDOLPH HAD DRAPED HIS body so that he was half lying in his chair in the interrogation room. His legs were wide apart and one arm was hooked around the back of the chair.
His tousled hair had fallen across his forehead, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.
“It was cool. We were traveling around, studying art and life,” he said over the sound coming from the television monitor.
And death, Jacob thought as he sat in the control room, listening to the murderer talk.
Above all, you studied death, you bastard.
“It was really great to begin with,” the fair-haired