Free The Postcard Killers by James Patterson, Liza Marklund

interrupted by a shout and then a loud commotion in the lobby. It sounded like something breaking, something large and solid.
    Forsberg stood up.
    “What the hell is that?”
    A furious male voice could be heard through the office walls. The words weren’t clear, but they didn’t need to be.
    “Wait here,” Dessie said and ran toward the door as fast as she could.

Chapter 33
    JACOB KANON WAS STANDING AND yelling inarticulately at the enclosed glass cubicle where Albert, the security guard, had taken cover. Dessie fumbled with the door and rushed out into the lobby.
    “You’re calling her right now!” the American detective was screaming. “You’re going to pick up the phone now and tell her I’m here, you fucking —”
    “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, grabbing him by the shoulder.
    Jacob Kanon spun around and stared at her. He fell silent in the middle of a word that sounded suspiciously like motherfucker, then breathed out.
    “Have you heard from the police today?” he asked “What are they saying? Tell me .”
    Dessie looked over her shoulder into the newsroom, then took a firm grip of the man’s arm and pulled him toward the outside door.
    “Your credibility is already pretty low,” she said, pushing him into the revolving door. “You won’t make it any better by standing here shouting at poor Albert. And whatever did you break? ”
    They emerged into the sunshine.
    “A wooden bench,” the American said sullenly. “It hit one of the radiators.”
    She gave him a skeptical look, then burst out laughing.
    “You’re crazy,” she said.

Chapter 34
    SHE FELT HIM LOOKING STRANGELY at her as they walked off in the direction of Fridhemsplan.
    They went into an empty taxi drivers’ café a few hundred meters from the newspaper office.
    “I’m serious,” the policeman said as they sat down in a corner with their coffee. “The Swedish police are way too rigid in their thinking. They’ll never catch the killers if they carry on like this. They’re acting like amateurs. Trust me on this.”
    Dessie stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking noisily against the china.
    If anyone was being rigid, it was she. Her behavior in the newsroom just now wasn’t exactly smart. She had to stop being so blunt, and finally, dumb.
    “I can’t help you,” she said. “I’m not even working on the killings for the paper. There are other people assigned to the story.”
    Jacob Kanon leaned across the table, his eyes sparkling brilliantly again.
    “Can’t you try to get back on the story?”
    Dessie looked at the American. His interest in the case was beyond dispute. Unlike her he was dedicated, he had a burning passion, he had a purpose to what he was doing.
    What did she have to lose by writing a few commonplace articles about murder? Doing some normal interviews like any good reporter.
    “Maybe I could interview you about Kimmy,” she said thoughtfully.
    That wasn’t actually a bad idea. A father in mourning speaking out, his grief for a much-loved daughter…
    She reached for her pen and notepad.
    “Tell me what Kimmy was like as a girl. How you reacted when you found out she was —”
    Jacob Kanon smashed his fist on the table so hard the cups jumped. Dessie dropped her pen with a start.
    The waitress behind the counter glanced quickly in their direction, then looked away again. Whatever this was, she didn’t need any of it.
    “I’m not giving any interviews about Kimmy,” Jacob said.
    Dessie sat in silence for several moments before she spoke.
    “I just meant as a way of —”
    “I’m a homicide detective,” he interrupted. “I talk to people, I attempt to solve crimes, but I don’t do interviews. Not about anything.”
    “I don’t want to ask you in your capacity as a policeman, but as a father.”
    He looked at her with his strange, piercing eyes. Then he grabbed his sports bag. He pulled out a bundle of papers and slapped a photocopy on the table between them.
    “This is