‘Well, obviously that’s quite a coincidence,’ Kirsti admitted as she removed the memory stick from the computer. ‘But with only general ballistics evidence to go on, you won’t be able to prove Jere’s guilt. You’ll need something more concrete.’
‘Isn’t it proof enough that the boy and his rifle mysteriously disappear the very day his girlfriend is shot dead with an identical rifle? If you ask me, it is. I’m sure the prosecutor would agree, too,’ Esko puffed. ‘Now we just have to find the bastard.’
‘Do we even think Jere is still alive?’ Sari asked the group. ‘Perhaps he’s taken another life, and now he’s lying somewhere with a round of pellets in his head.’
‘I reckon he’s more likely cowering somewhere licking his mental wounds. He regrets what he’s done and now he’s shit scared,’ said Esko. ‘Still, dead or alive, we’ll soon find out. If he’s dead, someone will find him before long. If he’s alive, he’ll turn himself in sooner or later; his nerves will cave in. Mark my words.’
Kirsti Sarkkinen picked up her folder and stepped back from the lectern.
‘Do we have any information about the girl’s movements on the day of the murder?’ asked Virkkunen.
‘Apparently she ate somewhere in town,’ said Anna. ‘And she showered twice that day; the second time just before going out on that final jog. It seems quite odd.’
‘She had some other kind of sport in mind,’ Esko scoffed.
‘Her debit card wasn’t used at all that day, so if she ate in town she must have paid in cash.’
‘Either that or someone treated her to lunch.’
‘According to her friend Virve, she’d spent quite a time getting herself ready before going out. Perhaps she had a date with her new boyfriend.’
‘And another date immediately afterwards? So why go home in between? Didn’t Virve say that Riikka had come home and slumped on the sofa without saying a thing? As if she was upset or something.’
‘Something happened.’
‘Maybe she had two blokes on the go.’
‘Virve said she suspected it might have been a woman,’ Anna commented. ‘Though I don’t think the gender of her partner is relevant here – I mean, as regards the murder. Virve simply suggested that that might have been the reason why Riikka wanted to keep the new relationship quiet.’
‘We haven’t found anything in Riikka’s Facebook messages or email account,’ said Virkkunen. ‘And the number that called her is unlisted, so we can’t trace it.’
‘The pendant in Riikka’s pocket seems strange to me,’ said Anna. ‘First of all because nobody would keep a necklace in their tracksuit pocket, and just strange in general. Should we look into this?’
‘What’s strange about that?’ asked Esko. ‘She was out running, the necklace was slapping against her neck and irritating her, she took it off and put it in her pocket. Strange, huh? I think we should focus our attention on locating Jere.’
‘Right,’ Virkkunen confirmed. ‘The most obvious solution is often the right one.’
‘What about the mobile phone?’ asked Rauno. ‘Riikka received a call from an unlisted number.’
‘We examined the necklace, and there were no traces of sweat or anything else on it. It must have been brand new. But what’s most interesting is that there was nothing on the phone, no grease stains, no fingerprints – not even Riikka’s own,’ said Kirsti. ‘And that’s almost impossible unless the device had been deliberately wiped clean.’
‘The killer must have deleted the messages and wiped the phone,’ said Sari.
‘Pretty cold-blooded, if you ask me. First blow the girl’s head off at close range with a shotgun, then stick around to wipe down the phone.’
‘And what did I say about Jere?’ Esko smirked. ‘As soon as we find him, this will all be cleared up.’
‘I agree,’ said Virkkunen. ‘In the light of what we’ve just heard, finding and apprehending Jere Koski is now our priority as far as this investigation is concerned. Let’s break for five minutes, then move on to the Chelkin case.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about that Chelkin family,’ Esko began. His break had taken ten minutes. Anna had expected some kind of reaction from Virkkunen, chastising him or at least warning him – after all, it was the second time Esko had been late for the same meeting. But nobody said a thing; nobody even seemed to notice he’d turned up late. Can that man get away with absolutely anything, she wondered.
‘The girl retracted her statement,’ he continued. ‘The 112 call was just a bit of theatre, a way of getting back at Daddy for not letting his underage daughter drink herself silly at the weekend. The relatives in Vantaa confirmed this. The father seemed surprisingly smart for a wog…’ Esko swallowed the end of his sentence as Virkkunen’s gaze fixed on him from behind his spectacles. ‘I mean, many a Finnish father could take a leaf out of his book; it would make our lives much easier.’
‘So we might as well discontinue the investigation,’ Virkkunen stated.
‘Well, there’s making a prank call to the emergency services, and at least, in theory, there’s making a false accusation and resisting an officer. So the girl would face all the charges herself, if we decided not to play so nicely. But I don’t think there’s any point making a fuss about this. She’ll have learned her lesson, if she’s got any sense,’ said Rauno.
‘Quite. After all, she’s still a minor with an otherwise clean slate. You’d think having the whole family dragged in for questioning would be a sufficient lesson about the consequences of making false accusations,’ said Virkkunen.
Anna was suspicious. Something was bothering her.
‘Sari, you talked to the former teachers,’ she said.
‘That’s right. Two, in fact: Riitta Kolehmainen and Heli Virtanen, both teachers at Rajapuro elementary school. Both said the same thing. There were times when Bihar had a suspicious number of absences from school. Not often, and they were always accounted for. The little brother had always walked his sister to school. Bihar is good at school, so there was no need for Social Services to get involved. Riitta Kolehmainen mentioned that sometimes she had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right in that family, but that it had only been a passing hunch. She couldn’t explain what had caused it, couldn’t remember. Bihar’s high-school teacher mentioned that last year the girl spent several weeks in Turkey.’
‘These absences could be linked to honour violence,’ said Anna.
‘Either that or the flu,’ Esko muttered.
‘It’s also common for the males in the family – even younger brothers – to become their sisters’ keepers,’ she continued.
‘It could be the other way round. Maybe Bihar was told to look after her little brother on the way to school. Rajapuro is a rough neighbourhood; nobody in their right mind would want to walk around there by themselves.’
‘I think Bihar is lying,’ said Anna.
‘We must assume that plaintiffs are telling the truth in interviews and we have to act accordingly,’ said Virkkunen.
‘I know. Still.’
‘If there’s no evidence, and the girl herself has taken back the accusations – and, what’s more, if she can give a perfectly logical explanation for her actions – there’s nothing for us to do but drop the matter,’ he continued.
‘Did anyone ask why Bihar spent Sunday night in Vantaa, though she was supposed to be at school on Monday morning?’ Anna asked agitatedly.
‘Our colleagues in Vantaa asked, and her uncle said that Bihar was supposed to leave on Sunday evening but that she missed the train,’ Sari explained.
‘Yes, I remember that, too,’ said Esko. ‘Bihar’s father said the same as the uncle: she missed the train. She left in the morning. Maybe you should have asked, too, then we’d have three confirmations. Does one of us need to explain to you how these things work?’
‘You’re my partner, so why don’t you explain it to me?’ Anna quipped. ‘They had agreed what to say in advance. We should
have taken them into custody straight away instead of waiting around.’
‘Let’s not forget, the girl retracted her story on the night of the call. What’s more, the officers who visited the scene didn’t see anything to indicate that any violence had taken place,’ Virkkunen interrupted. ‘The police can’t do anything without evidence. This matter is closed, Anna. I’m sorry.’
‘Let’s not sweep this under the carpet, at least not yet?’ she pleaded. ‘Let’s keep an eye on them, whenever we have a minute, maybe on alternate days or just a few times a week, especially when Bihar is on her way to and from school, so that they realise we’re still watching them. Or in the evenings we could park outside their house for a moment. Just to be sure, to make certain nothing more serious happens.’
‘Is there any point?’ asked Rauno. ‘For a start, when do we ever have a spare minute?’
‘Damn right, there’s no point,’ Esko raised his voice, drowning out Rauno. ‘I’m not going to start spying on people unless I’m legally bound to do so.’
‘I don’t believe she’s safe there,’ Anna gave it one more try.
‘I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve got to say, I agree with them,’ said Sari, a little embarrassed. ‘We’d be overstepping the mark. Though I have to say, I agree there’s something going on in that family.’
‘Surely it can’t be illegal to take pre-emptive action to stop a crime from taking place.’ Anna felt frustrated and was almost shouting. ‘It’s our fundamental responsibility.’
‘We have no reason to suspect that a crime is about to take place. With that logic, we’d have to look out for almost everyone, just to make sure people stayed on the straight and narrow. It’s simply not possible,’ said Virkkunen.
‘Bihar is in danger,’ Anna repeated quietly.
‘I’m sorry, Anna, but that’s the end of the matter,’ said Virkkunen and switched off the projector. Now his eyes expressed nothing but determination. ‘We should think ourselves lucky. Now we can concentrate our efforts on the murdered jogger. Right, everybody, let’s get to work.’
15
IN A RAGE ANNA RAN straight down to the smoking area in the courtyard and dug a packet of cigarettes out of her handbag. Why the hell do I carry these things around with me if I shouldn’t smoke them during the day, she wondered as she lit a cigarette and felt a rush of satisfaction as she drew the smoke into her lungs. Nicotine flowed into her blood, almost dizzying her, and made her mouth tingle.
‘I knew you were a smoker.’
Anna gave a start and almost dropped her cigarette.
‘You must really have a fetish for creeping up behind people and startling them,’ she snapped at Esko who had once again taken her by surprise.
‘Have you got any fetishes?’ he asked, his voice slimy and lascivious.
Harassment too, she thought. Útálotos. She didn’t respond, but took another drag on her cigarette. Esko lit one of his own. For a moment they stood smoking in silence.
‘Bihar Chelkin is lying. I’m convinced this is a matter of honour violence,’ Anna said eventually. She felt compelled to repeat herself one last time, especially to that arsehole.
‘Finnish law doesn’t recognise such a crime,’ he replied impassively.
‘Still.’
‘Just drop it, yeah? I know you feel great sympathy towards these girls, being one of your own and all that.’
‘I can tell when someone is lying,’ she said, trying to remain calm.
‘Bloody Muslims are always lying. It’s a twisted religion – terrorists and liars the whole lot of them. What faith are you?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Esko. What’s the matter with you? What has any of them, any of us, ever done to you?’ Now Anna raised her voice.
‘You’re telling me you don’t know?’ he said, inhaling deeply on his cigarette and staring at Anna with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. ‘You darkies all expect to come here and live the life of Riley on the dole – that’s taxpayers’ money, you know!’ he shouted and flicked his burning cigarette to the ground, lit another one immediately and glared at her, as if challenging her to argue back. ‘Either that or you turn up and take our jobs. Just like you.’
‘Whose job have I taken?’
‘I doubt you were the only applicant.’
For a moment Anna said nothing. She knew it would be pointless explaining how she’d subsisted from one temporary job to the next ever since graduating, how she’d applied for countless permanent positions – all for nothing. She also knew from experience that it was futile talking to Esko and people like him about despair, fear, war, torture, oppression, discrimination, poverty and hunger, about how the world was full of people whose lives were a daily struggle against all of those terrible things.
When she was younger she had often let herself rise to this, aggressively gone on the defensive, tried to beat facts and common sense into the heads of her opponents, shouting, raging and upsetting herself, but it was always pointless. The Eskos of this world were every bit as fanatical as extreme religious zealots, as obstinate and stubborn as donkeys. There was nothing you could say to these people.
Nothing except: ‘Sorry,’ she said and walked away.
She sprinted up the stairs to her office, taking out her frustration in the stairwell, to punish herself for the cigarette to which she had just succumbed. Once she reached the third floor, her mobile beeped in her handbag. She shut herself in her office, sat down at her desk, out of breath, and took out her phone. One new message. She opened the message, read it and sat in shock, a sense of anxiety clenching her stomach. The message had come from a number she didn’t recognise.
Hey there, cutie. You’re quite a catch. I wanna taste.
She sent the number to directory enquiries. The blunt response arrived a second later: an unlisted number or sent from a prepaid phone. Who could have sent it, she wondered. Petri? I didn’t given him my number, even though he asked for it. Had he managed to fiddle with my phone at some point in the evening? Or had he found it on one of my cards? There was a pile of cards with the name Sgt Anna Fekete in a drawer in the hallway bureau.
If this was from him, it was a nasty trick.
And what if it wasn’t from him?
Anna felt a shiver run through her body. She rummaged in her wallet for the number Petri had given her as he’d left her apartment, shyly, almost embarrassed, and asked her to give him a call. Anna looked at the number. The text message had been sent from a different number. Call him and ask, she commanded herself. That way you’ll find out. But something within her resisted. She didn’t want to contact him and give the impression that she was somehow interested. He was a kind, wonderful man, a very pleasant acquaintance in every way, but for Anna one night was enough. She didn’t want to get his hopes up, because there was no hope of anything further. So why am I holding on to this piece of paper, she wondered as she replaced the phone number in her wallet and deleted the unpleasant message.
There was a new message in her email too. This one was from Linnea Markkula. Judging by the degree of digestion, the meal in Riikka’s stomach had been ingested at around 4 p.m. on the afternoon of the murder. Salmon, rice and pine nuts. Apparently Linnea had got lucky on Saturday night, for the first time in ages.
Anna chuckled. So did I, more’s the pity.
She decided to go into town for lunch. That would give her a chance to examine the lunch menus of the downtown restaurants and to show Riikka’s photographs to some of the waiters. If only they could establish where Riikka had eaten and who she was with. She also wanted to visit the florist; she wanted to cheer up her balcony with pots of heather and other plants that would survive the winter.
Why am I always sent to visit the old folk, Rauno wondered. He looked at Aune Toivola as she sat at the kitchen table, her wrinkled hands resting on the waxed tablecloth. The coffee that she poured him was weak and tasted of nothing. Rauno handed her photographs of Riikka and Jere.
‘Do you know these people?’
Aune put on another pair of glasses – she had a selection of spectacles beside a pile of newspapers – and began examining the photographs. Rauno strummed his fingers on the table and glanced intermittently at the ticking second hand of the clock on the wall. Damn it, this is going to take all evening, he thought impatiently, though he couldn’t understand why he was so restless. He was in no hurry to get home. He had barely exchanged a word with his wife since Friday evening, except for a few compulsory conversations about the girls. Nina hadn’t come home until the following morning; she hadn’t told him where she’d been and he hadn’t asked.
But the thought was gnawing away at him.
‘This girl here I’ve never seen before, but I know the boy,’ said Aune, awakening Rauno from his thoughts. He sat up and sipped his tepid coffee.
‘This is the Koski boy, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Jere Koski.’
‘Oh, I know the Koski family. Veikko and Liisa. Veikko was the son of Ilmari, who was a year older than me at school. He married a girl called Lotta Siitonen, and they had Veikko. There were no other children. They’ve both been dead for years now.’
‘What can you tell me about Jere?’ Rauno pressed her.
‘I don’t know the youngsters all that well, of course. Ilmari was a drunk and that’s what they said about Veikko, too.’
‘And Jere?’
‘Isn’t he at the university? Maybe he’ll be able to stay on the straight and narrow.’
‘The murdered girl is Riikka Rautio. She was originally from Saloinen, too. Does that name mean anything to you?’
‘Rautio … it doesn’t sound familiar.’ Aune adjusted her glasses, took a sip of coffee and scrutinised Riikka’s photograph once again. Rauno felt like snatching the picture from her hand and leaving. But where would he go? For a pint? On a Monday evening?
The Hummingbird Page 12
