“Take a break,” Joona says.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Just come with me and don’t touch that cell phone.”
They scramble ashore and Joona leads Erixson far away from the boat, as quickly as he can, before they stop. He feels a heat in his face while a kind of calmness spreads through his body-a weight in his legs and calves.
Quietly he says, “I believe there’s a bomb on board.”
Erixson plumps down on the edge of a cement piling. Sweat pours from his forehead.
“What are you talking about?”
“This is not normal, this murder,” Joona says. “There’s a risk that-”
“Who said anything about murder?”
“Just wait and listen to me,” Joona says insistently. “Penelope Fernandez was drowned in that washtub on deck.”
“Drowned? What the hell?”
“She was drowned in seawater in that washtub and then she was put on the bed,” Joona says. “And I believe the next step was to sink the boat.”
“But-”
“Because then the seawater in her lungs would be natural if she was found in a sunken boat.”
“But the boat didn’t sink,” Erixson protests.
“That’s what made me think. Logically there is an explosive on board the boat, which for some reason or another did not go off.”
“It’s probably in the fuel tank then, or the gas cylinders for the galley,” Erixson says slowly. “Let’s clear the area and call in the bomb squad.”
13
At seven that evening, five sour-faced men meet in Hall 13 at the department of forensic medicine at the Karolinska Institute. Detective Inspector Joona Linna intends to open a criminal investigation into the death of the woman found in a drifting pleasure craft in Stockholm’s archipelago. Although it’s a Saturday, he’s called his immediate superior Petter Naslund and Chief Prosecutor Jens Svanehjalm for a reconstruction. He plans to convince them that this is truly a murder investigation.
One of the lighting fixtures in the ceiling is blinking on and off and the cold light bounces off the walls of shining white tiles.
“I have to change the starter,” The Needle says softly.
“You sure do,” Frippe says.
Petter Naslund mutters something inaudible from where he’s standing, pressed against the wall. The strong angles of his wide face seem to move with the flickering light. Next to him, Jens Svanehjalm is waiting. His boyish face reveals his irritation. He appears to be weighing the risk of placing his leather briefcase on the floor or leaning against the wall in his well-tailored suit.
The strong stench of disinfectant permeates the room. Strong lamps with directable beams are mounted to the ceiling above a bench made from stainless steel, which has two faucets and a deep sink. The floor is covered with a light gray plastic mat. A zinc tub just like the one on the boat sits in the middle of the bench and is already half filled with water, but again and again, Joona Linna carries more water to it from the faucet on the wall.
“It’s not a criminal offense to be found drowned on a boat,” Svanehjalm says sarcastically.
“Exactly,” says Petter.
“This could just be an unreported drowning incident,” Svanehjalm continues.
“The seawater in her lungs is the same the boat was in,” says The Needle. “But there’s no water on her clothes or on the rest of her body.”
“That is odd,” Svanehjalm agrees.
“There must be a rational explanation,” Petter says with a wry smile.
Joona empties a last bucket of water into the tub, sets the bucket down, looks up at the other four men, and thanks them for taking the time to come.
“I know it’s the weekend and everyone wants to be home,” he begins. “Yet, I believe I’ve noticed something important.”
“Of course, we always come when you tell us that,” Svanehjalm says as he finally decides to put his leather briefcase on the floor between his feet.
“The suspect gets on the boat,” Joona begins. “He goes down the stairs to the forecabin and sees Penelope sleeping. He returns to the afterdeck and begins to fill the tub using a bucket with a long rope attached.”
“Five or six buckets at least,” says Petter.
“And only when the tub is filled does he wake Penelope. He leads her up the stairs and across the deck and then he drowns her in the tub.”
“Why? And who would do something like that?” asks Svanehjalm.
“I don’t know yet. Perhaps it was to torture her with fake drowning, waterboarding-”
“Revenge? Jealousy?”
Joona cocks his head and says thoughtfully, “This person doesn’t feel like your average killer. Perhaps the suspect wanted information from her or to force her to tell or confess to something until he finally held her under enough that she could no longer resist the urge to draw a breath.”
“What does the chief pathologist say?” asks Svanehjalm.
The Needle shakes his head.
“If she’d been drowned,” he says, “I would have found signs of force on her body, bruises and the like-”
“Can we all wait with the objections for a moment?” Joona says. “First I would like to show you how it happened. As I see it. How the events play out in my head. And then, once I’m finished, I would like us all to go and look at the body to prove my theory.”
“Why can’t you do things like everyone else? Just tell us,” demands Petter.
The chief prosecutor warns, “I have to be home soon.”
Joona looks at him with an ice-cold glint in his eyes-and a trace of a smile.
“Penelope Fernandez,” he begins. “At first she was sitting on deck and smoking some pot. It was a warm day and she became tired and decided to take a nap. She goes to bed and falls asleep still wearing her denim jacket.”
He gestures to Frippe, The Needle’s young assistant who is waiting in the open door.
“Frippe here will help.”
Frippe steps into the room with a big smile. His dyed black hair hangs in locks down his back. His worn leather pants are full of rivets, and he is carefully buttoning his jacket over his black T-shirt with its picture of the hard-rock group Europe.
“Watch me,” Joona says softly. Behind Frippe’s back he quickly grips both sleeves of Frippe’s jacket in one hand while with the other he grabs his long hair.
“Now I have complete control,” Joona says grimly. “And I guarantee there won’t be a single bruise on him.”
Joona levers the young man’s arms higher behind his back. Frippe moans and leans forward.
“Take it easy!” he laughs.
“You’re much larger than the girl, of course,” says Joona. “Still, I believe I can dunk your head into the tub.”
“Don’t hurt him,” says The Needle.
“I’ll only ruin his hairstyle,” says Joona.
“Not a chance,” grunts Frippe.
