The Joona Linna Thrillers 3-Book Bundle

  As the car plows through the water, they are probably both already unconscious. The current drags them through the window, softly and quietly, and pulls them along the rocky bottom of the river.

  Joona picks up his cell phone to call Carlos Eliasson.

  The diver from the rescue service is already standing in his blue wet suit on the dock at the power station. He’s checking the fasteners on his regulator.

  “Carlos here,” Joona hears his boss say.

  “Susanne Öst wants to end the preliminary investigation,” Joona says. “But I’m not done.”

  “It’s always sad, but the killer is most likely dead, and so, unfortunately, we can’t justify the expense of continuing the investigation.”

  “We haven’t found any bodies.”

  Joona hears Carlos mutter something, then break into a coughing fit. He waits while Carlos takes a drink of water.

  “It can take weeks for bodies to appear,” Carlos whispers, and clears his throat again.

  “But I’m not done,” Joona says.

  “Now you’re being stubborn.”

  “I have to—”

  “This isn’t even your case,” Carlos interrupts.

  Joona is looking at a black log, which is speeding with the current. It hits the edge of the dam with a dull thud.

  “Yes, it is,” Joona says.

  “Joona.” Carlos sighs.

  “The technical evidence points to Vicky, but there are no witnesses and she hasn’t been accused.”

  “You can’t accuse the dead,” Carlos says.

  Joona thinks about the girl, the lack of motive, the fact that she’d slept in her bed after those violent murders. He thinks about the fact The Needle mentioned: that Elisabet was killed with a hammer but Miranda with a rock.

  “Just give me a week, Carlos,” Joona says. “I need a few answers before I come back.”

  Carlos mumbles something.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Joona says.

  “This is not formal,” Carlos repeats more loudly. “But as long as the internal investigation is under way, you can do what you want.”

  “What are my resources?”

  “What resources? You’re still just an observer and—”

  “I’ve hired a diver.”

  “A diver?” Carlos says agitatedly. “Do you know how much a diver costs? You can’t just—”

  “And a dog.”

  Joona hears the sound of a motor, turns, and watches a small gray car with a rattling engine park beside his. It’s a Messerschmitt Kabinenroller from the early sixties, with two wheels in the front and one in back. Joona rings off as the car door flies open and Gunnarsson, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, climbs out.

  “I’m the one who decides whether or not to call in a diver!” roars Gunnarsson. He’s sprinting toward Joona. “You’re not supposed to have anything to do with this case!”

  “I’m just observing,” Joona says calmly, and heads for the dock.

  66

  The diver is a man in his fifties. He’s starting to put on a bit of weight, but he has wide shoulders and strong upper arms.

  “The name’s Hasse Boman,” he says.

  “We can’t close the sluice gates as there’s a flood risk,” Joona says.

  “I understand the situation,” Hasse says, while he contemplates the unsettled, swirling water.

  “There’s going to be a strong current,” Joona says.

  “I know,” the diver says, and looks at Joona calmly.

  “Can you handle it?” Joona asks.

  “I was in mine removal in the KA1 unit … Can’t be worse than that,” Hasse says, and there’s a hint of a smile.

  “Do you have nitrox in your cylinders?” asks Joona.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “What the hell is that?” Gunnarsson asks, catching up to them.

  “It’s air with extra oxygen,” Hasse says as he struggles into his vest.

  “How long can you be down there?”

  “Maybe two hours. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m grateful you could come,” Joona says.

  The diver shrugs. “My boy is at soccer camp in Denmark. I promised to go with him, but you know how it is. It’s just me and the boy, and I need the extra money.”

  He shakes his head. Then he points at his diving mask and its digital camera. A cable runs from it along the lifeline and into a laptop.

  “I always record my dives. You’ll see everything I’m seeing. We can even talk while I’m underwater.”

  Another log thuds into the dam.

  “Why are there logs in the water?” asks Joona.

  Hasse is putting on his cylinders. “Who knows? Somebody probably dumped timber destroyed by bark beetles.”

  A woman is heading toward them. Her face is worn and she’s wearing blue jeans, rubber boots, and an open down-filled coat. She is leaving the parking lot with a russet-colored German shepherd on a leash.

  “And here’s a goddamn bloodhound,” Gunnarsson says, and shudders.

  The dog handler, Sara Bengtsson, unclips the leash and says something in a low voice. The dog immediately sits down. She doesn’t look at it as she walks toward them. She knows it will do what she says.

  “Good that you could come,” Joona says as he shakes her hand.

  Sara Bengtsson briefly glances at him as she pulls her hand back. Then she feels for something in one of her pockets.

  “I’m in charge here,” says Gunnarsson. “And I’m not fond of dogs—just so you know.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” Sara says. She looks back at the dog.

  “What’s its name?” Joona asks.

  “Jackie.” Sara smiles.

  “We’re going to send a diver down in a minute,” Joona says. “But it would be helpful if Jackie could mark the spot. Do you think she can?”

  “Oh, yes,” Sara says, and kicks a stone into the water.

  “There’s a lot of water and a strong current,” Gunnarsson warns.

  “Last spring, she found a body at a depth of a hundred and eighty feet,” Sara replies, and turns red.

  “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for then?” asks Gunnarsson, lighting a cigarette.

  Sara Bengtsson ignores him. She looks over the black, glittering water. She stuffs her hands into her pockets before she says, in a soft voice, “Jackie.”

  The dog leaves her spot immediately and walks up to her. Sara squats down and pats the dog on her neck and behind her ears. She talks encouragingly to the dog and tells her what they are looking for and then they start walking along the edge of the dam.

  The dog is trained to recognize the smells of blood and the lungs of the recently dead. The search dogs are trained by rewarding correct identifications, but Sara knows that Jackie gets nervous and needs to be comforted afterward.

  They walk past the place where Dante’s car seat was found. Sara steers the dog’s nose toward the water.

  “I don’t believe in this crap.” Gunnarsson smiles. He throws the butt of his cigarette into the water.

  Sara stops and gestures for them to halt as Jackie catches a scent. The dog stretches her nose out over the edge of the dam.

  “What did you find?” asks Sara.

  The dog sniffs, moves to the side, and then loses the scent and keeps walking.

  “A bunch of hocus-pocus,” the diver mutters, and adjusts his vest.

  Joona watches the dog trainer and her unusual red German shepherd. They are moving slowly along the railing over the open sluice gates where the current is strongest. Hair has loosened from Sara’s ponytail and is blowing in her face. The dog stops and whines, leans out, licks her nose, becomes agitated, and walks in a tight circle.

  “Is there someone down there?” asks Sara quietly as she looks into the black water.

  The dog does not want to stay there. She walks farther, to the electricity box, and sniffs there, then returns to the first spot and whines again.

  “What is it?”
Joona asks.

  “I honestly don’t know,” the dog handler says. “She hasn’t marked a corpse, but she’s acting as if she’s found something.”

  The dog barks and the woman squats next to her.

  “What is it, Jackie?” she asks tenderly. “What is so strange?”

  The dog wags her tail as Sara hugs her and tells her that she’s a good girl. Jackie whimpers again and then lies down, scratches behind her ear, and licks her nose.

  “What are you doing, you little rascal?” Sara asks with a surprised smile.

  67

  There’s a vibration at the dam. Watertight body bags are folded neatly on top of a plastic tub with attached signal buoys to mark the position of any discoveries.

  “I’ll start by the power station and take the area in squares,” Hasse says.

  “No, let’s start where the dog reacted,” Joona says.

  “Are we going to let the ladies tell us what to do now?” Hasse complains.

  Deep below the turbulent surface of the water are the openings of the gates, with heavy grates to catch everything brought downstream by the river. The diver checks his air hose, connects the cable from the camera to the laptop, and then puts on his mask. Joona can see himself on the computer screen.

  “Wave to the camera,” Hasse says, and then he puts in his mouthpiece and slides into the water.

  “If the current is too strong, we’ll call it off,” Joona says.

  “Be careful,” says Gunnarsson.

  “I’m used to diving in heavy current,” Hasse says. “But if I don’t come up again, tell my boy that I should have gone with him instead.”

  “Let’s have a beer at Hotel Laxen when you’re through,” Gunnarsson says, and waves.

  Hasse Boman disappears beneath the surface, which bubbles, then grows calm again. Gunnarsson smiles and flicks his cigarette into the water. The only thing they can see on the computer screen is the rough surface of the concrete as it slips past the camera. They can hear Hasse’s deep breathing in the speaker. On the river, bubbles from his exhalation break the surface.

  “How far down are you now?” asks Joona.

  “Just thirty feet.”

  “How hard is the current?”

  “It’s like someone pulling at my legs.”

  Joona keeps watching the diver’s plunge on the computer screen. The concrete wall slides past. The diver’s breathing sounds heavier. Sometimes they catch glimpses of his hands against the wall. His blue gloves shine in the camera’s light.

  “There’s nothing down there,” Gunnarsson says, and begins to pace back and forth.

  “The dog sensed—”

  “But it didn’t mark the spot properly.” Gunnarsson raises his voice.

  “No, but she sensed something,” Joona replies stubbornly.

  He thinks how the bodies could have traveled with the water, tumbling over the riverbed, getting closer to the midstream current.

  “Fifty feet. The current’s pretty strong here,” the diver says.

  Gunnarsson is letting the lifeline out now. It’s moving swiftly over the metal railing and disappearing below the surface.

  “You’re going too fast,” Joona says. “Fill your vests.”

  The diver begins to fill his vests with air from his cylinders. Usually this is done only when it’s time to return to the surface, but the diver knows that Joona is right—he has to slow down because of all the flotsam in the water.

  “I’m fine,” he says after a moment.

  “If you can, I’d like it if you can take a look at the nearest grate,” Joona says.

  Hasse moves slowly and then is caught in the current, which has sped up, as if the sluice gates have been opened wider. Garbage, twigs, and leaves rush past his face and head straight down.

  Gunnarsson shifts the lifeline and cable as a log approaches and crashes into the dam.

  68

  The strong current is pulling Hasse Boman straight down. He’s going much too fast again. The water pounds against his ears. He knows he could break both legs if he collides with something. His heart races as he tries to fill his vest more, but the dump valve is giving him trouble. He tries to slow down using his hands. Algae loosens from the concrete walls and disappears with the current. He doesn’t tell the police above water that he’s getting frightened. The suction is more powerful than he’d believed possible, and everything beyond the camera light is completely black.

  “How deep are you now?” asks the inspector from Stockholm.

  He doesn’t reply because he doesn’t have time to look at the depth meter. He has to slow his descent. He’s using one hand to work the inflation valve and the other to keep himself upright. An old plastic bag dashes past. He’s plunging straight down. He tries to reach the regulator on his back, but he bangs his elbow against the concrete wall. He sways as he’s buffeted by the fierce current and feels the adrenaline coursing in his blood. He thinks in panic he must control his descent.

  “Eighty-five feet,” he finally pants.

  “You’ll be at the grate soon,” the inspector says.

  As it’s sucked down the concrete wall, the water makes his legs shake uncontrollably.

  Hasse is still falling fast and realizes that he’s at risk of being speared by sharp branches or broken timber. He knows he’ll have to drop some of his weights in order to stop, but he has to keep some so he has a chance of returning to the surface.

  The bubbles from his exhalation now head straight down like a string of pearls. The suction increases and a new current of much colder water hits him in the back. It feels as if the entire river is trying to press him against the wall.

  He sees a large leaf-covered branch coming at him. The leaves shake as the branch tumbles along the concrete wall. He tries to move away, but the branch is caught in his lifeline and hits him—then it breaks free and disappears down into the darkness.

  “What happened?” asks the inspector.

  “There’s a lot of garbage.”

  The diver manages to release some lead weights from his vest and is able to break his violent fall. He hangs, shaking, next to the concrete wall. The view in his circle of light is clouded by sand and soil caught in the streaming water.

  He stops. His feet have reached the upper edge of the grate, where there’s a lip of concrete. Vast amounts of branches, tree trunks, leaves, and garbage have collected in front of the intake grate. The suction is so strong that every movement feels impossible.

  “I’m in place now,” he says, “but it’s hard to see anything. There’s a ton of shit down here.”

  Trying to keep his lifeline free from the branches, he climbs over a vibrating tree trunk. Something is moving slowly behind a misshapen spruce log.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I see something.”

  69

  Bubbles stream in front of the diver’s face while he reaches to brush away a tight mass of pine needles clinging to the grate. He’s standing on the lip above it, holding on tightly with one hand. Suddenly there’s an eye staring straight at him—and teeth, large teeth. In a huge body. Right in front of him, or so it seems. Closeness is an optical illusion of being underwater.

  “Moose,” he reports, and backs away.

  The enormous animal lies directly across the grate, but the throat is stuck between a tree branch and a broken oar.

  “That’s what the dog reacted to,” Gunnarsson says.

  “Shall I come up?” Hasse asks.

  “Keep looking a little longer,” Joona replies.

  “Farther down or more to the side?”

  “What’s that right in front of you?” asks Joona.

  “It looks like cloth.”

  “Can you check it out?”

  Hasse can feel the lactic acid in his arms and legs. He looks slowly at the mass of debris that has collected at the grate. He tries to peer beyond the black spruce logs and between the branches. Everything is shaking. He thinks he’ll buy a new PlayStation from th
e earnings from this dive. He’ll give it to his son as a surprise when he returns from camp.

  “It’s just cardboard. From a box.”

  Hasse tries to move the cardboard box aside but only rips it in half. The loose piece is caught by the current and sucked up to the grate.

  “My strength is starting to give out. I’m coming up,” he says.

  “What is that white thing?” asks Joona.

  “Where?”

  “In the direction you’re looking right now,” Joona says. “There was something among the leaves, down at the grate, just a bit farther down.”

  “Maybe a plastic bag?” suggests the diver.

  “I don’t think so,” says Joona.

  “Come on up now,” Gunnarsson says. “We’ve found the moose, that’s what the bitch was reacting to.”

  “A search-and-rescue dog can react to any dead thing, but not like she did,” Joona says. “I think she was reacting to more than just the moose.”

  Hasse Boman climbs down just a bit farther and pulls away leaves and intertwined twigs. His muscles are shaking from the attempt. The strong current keeps pushing him forward. He has to fight it with one arm. His lifeline is vibrating.

  “I don’t see anything,” he says, panting.

  “Break it off,” says Gunnarsson.

  “Shall I break it off?” asks Hasse.

  “If you must,” says Joona.

  “Not everyone is like you,” Gunnarsson hisses at Joona.

  “What do you want me to do? Right now?” asks the diver.

  “Go to the side,” Joona says.

  A branch hits Hasse Boman on the neck but he keeps searching. He pulls away the reeds and bulrushes covering the lower corner of the grate. New waste keeps accumulating. He digs more quickly and then he sees it: a shiny white shoulder purse.

  “Wait! Don’t touch it!” Joona says. “Go closer and shine your light on it.”

  “Can you see it now?”

  “Yes. It could be Vicky’s. Be careful how you bag it.”

  70

  The river moves inexorably toward the dam, bearing another large log. A branch is sticking up above the surface of the water. Gunnarsson can’t shift the lifeline in time and there’s a dull thud and some splashing. The digital connection to Hasse is lost.