under enough that she could no longer resist the urge to draw a breath.”
“What does the chief pathologist say?” asks Svanehjälm.
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.
It’s a silent struggle. The Needle looks nervous and Svanehjälm appears troubled. Without too much effort, Joona forces Frippe’s head underwater and holds him there for a slight moment, then lets him go and steps back. Frippe gets up, staggering, and The Needle hurries to him with a towel.
“You could have just told us how it went,” The Needle says with irritation.
As Frippe towels off his hair, they troop together into the next room, into the strong smell of decay. One of the walls is covered with three rows of stainless-steel refrigerated boxes. The Needle opens box 16 and pulls out a drawer. The body of the young woman is lying on the narrow gurney. She’s naked and has no color. A brown network of arteries can be seen on the pale skin of her neck. Joona points at the thin, curved line over her breastbone.
“Take off your shirt,” Joona says to Frippe.
Frippe unbuttons his jacket and pulls off his T-shirt. On his chest they can see a light rose mark from the edge of the tub. It’s curved like a smiling face.
“I’ll be damned,” Petter says.
The Needle steps nearer to peer closely at the roots of the woman’s hair. He takes out a small pocket flashlight and aims it directly at the pale skin of her scalp.
“I don’t need a microscope to see how someone has held her head tight by using her hair.”
He turns off the flashlight and drops it back into his pocket.
“In other words…” Joona waits.
“In other words, you’re right, of course,” says The Needle, and claps his hands.
“Murder,” Svanehjälm pronounces, sighing.
“Impressive,” remarks Frippe as he catches some black hair dye that has run down his cheek.
“Thanks,” says Joona, but he sounds distracted.
The Needle looks at him.
“What now, Joona?” he asks. “What do you see?”
“It’s not her,” Joona says.
“What?”
Joona looks up at The Needle and then points to the body before them.
“This woman is not
“What does the chief pathologist say?” asks Svanehjälm.
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.
It’s a silent struggle. The Needle looks nervous and Svanehjälm appears troubled. Without too much effort, Joona forces Frippe’s head underwater and holds him there for a slight moment, then lets him go and steps back. Frippe gets up, staggering, and The Needle hurries to him with a towel.
“You could have just told us how it went,” The Needle says with irritation.
As Frippe towels off his hair, they troop together into the next room, into the strong smell of decay. One of the walls is covered with three rows of stainless-steel refrigerated boxes. The Needle opens box 16 and pulls out a drawer. The body of the young woman is lying on the narrow gurney. She’s naked and has no color. A brown network of arteries can be seen on the pale skin of her neck. Joona points at the thin, curved line over her breastbone.
“Take off your shirt,” Joona says to Frippe.
Frippe unbuttons his jacket and pulls off his T-shirt. On his chest they can see a light rose mark from the edge of the tub. It’s curved like a smiling face.
“I’ll be damned,” Petter says.
The Needle steps nearer to peer closely at the roots of the woman’s hair. He takes out a small pocket flashlight and aims it directly at the pale skin of her scalp.
“I don’t need a microscope to see how someone has held her head tight by using her hair.”
He turns off the flashlight and drops it back into his pocket.
“In other words…” Joona waits.
“In other words, you’re right, of course,” says The Needle, and claps his hands.
“Murder,” Svanehjälm pronounces, sighing.
“Impressive,” remarks Frippe as he catches some black hair dye that has run down his cheek.
“Thanks,” says Joona, but he sounds distracted.
The Needle looks at him.
“What now, Joona?” he asks. “What do you see?”
“It’s not her,” Joona says.
“What?”
Joona looks up at The Needle and then points to the body before them.
“This woman is not
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