The Hummingbird

by Kati Hiekkapelto

  ‘I see. What’s the matter?’

  Anna again sat down beside her. It felt almost cruel to stand beside the bed, looking down on her, when the person she was talking to was lying there fragile and helpless.

  ‘Could you tell us whether your daughter Kaarina was here the night before last?’

  ‘She’s asleep over there in the bedroom.’ Kerttu raised a trembling hand and weakly pointed towards the corner of the room.

  ‘Did Kaarina sleep there the night before last?’ Esko repeated the question.

  ‘What day was that?’

  ‘The third of October. A Monday.’

  ‘What day is it today?’

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I would have offered you some coffee.’

  ‘That’s fine, we’ve already had some.’

  ‘Who are you again?’

  ‘We’re from the police.’

  ‘Goodness gracious! Has something happened?’

  Anna and Esko looked at one another. This was pointless, they both thought. The nurse was right: Mrs Viitala wouldn’t make a credible witness.

  Esko asked her the same questions once again. And once again the old lady apologised that she couldn’t offer them any coffee.

  Then Kerttu Viitala felt silent. Her empty eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Anna and her hand began to fumble for the remote control on the bedside table. The shopping channel flooded back into the room.

  Anna tried to clarify a few final points, but Kerttu lay there silently staring at the television. After a moment Anna noticed that the old lady’s eyes had pressed shut. Had it not been for the faint sound of snoring emanating from between her furrowed lips, you could have thought she was dead. Anna turned the volume down and closed the window. She and Esko left the apartment. Outside the sun had stopped shining.

  At Anna’s suggestion they stopped into Café Penguin for a coffee. The warm light shining from the café’s windows seemed to invite them to step inside, where numerous gold-framed mirrors reflected and multiplied the light. Anna was reminded of the grand cafés of Budapest. Perhaps she should visit places like this more often, she thought. For a few moments she could imagine she was somewhere else, almost somewhere back home.

  Anna couldn’t decide whether to have a sandwich or some cake. Tiredness whirled behind her eyes, pressed down on her shoulders and made her feel faint. She really should call the health officer. Otherwise nothing will ever come of this job, she thought, nothing at all.

  Esko tapped on her shoulder, and for a moment Anna thought she must have been holding up the queue, but it was because of Virve, who was sitting in the café with another girl. Virve’s fair hair was tied in a long plait running down the back of her hemp-green Indian-cotton tunic towards the floor. Virve gave her an awkward wave, then called over the waiter and asked for the bill.

  And at that moment Anna remembered!

  She remembered what she knew she had known all along, what she knew she had seen. A shiver ran between her shoulder blades and her pulse quickened.

  ‘When are we scheduled to interview Virve and Jere again?’ she asked.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Good. I just remembered something. It could be important.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Virve visited Mexico back in the spring. I saw a photograph on her Facebook page.’

  Esko gave a quiet whistle. Virve glanced up at them and nervously fiddled with the sleeve of her tunic. The familiar jangle of her bracelets carried faintly across the café.

  ‘What did I say all along? There was something fishy about that girl.’

  ‘Don’t stare,’ Anna whispered. ‘What are you having?’

  The girls put on their jackets and left the café without looking behind them.

  ‘Coffee.’

  ‘Just a normal coffee? They do really good espresso here, con panna or double, macchiato, cappu—’

  ‘Normal coffee. Burned, bitter, brown liquid poured through a bleached filter, thank you very much, cheap and nasty. I don’t touch any of that black muck.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with your general xenophobia, would it?’

  ‘Say what? You know what you can do with your fancy words. This has nothing to do with anything. I can buy my own coffee, if it’s too much to order a normal one. Round here we’re not used to treating each other like this.’

  Anna paid for Esko’s coffee and ordered herself a hot chocolate with whipped cream and a ham sandwich. She seemed instantly more alert. Virve’s trip to Mexico couldn’t just be a coincidence. Here she was, sitting in Esko’s company, in a public café, almost communicating normally with him, though outside the autumn was doing its best to crush those who dared venture into its embrace. She couldn’t have imagined doing this a few weeks ago. Esko had certainly undergone something of a change. Anna didn’t quite know what had caused it.

  But she wanted to find out.

  ‘Why don’t you hate me so much any more?’

  Esko looked up at her, so taken aback that he seemed almost pleasant. He’s not used to people speaking their minds, thought Anna. He’s happy to sound off himself without giving his words a second thought, but it catches him off guard when other people do the same. For once I’ve made him speechless, she thought with a sense of satisfaction when Esko didn’t answer straight away but calmly stirred his coffee, considering how to reply.

  ‘Let’s say that I still despise everything you stand for, but I don’t hate you personally. Not any more,’ he said eventually. He looked away; he was blushing.

  ‘You didn’t answer the question. Why not?’

  ‘You can be downright bloody infuriating, you know that? I don’t know. I suppose I’m starting to get used to you. You’re different.’

  ‘Different from who?’

  ‘Different from most immigrants.’

  ‘How many do you know? Personally?’

  ‘Listen, I was a police officer before you lot started turning up here. I’ve seen the enormous change that’s taken place in our society. It started with the Somalis, then a while later came the Yugos and the Kurds and the Afghans and the Africans, and before you know it people are coming in from all directions and we’re supposed to pick up the bill for the lot of you. Well, people have had enough. I’ll never accept it. Sorry.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered the question. How many immigrants do you actually know?’

  ‘I’ve met plenty in this line of work, and most of them have been suspects charged with serious offences: assault, rape, armed robbery, drugs—’

  ‘That’s not what I’m asking. You don’t know any immigrants except me.’

  ‘You’ve got a job, you pay tax and you speak clear Finnish. That’s different.’

  ‘I can barely speak my own native language any longer. For the most part I even think in Finnish nowadays,’ Anna said quietly.

  ‘I owe you one. You didn’t let on to Virkkunen the other week.’

  But of course, thought Anna. I should have guessed.

  ‘Virkkunen and I are on pretty good terms, but even he has his limits.’

  ‘A real Balkan doesn’t tell tales to the boss – it’s as simple as that. I wouldn’t know about Finns – decent Finns, that is,’ she said.

  For a moment Anna wondered whether she’d overstepped the mark, whether Esko was about to slap her across the table or throw his coffee in her face, but instead he burst out laughing so hard that she could hear the tobacco phlegm rattling in his throat. The hearty laughter soon turned to a rasping cough, but there remained a glint in his eyes that made him look younger and less bitter.

  ‘I’ve cut back since then. I suddenly realised I was fast approaching rock bottom if I needed to have a swig at work too. To be honest, I got a real fright,’ said Esko, suddenly serious.

  ‘Good. So you and I can go out Nordic walking one day, okay?’

  Esko’s coffee went down the wrong way, and he sounded like he was about to suffocate.r />
  ‘Stop it or I’ll choke to death here, and before that I might even start liking you,’ he managed to say through a volley of coughing and laughter.

  ‘Well, nobody would worry too much if you were to die, but if you’d started taking a shine to the wog before that, people would never get over it now, would they? Listen, what do you think about Grandma back there?’

  ‘I think it looks like our good-looking widow’s alibi is pretty flimsy after all,’ he replied.

  33

  RAUNO WAS IN A PATROL CAR driving towards the city. He was returning from a meeting with his old acquaintances Aune Toivola and Yki Raappana. And he had something interesting to tell the team. As she did every day, Aune had gone to sleep early on Monday evening – without her hearing aid – and hadn’t heard a thing. Yki Raappana, on the other hand, had heard a car driving towards the shore at around 9 p.m. on Monday evening. After Riikka’s death he had begun paying particular attention to people moving around on the path. The old man wouldn’t admit to being afraid, but Rauno could smell his fear. It was no wonder, he had thought, being a decrepit old man living in a remote place where someone had been brutally murdered. He would certainly have been afraid, or would at least have been on his guard. Poor Yki had been on his guard since August – and his alertness was of great use to the investigation. After hearing the car, Yki had gone out into his front garden. It was already dark at that time of night. Soon afterwards he had heard a shot. There was still the occasional duck shooter wandering around late in the season, so the sound of gunshot was nothing out of the ordinary. Except that now the sun set at around 7 p.m., so any birds flying over in the evening would have passed hours earlier and no hunter would have been able to make out prey in the dark – unless that prey was the size of a grown man.

  Yki had put on some extra clothes and decided to wait outside until the car came back along the path. And it came back soon enough. Yki had crouched down in the bushes near the edge of the path and had seen a red car hurtling past. And the best of it was, Yki knew one make of car from another: it was a Volkswagen Golf, an old model, precisely the kind that had been sighted in the vicinity of the previous murders. He hadn’t been able to make out the registration number; his sight wasn’t as sharp as it had been when he was younger and it was too dark. It had looked as though the plates were covered in mud. He said he might have seen the same car drive past once before. The previous time Yki had only managed to get a fleeting glimpse of it, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. The old man proudly showed Rauno a blue jotter where he had noted down details of every car he’d spotted on the path since 22 August. There weren’t very many of them, perhaps an average of seven a day. He had guessed that the killer would return to the scene of the crime. Rauno had praised the man, and Yki could have burst with glee. Apparently as a younger man he had considered taking a job in the police force. Rauno commented that Yki’s career as a forester had been a loss for the police service; a man this sharp could have been a lot of use. Yki was thrilled and offered to make some coffee. Though Rauno was eager to get back to the station with the news, he didn’t have the heart to refuse. The old man had already taken up plenty of his time.

  Now Rauno felt like putting his foot on the accelerator and getting back to the station as soon as possible. This was a breakthrough. With this information they would quickly identify the old red Volkswagen, and there was no doubt it would belong to the killer.

  He exceeded the speed limit without even noticing it. There was little traffic and he hadn’t yet reached the city limits. Just then he saw something black in the corner of his right eye. In a split second, he realised that the black spot was moving – and that it was coming towards him. Rauno slammed on the brakes. The car began to swerve across the road, still slippery from the rain. The huge male elk stopped in the middle of the road as if demanding to be hit. This is the end, was all Rauno had time to think before the impact.

  Sari was finding it hard to concentrate. She was sitting in her car near the Helmersons’ house looking alternately at her telephone and at the houses along the street. She had received another text message. The tone was the same as before, sexist and intimidating. Frightening. It was time to get to work on finding out who was sending them. And she would have to interview all of Helmerson’s neighbours. Where should she start?

  Sari shifted her phone from one hand to the next. They had to catch the killer. This prank caller was a much smaller threat, if indeed a threat at all.

  Unless they were one and the same person.

  Sari didn’t want to give the possibility any more thought. She contacted a friend at the National Criminal Police who specialised in mobile phones, computers, data surveillance and everything in between. He promised to do all he could. Sari got out of the car and began walking towards the first house on the street, the neighbours opposite the Helmersons. The front garden was large and well taken care of; the house had a handsome brick façade. It was the same as all the houses and gardens in the area. There was no answer when Sari rang the doorbell. She tried again but there was no one at home. She made a note of the name on the letter box and went to the next house. An elderly, grey-haired man was outside raking the garden.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Sari and showed her identification.

  ‘Afternoon,’ the man replied, propped his rake by the shed wall and asked her inside.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve already heard the news,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Terrible stuff. We all keep the doors locked these days. People don’t dare go about their business now. Feels like there’s someone aiming a gun at me when I’m out here raking the garden.’

  ‘Did you see anything suspicious going on at the Helmersons’ house two evenings ago?’

  ‘Not that I noticed.’

  ‘Did you ever see a red car?’

  ‘Veli-Matti drives a black BMW. And Kaarina has a silver Nissan. I haven’t seen any red cars round here, no.’

  ‘What about people? Anyone other than the Helmersons?’

  ‘They have visitors every now and then, but I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘If you think of anything, please call me. Even something that might seem insignificant could be very important,’ she explained and handed the man her card.

  ‘Very well. I’ll be in touch if something comes to mind.’

  The man escorted Sari to the gate, returned to his rake and continued gathering piles of leaves on the grass.

  Sari went to the next house.

  This time the door was opened by a woman in her fifties. The coffee was already brewing. Good, she thought. This woman clearly keeps her eyes open.

  Sari introduced herself and explained why she was there.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen a red car – quite frequently, in fact,’ said the woman. Sari couldn’t contain her excitement.

  ‘When? Was it here two evenings ago?’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen it for a while now.’

  ‘During the summer?’

  The woman thought for a moment.

  ‘No, it wasn’t there in the summer either. But in the spring it was parked out there quite a bit. Whenever Kaarina went to her mother’s place, that red car would turn up soon afterwards. Well, not every time but quite often. It wasn’t parked in the Helmersons’ driveway or even outside the house, but over there, a bit further away.’

  ‘Think carefully. Precisely when in the spring was it here?’

  ‘Well … from March until May, perhaps?’

  ‘How often did you see the car?’

  ‘Hard to say. A dozen times in total?’

  ‘Did you see who was driving it?’

  ‘It was a woman.’

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘You know, that kind of woman.’

  ‘Er, what kind of woman?’

  ‘The kind of woman that sleeps with married men. A whore,’ the neighbour hissed.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘I never go
t a good look at her. I don’t really know.’

  ‘Short, tall, thin, fat, blonde, brunette?’

  ‘Average size. I don’t know about her hair.’

  ‘What about age?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But they’re generally younger, aren’t they?’

  Sari approached the window from where you could see on to the street. From this window the Helmersons’ front door was completely hidden and the front garden was at too sharp an angle to get a good view. It would be impossible to get a proper look at anyone visiting the Helmersons’ house.

  A red car had been sighted in the area last spring, almost six months ago. What on earth could this mean?

  ‘Still, sometimes I thought it looked like Kaarina.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes, sometimes it looked as though it was Kaarina Helmerson driving that car.’

  Sari’s telephone rang. It was Virkkunen.

  ‘I’ve told Forensics to leave the Helmersons’ place for now.’

  ‘Why? I was going there next,’ Sari exclaimed.

  ‘We’ve just received a call from Seppo Vilmusenaho. He’s a PE teacher at Saloinen primary – Veli-Matti’s colleague. He said he saw the lights on in Veli-Matti’s classroom at around 6.30 p.m. on Monday evening.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there was a red car in the school car park. At the time, he didn’t pay the car much attention, because he’d been so interested in the classroom lights. Seppo told us he’d been annoyed that Veli-Matti could be so careless, given that he was leading the school’s Green Energy Project. He had decided to mention the matter to Veli-Matti, but as soon as news of the murder came out he remembered our call for any sightings of a red car. Seppo believes that the killer was there in Veli-Matti’s classroom.’

  ‘Could Veli-Matti have jogged back to work?’

  ‘I’ve sent Forensics out to the school. Get down there. The Helmersons’ house can wait.’

  ‘Okay. And by the way, the red car has been spotted around this neighbourhood. Last spring.’

  Virkkunen whistled quietly.

  ‘We’re on to something,’ he said. ‘We’re finally on to something.’