The corpse’s cheek came into view. It was covered with a thick layer of dust and looked like a statue, smooth and unconcerned and very, very dead.

“Do you have any idea about the cause of death yet?”

“I’ll give you my opinion when we have gotten the body safely out and I can examine it properly. This place isn’t fit for living creatures!” He swore to himself and dug yet another piece of trash out of the claw.

Jeppe poked Anette on the shoulder and pointed toward the door. “Let’s get out of here!”

Once through the double doors they pulled off their masks and greedily breathed in the air. Anette felt her eyes stinging and was about to rub them when an employee in a boiler suit stopped her.

“You need to be disinfected. Come with me!”

He led them down a flight of stairs to a staff room where they could remove the protective gear, wash off perfunctorily using a little washbasin, and wipe with disinfectant. Getting out of the foul-smelling clothes helped, but the stench in their noses wasn’t as easy to get rid of.

“Unbelievable! How long were we in there? Two minutes, five? How the heck can we stink like this already?” Anette spat into the sink and promised herself she would spend a full hour in the shower if she made it home tonight. “Could you tell if it was Oscar?”

Jeppe sat down on a bench and spread hand sanitizer over his hands for the third time in a row. Her partner, the hopeless germophobe!

“I had really hoped that it wouldn’t end this way, that we would find him alive.” He responded without looking up, sounding deflated.

“Ditto.” Anette sighed and rubbed her eyes. “If it is him.…”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Jeppe said, standing up. “If it is Oscar, how did he end up in a garbage dump on Refshaleøen?”

“Exactly.” She spat once more and felt like she might never be really clean again. “And where the hell is the boat?”

A SMALL GROUP of burly men in rugged overalls sat clustered around Michael, the crane operator, as Jeppe and Anette entered the tech crew’s employee lounge. There was coffee on the table and a clear liquid in paper cups that Jeppe guessed to be some sort of alcohol that they probably weren’t allowed to drink at the plant. The crane operator spoke quietly to his colleagues, his face an agitated flush of red, before downing the last of whatever was in his paper cup. He took out a tissue and blew his nose noisily.

Jeppe, who had been about to offer him his hand, patted him on the shoulder instead.

“Jeppe Kørner. How are you doing?”

“Well, I guess I’m okay. But I have to admit that I’ve had better Monday mornings than this.”

His coworkers murmured their consent around the table.