sides," Sejer said, "and get the vegetation in the shot. I'm afraid you'll have to go out in the water after that, because I need pictures from the front without moving her. When you've used up half the roll, we'll take off her jacket."
"Mountain lakes like this are usually bottomless," he said sceptically.
"You can swim, can't you?"
There was a pause.
"There's a rowboat over there. We can use that."
"A dinghy? It looks rotten."
"We'll soon know," Sejer said, brusquely.
While the photographer was working, the others stood still and waited. One of the technicians was already working further up the shore, searching through the area, which proved to be quite free of litter. This was an idyllic spot, and in such places there was usually bottle caps, used condoms, cigarette butts, and sweet wrappers. Here they found nothing.
"Unbelievable," he said. "Not so much as a burnt match."
"He probably cleaned up after himself," Sejer said.
"It looks like a suicide, don't you think?"
"She's stark naked," he replied.
"Yes, but she must have done that herself. Those clothes were not pulled off by force, that's one thing for certain."
"They're dirty."
"Maybe that's why she took them off," he smiled. "Besides, she threw up. Must have eaten something she couldn't digest."
Sejer bit back a reply and looked at her. He could understand how the technician had come to that conclusion. It really did look as if she had lain down herself; her clothes were piled carefully next to her, not thrown about. They were muddy but seemed undamaged. Only the jacket that covered her torso was dry and clean. He stared at the mud and dirt and caught sight of something that looked like a shoe print. "Look at that," he said to the technician.
The man squatted down in his coveralls and measured all the prints several times.
"This is hopeless. They're filled with water."
"Can't you use any of them?"
"Probably not."
They squinted into the water-filled ovals.
"Take pictures anyway. I think they look small. Maybe a person with small feet."
"Roughly 27 centimetres. Not a big foot. Could be hers." The photographer took several shots of the footprints, then got into the old rowboat and sloshed around. They had found no oars, so he had to keep paddling into position with his hands. Every time he moved, the boat tilted alarmingly.
"It's leaking!" he shouted anxiously.
"Relax, we've got a whole rescue team here!" Sejer said.
When the photographer was done, he had taken more than 50 photos. Sejer went down to the water, took off his shoes and socks and placed them on a rock, rolled up his trousers and waded out. He stood a metre from her head. She had a pendant around her neck. He fished it out carefully with a pen he took from his inside pocket. "A medallion," he said in a low voice. "Probably silver. There's something on it. An H and an M. Get a bag ready."
He bent over and loosened the chain, then he removed the jacket.
"The back of her neck is red," he said. "Unusually pale skin all over, but extremely red on the back of her neck. An ugly blotch, as big as a hand."
Snorrason, the medical examiner, waded out in his gumboots and inspected in turn the eyeballs, the teeth, the nails. Noticed the flawless skin and the light red marks – there were several of them – scattered seemingly at random across her neck and chest. He noticed every detail: the long legs, the lack of birthmarks, which was uncommon, and found nothing more than a few small spots on her right shoulder. He cautiously touched the foam above her mouth with a wooden spatula. It seemed solid and dense, almost like a mousse.
Sejer nodded to her mouth. "What's that?"
"Right off I would think it's a fluid from the lungs, containing protein."
"Which means?"
"Drowning. But it could mean other things."
He scraped away some of the foam, and soon new foam began oozing out.
"The lungs are collapsed," he said.
Sejer pressed his lips tight as he watched. The photographer took more pictures of her, now without the jacket.
"Time to break the seal," Snorrason said, rolling her carefully on to her stomach. "A slight incipient rigor mortis, especially in the neck. A big, well-built woman in healthy condition. Broad shoulders. Good musculature in upper arms and thighs and calves. Probably played sports."
"Do you see any sign of violence?" Sejer asked.
Snorrason inspected her back and the backs of her legs. "Apart from the reddening of the neck, no. Someone may have grabbed her hard by the back of