Joona stops at the edge of the pool, breathing hard, and rests his arms on the plastic grille covering the overspill channel. His breathing soon calms down, but the heaviness of the lactic acid in his muscles is still increasing. A group of police officers in gym clothes come into the hall. They’re carrying two life-saving dummies, one representing a child, the other someone badly overweight.
Dying isn’t such a nightmare, the tall woman had said with a smile.
Joona climbs out of the pool with an odd feeling of unease. He doesn’t know what it is, but the case of Carl Palmcrona’s death won’t leave him alone. For some reason he keeps seeing the bright, empty room, hearing the gentle violin music along with the dull buzzing of the flies.
Joona knows they’re dealing with a suicide, and tries to tell himself that it’s no concern of the National Crime Unit. But he still feels like running back to the scene of the discovery again and examining it more thoroughly, searching every room, just to see if he missed anything.
During his conversation with the housekeeper he had imagined that she was confused, that shock had settled around her like dense fog, making her answers opaque and incoherent. But now he tries to look at it the other way round. Perhaps she wasn’t at all shocked or confused, and had answered his questions as accurately as she could. In which case the housekeeper, Edith Schwartz, was claiming that Carl Palmcrona had help with the noose, and there were helping hands, helpful people. In which case she was saying that his death wasn’t a self-imposed act, and that he hadn’t been alone when he died.
There’s something that doesn’t make sense.
He knows he’s right, but he can’t identify what the feeling is.
Joona goes through the door to the men’s changing room, opens his locker, takes out his phone and calls senior pathologist Nils “The Needle” Åhlén.
‘I’m not finished,’ The Needle says when he answers.
‘It’s about Palmcrona. What are your first impressions, even if …?’
‘I’m not finished,’ The Needle repeats.
‘Even if you’re not finished,’ Joona says, finishing his sentence.
‘Call in on Monday.’
‘I’m coming now,’ Joona says.
‘At five o’clock I’m going to look at a sofa with my wife.’
‘I’ll be with you in twenty-five minutes,’ Joona says, and ends the call before The Needle can repeat that he isn’t finished.
As Joona showers and gets dressed, he hears the sound of children laughing and talking, and realises that a swimming lesson is about to start.
He ponders the significance of the fact that the director general of the Inspectorate for Strategic Products has been found hanged. The person who, when it comes down to it, takes all the final decisions about Swedish arms manufacture and export, is dead.
What if I’m wrong, what if he was murdered after all? Joona asks himself. I need to talk to Pollock before I go and see The Needle, because he and Kofoed may have had a chance to look at the material from the crime scene investigation.
Joona strides along the corridor, runs down a flight of steps and calls his assistant, Anja Larsson, to find out if Nathan Pollock is still in Police Headquarters.
Joona’s thick hair is still soaking wet when he opens the door to Lecture Room 11 where Nathan Pollock is giving a lecture to a select group of men and women who are training to handle hostage situations and rescues.
On the wall behind Pollock is a computer projection of an anatomical drawing of the human body. Several different types of handgun are laid out on a table, from a small, silver Sig Sauer P238 to a matt-black assault rifle from Heckler & Koch with a 40mm grenade launcher attachment.
One of the young officers is standing in front of Pollock, who pulls a knife, holds it concealed against his body, then rushes forward and pretends to cut the officer’s throat. Then he turns to the group.
‘The disadvantages of that sort of attack are that the enemy may have time to cry out, that the movement of the body can’t be controlled, and it takes a while for them to bleed out because you’ve only opened one artery,’ Pollock explains.
He goes over to the young officer again and wraps his arm around his face, so that the crook of his arm is covering his mouth.
‘But if I do it this way instead, I can muffle any scream, manoeuvre his head and sever both arteries with a single cut,’ he says.
Pollock lets go of the young officer and notices that Joona Linna is standing just inside the door. He must have only just arrived, while he was demonstrating those two grips. The young police officer wipes his mouth and sits back down in his chair. Pollock smiles broadly and waves at Joona, beckoning him forward, but Joona shakes his head.
‘I’d like a few words, Nathan,’ he says quietly.
Some of the officers turn to look. Pollock walks over to him and they shake hands. Joona’s jacket is dark where his wet hair has touched it.
‘Tommy Kofoed secured shoeprints from Palmcrona’s home,’ Joona says. ‘I need to know if he found anything unexpected.’
‘I didn’t think there was any urgency?’ Nathan replies in a muted voice. ‘Obviously we photographed all the impressions, but we haven’t had time to analyse the results. I can’t give you any sort of overall picture right now …’
‘But you did see something,’ Joona says.
‘When I put the images into the computer … it could be a pattern, but it’s too early to …’
‘Just tell me – I have to go.’
‘It looks like there were prints from two different set of shoes moving in two circles around the body,’ Nathan says.
‘Come with me to see Nils Åhlén,’ Joona says.
‘Now?’
‘I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Damn, I can’t,’ Nathan replies, gesturing towards the room. ‘But I’ll have my phone on in case you need to ask anything.’
‘Thanks,’ Joona says, and turns to leave.
‘You … you don’t want to say hello to this lot?’ Nathan asks.
They’ve all turned round now and Joona gives them a brief wave.
‘So, this is Joona Linna, who I’ve told you about,’ Nathan Pollock says, raising his voice. ‘I’m trying to persuade him to come and give a lecture on close combat.’
The room falls silent as they all look at Joona.
‘Most of you probably know more about martial arts than I do,’ Joona says with a slight smile. ‘The only thing I’ve learned is … when it’s real, there are suddenly completely different rules. No art, just fighting.’
‘Pay attention to this,’ Pollock says keenly.
‘In reality you only survive if you have the ability to adapt to changing circumstances and turn them to your advantage,’ Joona goes on