the scene.”
“What?” Carlos asks.
“He said… well, I really have to see it myself.”
“Sounds interesting,” Tommy Kofoed says. “Can I come?”
“If you want,” Joona answers.
“I’ll come, too, then,” Pollock says swiftly.
Carlos tries to remind them about the meeting in progress but sees it is pointless as the three men get up and walk out into the cool hallway.
6
Twenty minutes later, Detective Inspector Joona Linna parks his black Volvo on Strandvagen and gets out to wait for his colleagues from the National Criminal Investigation Department. They pull up moments later in a silver-gray Lincoln Town Car and together they walk around the corner and enter the building at Grevgatan 2.
While they ride the ancient, rattling elevator to the top, Tommy Kofoed asks what information Joona’s already been given.
“The National Inspectorate of Strategic Products had put out a bulletin that Palmcrona was missing,” Joona says. “He has no family and none of his colleagues knew him socially, but when he didn’t show up for work, the police were asked to investigate. John Bengtsson went to Palmcrona’s apartment and found him hanging. But he’s not sure it’s a suicide.”
Nathan Pollock’s weather-beaten face frowns in concentration.
“Why does he suspect something’s wrong?”
The elevator stops and Joona slides the gate open. Bengtsson is waiting at the door of the apartment.
“This is Tommy Kofoed and Nathan Pollock from the CID,” Joona says.
They shake hands quietly.
“So the door was unlocked when I arrived,” John tells them. “I heard music and found Palmcrona hanging in one of the large rooms. Over the years, I’ve cut down a number of people, but this time… I mean… perhaps it is suicide, but given Palmcrona’s position in society, I thought I’d better check it all out.”
“You did the right thing to call,” Joona agrees.
“Checked out the body?” Tommy asks in his sullen fashion.
“I didn’t even enter the room,” John replies.
“Good,” Kofoed mumbles, and he begins to lay protective mats on the floor.
Minutes later, Joona and Nathan Pollock are able to walk into the hallway. John Bengtsson is waiting for them next to a blue sofa. He points toward the double doors that are ajar and reveal a well-lit room. Joona continues walking across the protective mats and pushes the doors wide open.
Warm sunshine pours into the room through high windows. Carl Palmcrona is hanging in the center of the spacious room. Flies creep over his white face and into his eye sockets and open mouth to lay their small, yellowish eggs. They buzz around the pool of urine as well as the sleek black briefcase on the floor. The narrow laundry line has cut into Palmcrona’s throat, forming a deep red furrow. Blood has flowed out and down his shirtfront.
“Executed,” Tommy Kofoed declares as he pulls on protective gloves.
Every trace of sullenness has vanished, and he smiles as he goes down on his knees to begin photographing the hanging body.
“We’ll probably find injuries to the cervical vertebra,” Pollock says pointing.
Joona glances up at the ceiling and back to the floor.
“Obviously it’s a statement,” Kofoed says triumphantly and keeps the flashing camera focused on the corpse. “I mean, the killer didn’t bother to hide the body but wants to say something instead.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Bengtsson exclaims just as eagerly. “The room is empty and there are no chairs or ladders to climb on.”
“So the question is, what does the killer want to say?” Tommy Kofoed says as he lowers the camera to peer at the body. “Hanging is connected to treason and betrayal. Think of Judas Iscariot who-”
“Just a second,” Joona says mildly.
They see him point at the floor.
“What is it?” asks Pollock.
“We’re looking at a suicide,” Joona replies.
“What a typical suicide!” Tommy Kofoed laughs. “He flaps his wings and flies-”
“The briefcase,” Joona says. “If he set it upright, he’d reach the noose.”
“But he couldn’t have reached the ceiling,” Pollock points out.
“He could have fastened the noose beforehand.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
Joona shrugs and says, “Keep in mind the music and the knots…”
“Let’s take a look at the briefcase,” Pollock says.
“Let me just secure the area first,” says Kofoed.
They watch Kofoed, his bent, short body, as he creeps forward and rolls out over the floor a sheet of black plastic film with a bottom layer of thin gelatin. Then he carefully presses on the film with a rubber roller.
“Can you get me a couple of bio-packs and a large container?” he requests as he points to his collection bag.
“Wellpapp?” asks Pollock.
“Yes, thanks,” Tommy says as he catches the packs that Pollock throws in a high arch to him.
He secures any biological traces on the floor and then waves Pollock into the room.
“You’ll find the marks of his shoes on the outer edge of the briefcase,” Joona says. “It has fallen over backward and the body has swung diagonally.”
Pollock says nothing, just walks over to the leather briefcase and gets on his knees beside it. His silver ponytail falls forward as he leans down to put the briefcase on its edge. Obvious light gray marks are clearly visible on the black leather.
“So it’s so, then,” Joona remarks quietly.
“Fucking awesome,” Tommy Kofoed says, and his whole tired face smiles up at Joona.
“Suicide,” Pollock mutters.
“Technically speaking, yes,” Joona says.
They stand looking at the body for a while.
“What do we really have here?” asks Kofoed. He’s still smiling. “Someone high up, with a job deciding who can export military equipment, who decides now to take his own life.”
“Not our department,” sighs Pollock.
Tommy Kofoed rolls off his gloves and gestures at the hanging man.
“Joona? What’s the deal with the knots and the music?” he asks.
“It’s a double sheet bend,” Joona says and points to the knots around the lamp hook. “I connect it to Palmcrona’s long naval career.”
“And the music?”
Joona stops and looks at him meditatively.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Well, I know it’s a sonata for violin. Early nineteenth century or-”
He is interrupted by the doorbell. The four of them glance at one another. Joona starts to walk back to the hallway and the rest follow but stop before they can be seen from the landing.
At the front door, Joona considers a quick view through the peephole but decides against it. He can feel air stream through the keyhole as he presses down the door handle. The heavy door swings open. The landing is dark. Joona’s hand goes for his pistol as he checks behind the open door. A tall woman is caught in a faint gap of light by
