The Fire Witness

14

Joona puts on his protective gear and walks up the steps into the big house. Inside the entrance, he can hear floodlight fans humming, and the air is already too warm. Dust motes float through the air.

He walks across the protective mats that have been placed on the tiled floor. A picture has fallen from the wall and the broken glass glitters in the bright light. There are bloody footprints in all directions, to and from the front door.

The home has retained some details from when it was a wealthy farmhouse. The colors of stenciled patterns on the walls are a bit faded, but fanciful vegetables and vines, painted by itinerant painters from Dalarna two hundred years ago, still meander along the walls and around the chimneys.

A technician, who introduces himself as Jimi Sjöberg, is aiming a green light beam at a black chair he’s sprayed with Hungarian Red.

“Any blood?” asks Joona.

“Not on this one,” answers Jimi, continuing to look for traces of blood.

“Found anything unusual?”

“The Head of Crime Scene Investigation in Stockholm told us not to move even a single piece of fly shit until Joona Linna gives us permission,” Jimi replies, smiling.

“And I’m very grateful.”

“So, the thing is, we haven’t really started yet,” Jimi says. “We’ve put down these damned mats and we’ve taken photos and filmed everything, and I’ve taken the liberty of swabbing a blood sample from the hallway so we could send it to the lab.”

“Good.”

“And Siri lifted prints in the hallway before they could be ruined.”

A second technician, Siri Karlsson, has just removed the brass handle from one of the doors. She puts it in a paper bag and comes over.

“This guy needs a look at the crime scene,” Jimi says.

“Not a pretty sight,” Siri says through the dust mask covering her mouth and nose. Her eyes look strained and tired.

“So I understand,” Joona says.

“You can take a look at the photos instead if you’d like,” Siri says.

“This is Joona Linna,” Jimi says.

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m here only as an observer,” Joona says.

Siri looks away and the mask can’t hide her flushed cheeks when she looks back at him. “Sorry. Everyone’s talking about what’s happening to you. And I… that is… I don’t care about the internal investigation. I think it’ll be great to work together.”

“I think so, too,” Joona replies.

He stands for a moment longer, listening to the hum of the floodlights. He’s searching for that mental stillness that will allow him to observe and not give in to the impulse to look away.