The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [85]
They were both deeply religious, and both claimed that they were in direct contact with “the creating God, the unknowable ruler of all the universe.” They admitted to what had happened in Athens, but denied it was murder. Their work was part of a global conceptual artwork intended to reveal humankind’s divinity.
The murders in Salzburg were traced to a young British couple from London. They were enrolled at a fashionable art college in the middle of London. They hadn’t attended any classes for the past four months.
Their fingerprints and DNA were found at the scene of the crime, and the murder weapon was discovered under a loose floorboard in the couple’s apartment.
They didn’t comment on the accusations. They didn’t respond to any of the authorities’ questions, and they even refused to talk to their own lawyer. On their blogs they had written that every individual was responsible for creating their own morals and their own laws, and that everything else was an affront to the rights of the individual.
The killers in Copenhagen were arrested that evening, both the repeat offender whose details had been in the DNA register and his accomplice, a younger woman who was deeply remorseful once she was captured. The woman confessed at once, in floods of tears, and said that she had changed her mind and tried to stop the killings. Her change of heart had occurred when her colleague had raped the young American woman, which hadn’t been part of the “artwork” design.
Dessie looked at Jacob and saw how his eyes registered everything that was reported about the murderers, how his jaw clenched every time new information was received.
The other police officers exhibited the sort of relief that comes after an arrest and a confession, but not Jacob. The others’ shoulders relaxed, became less tense, and the way they walked seemed somehow freer, but Jacob’s face remained carved from stone.
She knew why.
Kimmy’s killers were still out there somewhere, probably on their way to Finland.
Chapter 126
DURING THE DAY, THREE cars had been stolen in the Stockholm region.
An almost-new Toyota from the suburb of Vikingshill. A Range Rover out in Hässelby garden suburb, at the end of the underground network. An old Mercedes from a parking garage beneath the Gallerian shopping center in the middle of the city.
“The Merc makes sense, right?” Jacob said. “They wouldn’t take the underground all the way out to the suburbs just to get a car.”
He picked up the map again.
“So now they’re driving north. That’s how Dessie and I figure it,” he said. “They might even have changed cars by now. I would have. They’re traveling on minor roads and heading for Haparanda. They’re sticking close to the speed limit. So they should get there early tomorrow morning, at the latest.”
Mats Duvall looked skeptical. “That’s just speculation,” he said. “There’s nothing to prove that they’d choose that particular route, or even that mode of transport. We don’t know anything for certain.”
Dessie watched Jacob stand up. He was making an effort not to attack anything, or anyone.
“You’ve got to reinforce the border crossings in the north,” he said. “What’s the name of that river right on the border? The Torne River?”
“We can’t allocate manpower simply on the strength of guesswork,” Mats Duvall said, closing up his electronic gadget, a sign that the conversation was over.
At that, Jacob stormed out of the room, closely followed by Dessie.
“Jacob…,” she began, taking hold of his arm. “Stop. Look at me.”
He spun around, standing right next to her.
“The Swedish police are never going to catch them,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t let them get away again. I can’t do that!”
Dessie looked into his eyes.
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
“When’s the next flight to Haparanda?” Jacob asked.
She took out her cell and called the twenty-four-hour travel desk at