The stench of him once he shut the door was quite dreadful. This was a big mistake.
"God," she said, opening the window. "Haven't you learned to use soap and water in America?"
He fastened his seat belt.
"We're in good time," he said. "Almost as quick as the police. That's a good source you've got."
Dessie switched gears and drove off. She paused for a moment before replying.
"She's my ex."
The American sat in silence for a moment.
"Your ex, as in…"
"Girlfriend, yes," Dessie said, concentrating on the thin traffic.
Why was it so hard to talk about it? It was 2010.
She put her foot down to avoid having to stop at a red light. She peered up at the sky to see if the clouds were showing any sign of breaking up, which they weren't. She turned on the car radio and found Gentle Favorites. She tried to sing along but didn't know half the words.
"What about you?" she asked, to put an end to the silence. "Have you got a girl?"
"Not anymore," he said, looking out through the windshield.
"If you tried showering occasional y, maybe she would have stayed."
"She was murdered. In Rome."
Shit, shit, shit, what an idiot she was.
"Sorry," she said, staring straight ahead now.
"Don't worry about it," he said, looking at her. "Kimmy was my family. It was just her and me."
So, what happened to the mother? Dessie thought, but she decided to keep her mouth shut this time.
They headed south along Route 73 in silence, passing the Tyreso road and the vast suburb of Brandbergen. The American leaned forward to study the huge, ugly concrete buildings.
She peered intently at the road signs and found the exit for Jordbro. The motorway vanished, replaced by a minor road, the 227.
Not far now.
She felt her pulse rise. She had been to a lot of crime scenes. She was used to broken patio doors and overturned drawers, but she had never been to the site of any murder, let alone a real y bad one.
"When we get there," Dessie said, "what can we expect to find?"
Jacob Kanon looked at her, his eyes sparkling.
"Blood," he said. "Even smal amounts of blood look huge when they're spread across furniture and floors. You know the stain on the wal when you 31 squash a mosquito? We're talking about large amounts here."
Dessie clutched the wheel harder and took the hard right toward Bjorno.
Chapter 21
The murder house was on the shore by the sound, facing the island of Edeso. Dessie didn't want to be here.
It was smal, ordinary, yel ow, with carved detailing on the veranda and a little hexagonal tower topped by a pennant. A white picket fence with a gate lined the road. Freshly green birches framed the house, marsh marigolds edging the gravel drive up to the door.
A policeman was busy cordoning off the site with blue-and-white tape down by the shore.
A second officer was talking into his cel phone by the corner of the house.
Dessie stopped by the fence. She held up her compact digital camera and took a few pictures of the house.
Jacob Kanon pushed past her, opened the gate, and snuck under the plastic cordon.
"Hang on," Dessie said, stuffing the camera in her pocket. "You can't just -"
"You there!" cal ed the policeman who was tying the cordon around a rowan tree down by the shore. "You can't come in here, it's closed to the public."
Jacob Kanon held up his police badge as he sped up, heading straight for the house.
Dessie was half running behind him on trembling legs. "Jacob – stop!" she cal ed.
"New York Police Department," Jacob cal ed back. "They want to talk to me about the investigation. It's al set."
The policeman with the cel stared at them but kept hold of his phone.
"Jacob," Dessie said, "I don't know if -"
The American kept going and climbed up onto the veranda. He took a quick look around and kicked off his shoes.
The outer door was wide open. Jacob stopped at the threshold. Dessie caught up with him and instinctively put her free hand up to cover her nose and mouth.
"Bloody hel," she said. "What's that smel?"
Chapter 22
To their right was a half-open door that seemed to lead to a smal kitchen. Ahead and to the left they could see people moving, the floor tiles creaking as they walked about.
"Hel o," Jacob cal ed out. "My name's Jacob Kanon and I'm an American homicide officer with information about this case. I only speak English. I'm now entering the crime scene."
Dessie fumbled her way out of her shoes, stil covering her nose and mouth, desperately trying not to retch. She saw Jacob pul on a pair of thin gloves that he took out of his jacket pocket and then open the door in front of them.
From her position behind his back she saw Mats Duval, 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.
Gabriel a was standing by the window, writing something on her own pad.
Outside in the sound a yacht glided by.
"What the hel?" Gabriel a 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 wil help your investigation. I know more about these kil ers 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 stil 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 gil, 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 fal ing.
"So you're Jacob Kanon," Mats Duval said, looking the American up and 33 down. "I've heard about you."
He didn't sound aggressive, just curious.
"You'l find at least one empty champagne bottle somewhere in here,"
Jacob said, "probably Moet and Chandon. Four glasses, and in two of them you'l find traces of the drug cyclopentolate. It a muscle relaxant used in eye examinations to dilate the pupil."
Gabriel a 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 Duval 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. "AkPentolate, 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 kil ers drug their victims?" Mats Duval said, stepping over and putting his hand on Gabriel a's shoulder. "With eyedrops in the champagne?"
Gabriel a cast a furious glance at Dessie and moved even closer to Jacob Kanon.
"And cut their throats once they're unconscious," he said. "The kil er is right-handed and uses a smal, 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.