The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [57]
From now on, she wouldn’t be welcome here, that much was clear to her.
The superintendent’s face stiffened into a mask that grew more rigid the longer the broadcast went on.
The chair of the Swedish Bar Association gave a statement, seriously criticizing the fact that “the two American youngsters” hadn’t been given a lawyer until late this afternoon, a whole day after they were taken into custody.
Sara Höglund was quoted saying in an irritated voice that the investigation was proceeding — a sound bite that was probably taken from the very last minutes of the press conference, when she had already answered the same question umpteen times.
Then the Dagens Eko bulletin turned its attention to criticism of the media.
The newsreader’s voice was full of indignation as he trumpeted the next item.
“In a letter that has received harsh criticism, a newspaper reporter at Aftonposten, Dessie Larsson, attempted to buy an interview with the suspected killers.
“For one hundred thousand dollars, almost a million kronor, she wanted to secure an exclusive interview with the American youths. The chair of the Journalists Federation, Anita Persson, considers the development a scandal that should be investigated.”
Dessie felt the floor sway beneath her. Her mouth went dry and her pulse was racing.
“Dessie Larsson has brought shame on the entire profession,” Anita Persson said over the radio. “She should be expelled from the Journalists Federation right away.”
The author and journalist Hugo Bergman was next to be interviewed. He added to the criticism, saying that Dessie Larsson was “a lightweight” and “a useless journalist.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at Dessie.
Hugo Bergman clearly didn’t like being spurned when he had paid for wine and dinner at a fancy restaurant, she thought. It was a hell of a price to pay for mashed potatoes.
Dessie stood up and went toward the door.
“I’m not even a member of the Journalists Federation,” she said.
Jacob followed her out through the door.
Chapter 84
DESSIE COULD SEE THE SATELLITE dishes on the television crews’ vans, some of which had come all the way from Götgatan. What a waste of time, money, and gas.
The media storm had settled right outside her door, blocking the whole of Urvädersgränd. She stopped, her bicycle beside her, and stared at the crowd.
Jacob caught up with her and let out a quiet whistle.
There were unfamiliar figures with huge microphones and colleagues she had met at the Association of Professional Newspapermen, photographers with long lenses, and radio reporters who looked like giant beetles with their broadcast antennas mounted on their backs.
“Impressive,” Jacob said drily. “You must be the hottest date in town.”
“I can’t go in there,” she said.
“They’ll go home when they get hungry,” Jacob said. “Come on, let’s go and get something to eat in the meantime.”
They headed toward Mariatorget. The sky was full of dark clouds; there was rain in the air.
They stopped at a steak house on Sankt Paulsgatan, where Jacob ordered barbecue ribs and Dessie corn on the cob.
“Is that all you’re having?” Jacob said when the food arrived.
“I don’t think I can even get this down,” she said in a quiet voice.
He looked at her with something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was actually worried about her.
“I know you’re finding this unpleasant and unfair,” he said, “but you should know that you did the right thing. You’ve probably already prevented some murders.”
She finished her glass of wine and poured some more.
He put his hand on hers.
“Dessie,” he said, “listen to me, please. Kimmy was killed by these monsters, and you’re one of the reasons they’ve been caught. I thank you for that. I owe you my life.”
Chapter 85
JACOB’S HAND WAS DRY and warm, burning on her skin. She looked up and met his gaze.
“You must have loved her very much,” Dessie said before she could stop herself.
He shut his eyes tightly and squeezed her