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Authors: James Patterson, Liza Marklund
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well? Why would she want him to know that?
She put the glass down on the draining board and realized that she was quite hungry. All she had eaten were those damn mashed
potatoes!
Chapter 30
THE POET HAD GONE BACK to Finland, leaving Jacob alone in his cell.
There was no space for a chair or table in the narrow room, so he had settled down on the Finn’s abandoned lower bunk. He
had put his pistol and the framed photograph of Kimmy on the deeply recessed windowsill. He’d bought the gun in Rome with
the help of an old cop friend who had retired to Italy.
He leaned forward and ran his finger along his daughter’s smiling cheek.
This was the picture he had given the press after she died, taken the day she’d been accepted at Juilliard.
Jacob got up, went over to his duffel bag, and opened a bottle of wine. He stood with the bottle in his hand, staring out
at the light summer night.
There was a small beach under his window. A few alcohol-fueled youngsters wearing mortarboards were noisily soaking one another
without taking their clothes off.
He let his eyes roam over the dark water.
Kimmy didn’t like swimming.
All the other kids on the block loved going down to Brighton Beach, but Kimmy never learned to swim well. Instead she preferred
the big forest parks on Staten Island, or up in Westchester or Putnam County, with their teeming wildlife, especially deer.
There was only one thing she loved more than her graceful deer, and that was his aunt Isabelle’s piano. Kimmy would go and
play on it after school every afternoon, and every day in the summer. She was gifted, so Jacob paid for lessons with the best
teacher available in Brooklyn.
But that afternoon a couple of years ago when she told him she’d applied to Juilliard, the most famous college in the world
for music, drama, and dance, he’d felt almost terrified. He’d never heard of anyone from Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge area even getting
close to being accepted there. He’d checked: only five percent of all applicants got in.
But Kimmy was special. She specialized in Franz Liszt, one of the most technically demanding composers in the world, and she
had chosen his suggestive piano concerto Totentanz no.1 as her audition piece.
He had been so proud that he’d burst into tears when the acceptance letter came—and back in those days, he hardly ever cried.
Not like the present.
Kimmy had met Steven on her very first day at Juilliard, a budding classical composer. They got engaged and decided to get
married as soon as they graduated.
Steven was a great guy, but Jacob thought they should see something of the world before they settled down.
So he had given them a trip to Rome as a Christmas present.
They were murdered the day before they were due to return to New York.
Jacob took a deep breath and found himself back in the narrow cell at the hostel.
The shrieking kids on the beach had vanished.
He sank onto the lower bunk with Kimmy’s picture in his lap.
He had identified her dead body in the cold room of a mortuary on the outskirts of Rome on New Year’s Day, the first day of
what had been the very worst year of his life.
This
year.
He picked up his pistol and put the muzzle in his mouth, just as he had done so many nights before, tasting the powder and
metal, taking comfort from the idea that there could be an end to this. One slight movement of his finger and his desperate
loss and longing would be over.
But not yet. Not until he found her murderers.
Chapter 31
Monday, June 14
THE PAPER
AFTONPOSTEN
WAS STUCK in a downward sales and readership spiral that was probably hopeless. In an attempt to break it, the management
was making increasing use of unusual and risky innovations. Usually they failed.
On other occasions everyone busted their butt to get things moving.
This was one of those days.
Dessie had parked herself at her desk with the first edition that day.
Aftonposten
had filled practically the whole
She put the glass down on the draining board and realized that she was quite hungry. All she had eaten were those damn mashed
potatoes!
Chapter 30
THE POET HAD GONE BACK to Finland, leaving Jacob alone in his cell.
There was no space for a chair or table in the narrow room, so he had settled down on the Finn’s abandoned lower bunk. He
had put his pistol and the framed photograph of Kimmy on the deeply recessed windowsill. He’d bought the gun in Rome with
the help of an old cop friend who had retired to Italy.
He leaned forward and ran his finger along his daughter’s smiling cheek.
This was the picture he had given the press after she died, taken the day she’d been accepted at Juilliard.
Jacob got up, went over to his duffel bag, and opened a bottle of wine. He stood with the bottle in his hand, staring out
at the light summer night.
There was a small beach under his window. A few alcohol-fueled youngsters wearing mortarboards were noisily soaking one another
without taking their clothes off.
He let his eyes roam over the dark water.
Kimmy didn’t like swimming.
All the other kids on the block loved going down to Brighton Beach, but Kimmy never learned to swim well. Instead she preferred
the big forest parks on Staten Island, or up in Westchester or Putnam County, with their teeming wildlife, especially deer.
There was only one thing she loved more than her graceful deer, and that was his aunt Isabelle’s piano. Kimmy would go and
play on it after school every afternoon, and every day in the summer. She was gifted, so Jacob paid for lessons with the best
teacher available in Brooklyn.
But that afternoon a couple of years ago when she told him she’d applied to Juilliard, the most famous college in the world
for music, drama, and dance, he’d felt almost terrified. He’d never heard of anyone from Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge area even getting
close to being accepted there. He’d checked: only five percent of all applicants got in.
But Kimmy was special. She specialized in Franz Liszt, one of the most technically demanding composers in the world, and she
had chosen his suggestive piano concerto Totentanz no.1 as her audition piece.
He had been so proud that he’d burst into tears when the acceptance letter came—and back in those days, he hardly ever cried.
Not like the present.
Kimmy had met Steven on her very first day at Juilliard, a budding classical composer. They got engaged and decided to get
married as soon as they graduated.
Steven was a great guy, but Jacob thought they should see something of the world before they settled down.
So he had given them a trip to Rome as a Christmas present.
They were murdered the day before they were due to return to New York.
Jacob took a deep breath and found himself back in the narrow cell at the hostel.
The shrieking kids on the beach had vanished.
He sank onto the lower bunk with Kimmy’s picture in his lap.
He had identified her dead body in the cold room of a mortuary on the outskirts of Rome on New Year’s Day, the first day of
what had been the very worst year of his life.
This
year.
He picked up his pistol and put the muzzle in his mouth, just as he had done so many nights before, tasting the powder and
metal, taking comfort from the idea that there could be an end to this. One slight movement of his finger and his desperate
loss and longing would be over.
But not yet. Not until he found her murderers.
Chapter 31
Monday, June 14
THE PAPER
AFTONPOSTEN
WAS STUCK in a downward sales and readership spiral that was probably hopeless. In an attempt to break it, the management
was making increasing use of unusual and risky innovations. Usually they failed.
On other occasions everyone busted their butt to get things moving.
This was one of those days.
Dessie had parked herself at her desk with the first edition that day.
Aftonposten
had filled practically the whole
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