Theres no trace of violence on her, The Needle almost whispers. I dont understand it at all.
11
The glistening white motorboat is docked at the Coast Guard harbor on Dalaro Island, tied up between two police boats.
Joona Linna drives through the tall steel gates leading to the harbor area, then carefully along the gravel road, past a small garbage truck and a lifting frame with a rusty winch. He parks, gets out of the car, and walks closer, to get a good look at the boat.
A boat has been found adrift and abandoned, Joona thinks. On the bunk in the forecabin sits a girl who drowned. The boat is not filled with water, but the girls lungs are. Brackish salt water.
From a distance, Joona can see the bow is heavily damaged, with deep scratches running along the side from a major collision. The paint is scraped off, and fiberglass dangles in thin shreds.
He calls the Coast Guard.
Lance, a perky voice replies.
Am I speaking with Lennart Johansson? Joona asks.
Thats me.
Im Joona Linna from the National Criminal Investigation Department.
Theres silence on the other end. Joona can hear the sounds of waves lapping.
That pleasure boat you found, Joona says. Im wondering if it was taking on water.
Why do you ask?
The bow is damaged.
Joona begins to walk again, heading toward the boat as he listens to Lennart say, dismissively, Dear Lord, I wish I had a crown for every drunk whos trashed a-
I need a look at it, Joona says.
Let me brief you on what usually goes down, Lennart Johansson says. A group of drunken teenagers from who knows, maybe Sodertalje steal a boat, pick up a few chicks, drive around listening to music and partying, and then they ram into something. Theres a big bang as they crash and the girl lands in the water. The guys turn the boat around to find her, pull her on board, and when they realize shes dead, they panic and take off. He falls silent and waits for a reaction.
Not a bad theory.
Okay, Johansson says happily. If you agree, you dont have to make the trip out here to Dalaro Island.
Too late, Joona says, and heads straight to the Coast Guard boat.
A Combat Boat 90 E is one of the two boats next to the pleasure boat. A man, about twenty-five, with a bare, tanned chest stands on deck, a phone to his ear.
Suit yourself, he says in English. He switches back to Swedish. You have to call ahead for any sightseeing.
Im here now. And I believe Im looking right at you, if youre the one standing on one of the Coast Guards shallow-draught-
Do I look like a surfer?
The grinning young man looks up and scratches his chest.
Pretty much, Joona answers.
They each put their phones away and walk toward the other. Lennart Johansson buttons up a short-sleeved uniform shirt as he walks down the gangplank.
Joona gestures hang loose. Johanssons white teeth shine in a big smile.
I go surfing any time theres more than a ripple. Thats why they call me Lance.
I get it, Joona says drily.
The two walk over to the boat and stop on the dock by the gangway.
Its a Storebro 36 Royal Cruiser, Lance says. A good boat, but obviously its come down a bit. Registered to Bjorn Almskog.
Have you contacted him?
No time yet.
They take a closer look at the damage to the boats bow. It looks recent, since theres no algae mixed with the fiberglass shreds.
Ive called a technician-hell be here soon.
Shes gotten a proper kiss, Lance says.
Whos been on board since it was found?
Nobody, Lance answers quickly.
Joona smiles and waits patiently.
Well, I have, of course. And Sonny, my colleague. And the ambulance guys who removed the body. Our own forensic technician, though he used protective mats and clothing.
Is that everyone?
Plus the guy who found the boat.
Joona doesnt answer but looks down into the shimmering water and thinks of the girl lying on the table in The Needles autopsy room.
Is your technician completely finished? he finally asks.
Hes done with the floor and hes filmed the scene where she was found.
Im going on board.
Hes done with the floor and hes filmed the scene where she was found.
Im going on board.
A narrow, well-used gangplank stretches between the dock and the boat. Joona climbs on board and then stands for a while on the rear deck. He slowly looks around, letting his eyes focus on each object one by one. This scene will never be the same again, fresh and new. Each detail he registers might be one that makes a crucial difference. Shoes, an overturned lounge chair, a bath towel, a paperback that has yellowed in the sun, a knife with a red plastic handle, a bucket with a rope, beer cans, a bag of charcoal for grilling, a tub with a wet suit, bottles of sunscreen and lotion.
He looks in through the large window and makes out the salon with the steering console and the decor of lacquered wood. From a certain angle, fingerprints shine on the glass doors when the sunlight passes over them: finger marks from hands that have pushed the door open and pushed the door shut or held on when the boat was in motion.
Joona steps into the little salon. The afternoon sun glistens on the varnish and chrome. Theres a cowboy hat and sunglasses on the sofa, which is covered with marine-blue pillows.