After only a minute or so they were over Sandhamn. The pilot rounded the elaborate eighteenth-century customhouse, and the helicopter landing stage beside it quickly came into view. With a precise maneuver he put the helicopter down in the center of the marked rectangle, just a few yards away from the wharf.
“I can wait half an hour or so, then I need to leave,” said the pilot, looking at Thomas.
Thomas looked at his watch and thought for a moment. “We shouldn’t be finished that quickly. You might as well go. We’ll get back somehow.” He turned to the two technicians, who had lifted their black bags out onto the helipad. “OK, let’s go. We’re heading for the west beach, north of Koberget. The maritime police are already there. No vehicles are allowed on the island, so we’ve got a nice brisk walk ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 4
As Nora cycled through the harbor area with Simon on the luggage rack, she noticed a police helicopter on the landing pad. On the far side of Ångbåtsbryggan on Nacka Strand, a large police launch had moored in the spot reserved for the doctor’s boat. A policeman wearing the distinctive uniform of the maritime police was standing on the deck. It was unusual to see so many police officers this early in the morning.
Something must have happened.
Nora cycled past the row of small shops, where you could buy your fill of sailing clothes, chandlery, and sail-making items, and carried on past the back of the clubhouse. She turned into the harbor and cycled along the narrow track that ran parallel with the minigolf course up to the enclosed pool area. After parking the bike behind the ice cream kiosk, she lifted Simon and set him down. She held on to him with one hand and carried the bag with his swimming gear in the other, ducked underneath the sign that said “Closed,” and went into the swimming school.
In one corner, some of the parents were talking as the children ran around waiting for the swimming lesson to begin. Nora put the bag down on a lounge chair and went over to the group.
“Has something happened?”
“Didn’t you see the police helicopter?” said one of the mothers. “They’ve found a dead body—it washed ashore on the west beach.”
Nora gasped. “A dead body?”
“Yes, tangled in a fishing net, can you imagine? Apparently it was just below the Åkermarks’ house.” She pointed over toward one of the mothers, whose son attended swimming lessons at the same time as Simon. “They’ve sealed off the entire beach down there. Lotta barely got through on her way here with Oscar.”
“Was it an accident?” Nora asked.
“No idea. The police wouldn’t say much when she asked them. But it sounds gruesome, doesn’t it?”
“Is it somebody from the island? Could it have been somebody who was out fishing and just fell in?” Nora looked at the rest of the group.
One of the fathers spoke. “I don’t think anybody knows. I don’t suppose it was very easy to see. But Lotta was pretty shaken up when she got here.”
Nora sat down on a bench by the edge of the pool. In the water, Simon was hanging on to an orange float as he struggled to kick his legs properly. She tried to shake off the horrible feeling without success.
Despite herself, she could see the image of a person gasping for air as he became more and more entangled in a net that was slowly dragging him down.
The western part of the island was unnaturally quiet. No morning breeze disturbed the surface of the water. Even the gulls had given up their usual screaming.
Down on the beach, the maritime police had already sealed off the area where the body lay. A few curious onlookers were standing behind the police tape in a silent huddle, watching.
Thomas greeted his colleagues and walked over to the bundle on the ground.
It wasn’t a pretty sight.
The torn fishing net had been shifted slightly to one side, revealing the remains of something that appeared to be the body of a man. It was still wearing the remains of a sweater and tattered pants. It looked as if something had been gnawing at one ear; only flakes of skin remained.
A looped rope was wrapped around the body, just under the arms, looking somewhat worse for wear. It appeared to be an ordinary rope, the kind used to tie up small boats. Strands of green seaweed that had dried in the sun were still hanging from the rope.
The stench in the hot sunshine was almost unbearable, and Thomas turned away as it wafted up.
Some things a person never got used to.
He quelled the impulse to vomit and walked around the body to look at it from the other side. It was difficult to draw any conclusions about the man’s appearance. Clumps of dark hair clung to the skull, but it wasn’t really possible to make out what he had looked like. The face was swollen, the skin suffused with water. The body was blue and spongy; it looked as if it were made of wet clay.
As far as Thomas could judge, the man had been medium height, somewhere between five six and five nine. It didn’t look as if he’d been married; the ring finger on his left hand was still there, and there was nothing on it. Then again, a ring could have easily slipped off in the water.
The forensic technicians had opened their cases and were examining the scene. A middle-aged man was sitting on a rock a little way off. He was leaning back against a tree trunk, his eyes closed. Beside him stood a dachshund, snuffling anxiously. It was the dog owner who had made the gruesome discovery earlier and called the police.
The poor guy must have been waiting there for several hours, thought Thomas, as he went over to introduce himself.
“Did you find the body?”
The man nodded.
“I’ll need to talk to you. I’m just going to sort something out here, then we can have a chat. Can you stay a little while? I know you’ve been here for quite some time, and I really appreciate that you’ve waited for us.”
The man nodded again. He looked as if he didn’t feel well. Beneath the suntan he was pale, his face almost green. There was an unpleasant smell coming from his shoes.
His morning hadn’t gotten off to a particularly good start, Thomas thought before he went back to have a few words with the technicians.
“Thomas, have you come to visit?” Nora smiled when she saw Thomas, one of her oldest and closest friends, outside Westerberg’s grocery store on her way back from swimming. Her bike skidded to a halt on the gravel, and she lifted Simon.
“Look who’s here, Simon. Give your godfather a big hug.”
She had to stretch up so Simon could reach. Although she was above average height, it was nothing compared with Thomas at six foot four. On top of that he was well built, his shoulders broad from years of handball training. He looked just like the archetypal policeman, big and reassuring, with blond hair and blue eyes.
“They ought to use you on recruitment posters for the training academy,” she used to tease him.
Thomas’s parents lived on the neighboring island of Harö, and ever since they had attended the Friends of Sandhamn sailing camp together where they were nine, Nora and Thomas had been the best of friends.
Every summer they had picked up the threads from the previous year, and despite their parents’ conviction that there was romance in the air, they had remained just good friends, nothing more.