Joentaa found a piece of paper and a pen, and stood there, wondering what to say.
‘Er … Kimmo?’ said Heinonen.
‘Sorry,’ said Joentaa, and he wrote: Dear Larissa, I have to go out on a case. Hope you slept well. Would be nice if you were still here when I get home. Kimmo.
He put the note and the spare front-door key to the house on the living-room table, where she would be bound to see them. The winter day was yellow and blue, and gave him a prickling feeling behind his eyes.
Heinonen called his wife as they drove off, and Kimmo Joentaa thought of coming home to an empty house in the evening. And then he thought that he didn’t know her address, or her date of birth. All he knew was that her name was not Larissa.
8
THE SNOW CRUNCHED underfoot. Heinonen muttered something incomprehensible, and Joentaa thought this wasn’t real. A picture, a staged scene outside the context of reality.
The dead man lay on his back, one of his skis sticking vertically up in the air. His pale blue sports jacket was drenched in blood. The scene-of-crime officers, in their white overalls, merged into the snow.
Kari Niemi, head of the forensic unit, was giving instructions in his calm way. The cross-country ski trail lay behind and in front of the body on the ground, disappearing into the forest on the right and going all the way to the horizon on the left. The winter sun hung over the horizon. Paavo Sundström came to meet them, saying, ‘That was quick.’
Heinonen said something or other, and Joentaa walked past them both and round the dead man. A pointed woollen cap, the same light blue as the sports jacket and the sky, lay beside the man’s head, which was turned to one side and away from them. Joentaa crouched down and looked at Patrik Laukkanen’s face.
‘Two boys and a woman found him. He must have been taken by surprise. Presumably attacked from behind, seems to have been stabbed with a knife. At least, that’s what Salomon thinks,’ said Sundström.
Joentaa looked up and saw Salomon Hietalahti sitting on a bench a little way off. Hietalahti had worked more closely with Laukkanen than anyone else at the Forensic Institute. Joentaa himself hadn’t known Laukkanen well, but he did know that he and Hietalahti had worked very harmoniously together. Perhaps they had even been friends.
He stood up and went over to the bench, which offered a picturesque view of the snow-covered city. ‘Salomon,’ he said.
‘Hello, Kimmo,’ said Hietalahti abstractedly.
Joentaa sat down on the bench beside him.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t … maybe you shouldn’t be working on this case,’ said Joentaa.
‘Maybe not,’ said Hietalahti.
On the periphery of his vision, Joentaa saw Heinonen and Sundström deep in energetic conversation. Petri Grönholm was near the police barrier that had been put up. Beside him were the two little boys who had found Patrik Laukkanen, and who were now following what went on wide-eyed and with mixed feelings. They looked horrified and at the same time excited. Down below, in the city, church bells were ringing.
‘Did you know he’d only recently become a father? Patrik, I mean,’ asked Hietalahti.
‘No.’
‘Old to be a father for the first time. In his early fifties. He never said much about himself, but then this happened. He thought he might be too old, he might die before his son was grown up … that bothered him a good deal.’
Joentaa nodded, and sought for words.
‘She doesn’t know yet. Leena …’ said Salomon. ‘I mean, Leena doesn’t know that Patrik … that he’s dead. Will you see to it? Tell her?’
‘I don’t know … look, I’ll discuss it with Paavo Sundström.’
‘It might be a good idea to do it soon.’
‘Yes, sure. You’re right.’
‘They’ve been a couple for quite a long time. At least thirteen years, all the time we’ve been working together, and back then, when I was just beginning here, Patrik was already with Leena. I sometimes went round to their place for a meal … not all that often, but it was always very nice. Patrik told me Leena was incredibly happy about the baby … he never said so straight out, but I think they … they’d been trying for some time before it worked.’
Joentaa nodded.
‘They live quite close to here. Two or three kilometres away,’ said Hietalahti.
In the distance, Sundström was gesticulating. Joentaa watched the show for a while before he realised that Sundström’s gesticulations were for him. He got up and went over to Sundström.
‘What is it?’ he called before he got there.
‘We ought to let his wife know,’ Sundström called back.
‘Girlfriend,’ said Heinonen, when Joentaa had joined them.
‘Hm?’
‘Girlfriend. Laukkanen wasn’t married. I’m fairly sure he isn’t married to Leena,’ said Heinonen.
‘Makes no difference, we have to inform the woman Laukkanen was living with … Hang on a moment. Number 17 Yriönkatu. Do you two know her?’
Joentaa and Heinonen nodded.
‘So?’ asked Sundström.
‘You know her too. She was at the Christmas party two weeks ago,’ said Heinonen.
‘She was?’ said Sundström.
‘She’s a good deal younger than Patrik. Late thirties, I’d guess,’ said Heinonen. ‘Sandy hair.’
‘Ah,’ said Sundström. ‘Yes … yes, I remember. I was afraid Laukkanen would make advances while he was pissed, I felt ashamed for him.’
‘Well …’ said Heinonen.
‘Or … or maybe I was just envious because it did look as if Laukkanen was getting somewhere with his silly advances.’
‘Well …’ said Heinonen again.
Joentaa looked at the dead man in the snow, and remembered talking to Patrik Laukkanen only a couple of days ago.
In a down-to-earth tone, about death.
They had both been bending over the body of a young woman presumed dead from an overdose of strong sleeping tablets.
‘Leena, did you say? Damn good-looking woman,’ said Sundström.
Laukkanen. He had always seemed to be bustling about, his restlessness in curious contrast with the silence of the mortuaries where he worked.
‘Kimmo?’ said Sundström.
‘Hm?’
‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Joentaa.
He felt a little dizzy as he followed Sundström to the car. He was thinking of Laukkanen, and how Laukkanen’s assessments had always been clear-sighted and often very helpful. Perhaps that was what was wrong in this picture. Laukkanen lifeless in the snow. Laukkanen restless and efficient in the silence of the green-painted mortuaries. Laukkanen who had given an impression of having more control over death than anyone else.
9
SHE PARKS THE car and takes the rucksack off the passenger seat. She walks through slush on a radiantly blue day and smiles at Aapeli, who thanks her for the Christmas card.
‘My children forgot me, but you don’t,’ says Aapeli.
She smiles.
‘A lovely photo of Ilmari and Veikko. Where … where did you take it?’
‘In Stockholm, by the river,’ she says, smiling.
Aapeli nods. ‘Well, see you soon,’ he says.
‘See you soon,’ she replies.
‘And all the best. All good wishes,’ says Aapeli.
‘The same to you,’ she says.
She watches Aapeli taking each step carefully as he walks towards the white trees.
Pushing the door to the stairwell open, she goes down to the laundry room. She takes the clothes out of the rucksack and looks at the stains for a while. She knows what has happened, but she can’t remember it.
She puts the clothes in the washing machine, adds detergent, and feeds a coin into the slot. For a while she watches the water as it mingles with the detergent and begins to foam.
She takes the knife out of the rucksack, goes over to the sink, turns the tap on and holds the
knife under the flowing water until it looks like new.
Then she goes upstairs. While she is unlocking the door to her apartment she feels hungry for the first time in a long while.
10
THEY DON’T HAVE far to drive. Patrik Laukkanen had been found murdered very close to his house. A clinker-built wooden house surrounded by a large garden. It looked as if it had only recently been painted, a soft pastel shade of orange reminiscent of apricots. This was the first time Joentaa had been there.
‘Here we are,’ said Sundström.
Joentaa nodded.
Sundström sat where he was, and Joentaa thought of what Salomon had said.
‘They have a child. A small baby,’ he said.
‘Oh, no, that too,’ said Sundström. He slumped back in his seat. Then he catapulted himself forward and opened the car door. ‘Right, let’s get this over with,’ he said, climbing out. Joentaa followed him. He thought he saw the silhouette of a woman behind the window next to the front door. The nameplate on the letterbox said Laukkanen/Jauhiainen. Sundström rang the bell. Joentaa heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and felt a stabbing pain inside him. Leena Jauhiainen opened the door.
‘Oh, Kimmo … and …’
‘Sundström. Paavo Sundström. We met briefly at the Christmas party.’
‘Of course. I remember. Patrik isn’t here. Since the snow started he’s been going out cross-country skiing every morning. I hope … I hope he doesn’t have to go in to work today, does he?’
‘Leena …’
‘Yes?’ she said. A baby was crying in the background. ‘Is … is everything all right?’
‘May we come in?’
‘Of course. Go into the living room, I must just see to Kalle for a moment.’ She went into another room, and Joentaa followed Sundström into the house. A large, lavishly decorated Christmas tree stood in the living room. Leena came back with the baby, who was not crying so noisily now, in her arms.
They stood looking at each other for a little while.
‘Has … has anything happened? You’re kind of frightening me,’ she said.
‘Patrik is dead,’ said Sundström. ‘He was … was attacked while he was skiing and killed.’
Leena did not reply, and Joentaa froze.
‘I … I’m very sorry,’ said Sundström, and Leena shook her head.
The baby smiled.
11
SHE STANDS AT the foot of the slope for a while, looking at the long building. In the strong winter sunlight its yellow paint is the colour of lemon ice cream. The children are tobogganing. Their laughter, many voices all at once, drifts down to her, and she feels that the sound must carry all over the city.
Slowly, she goes up the hill, past the children racing triumphantly down the slope. She has been looking for Rauna, but Rauna doesn’t seem to be among the children tobogganing.
She goes down the long corridors. There are Christmas stars made of paper and cardboard on the walls, along with Christmas trees, dark green triangles on little trunks. She finds Rauna in the day room, sitting at a table with Hilma. The two of them are doing jigsaw puzzles. Hilma is humming to herself, rocking her chair back and forth, while Rauna concentrates on putting the pieces of the jigsaw carefully in place.
She stands in the doorway, watching them for a little while. ‘Aren’t you two going out to toboggan?’ she asks.
‘That’s what I said too, but Rauna wants to finish that silly puzzle,’ says Hilma.
Rauna smiles and beckons her over. She moves away from the door and goes up to the table.
‘Nearly finished,’ says Rauna, looking in turn from the pieces of the jigsaw to the lid of the box showing the complete picture. A Noah’s Ark. Lions, elephants, giraffes, monkeys, and a bearded man already waiting at the helm to put out into the water. Hilma jumps up and presses her face to the windowpane beyond which the children are tobogganing. Rauna fits the last piece into the jigsaw and examines the picture for a while before clapping her hands. ‘Done it!’ she cries.
‘So now let’s go on the toboggans!’ cries Hilma, running off.
‘Will you watch?’ asks Rauna.
She nods.
Rauna jumps up and follows Hilma, and she looks down again at the picture that Rauna’s hands have put together. Piece by piece until the parts make up a whole. She gently caresses it. Then she slowly goes out of doors. Hilma and Rauna are standing in line to get one of the toboggans. Hilma is given a brown wooden toboggan, Rauna gets a red plastic one.
‘First down is the winner!’ cries Hilma, launching herself down the slope. She has a start on Rauna, who hesitates for a moment and then sits down carefully and pushes herself off. Down at the bottom Hilma shouts that she has won the race. Rauna nods, turns, looks uphill and seems to be in search of something.
‘Here I am, Rauna!’ she calls. ‘Up here. I saw you slide down!’
She waves, and Rauna waves back.
12
IT WAS SNOWING that evening, and there were no lights on in the house.
Kimmo Joentaa left his car under the apple tree and walked through the cold air. Once inside, he stood motionless in the corridor, straining his ears for any sounds suggesting the presence of a human being. No address, no date of birth. He didn’t know her name; he’d never find her again.
He went into the kitchen and switched the light on. The milk carton and vodka bottle were standing on the table. On the draining board beside the sink stood a bowl and the packet of oat flakes, with a spoon beside them.
Obviously the woman had eaten a bowl of cereal after getting up. Before closing the door after her and leaving.
Joentaa sat down at the table and thought about Patrik Laukkanen and the way they had been discussing death in calm, down-to-earth tones a couple of days ago. About Leena, holding a baby in her arms while Sundström tried to explain the incomprehensible facts to her. About Sundström, who marked out everyone’s special areas of responsibility in his striving for efficiency. About Heinonen who, when Kimmo drove him home that evening, had said quietly, abstractedly, ‘I won’t be going out there again,’ and Kimmo hadn’t grasped his meaning. The big matches in England were on tomorrow, Heinonen had said, and Kimmo still didn’t understand.
‘That’s when the English Football League has its Boxing Day games. I’ve got quite a lot riding on Manchester United versus Arsenal.’
Kimmo had just stared at Heinonen.
‘You see what I mean?’ Heinonen had asked, and Joentaa had nodded vaguely.
Heinonen had said goodnight, and Kimmo had seen Paulina opening the door and Heinonen bending down to pick up the twins in his arms.
Joentaa stood up and went into the living room. Children were playing ice hockey on the lake outside the picture window. There was a pale moon in the sky above them, and Tuomas Heinonen’s Santa Claus outfit still lay on the sofa.
He thought he heard knocking behind his back. He waited. Yes, there it was again. Someone knocking at his door. Probably Pasi Laaksonen, asking if he’d like to go round and eat with them that evening. He hurried to the door, and was slightly out of breath when he opened it.
‘Watch out,’ she said, and Joentaa stood back as the blonde woman precariously staggered past him with a tree. A spruce about a metre high. She made straight for the living room and put it down at the far side of the room beside the picture window.
‘This is where I’d like it best,’ she said, and Joentaa nodded.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘Yes, definitely. Looks good,’ he said.
‘Got anything to decorate it with?’ she asked.
‘To …?’
‘Well, you know, like red baubles, for instance.’
‘Yes, yes … I’m afraid I’ll have to search for them.’
‘Then get searching,’ she said.
Joentaa nodded, and went downstairs to the cellar. He knew where to look. He knew all about the chaos in his laundry room. The red baubles she wanted were
in a cardboard box along with several wooden angels and an assortment of Magi.
He took the whole box upstairs with him. Larissa was beside the tree checking to see if it was straight.
‘Here … baubles and so forth,’ said Joentaa, handing her the cardboard box.
‘Looks good, don’t you think?’ she asked.
Joentaa nodded, and watched her carefully arranging the Christmas decorations on the spruce tree. Then they stood side by side in silence.
Out on the lake the children were arguing. Their voices came through the glass. There seemed to be a disagreement about the state of play.
Joentaa stared at the tree, and felt a smile spreading over his face.
13
HE WOKE UP in the night because a heavy weight was pressing down on his body, and when he opened his eyes he saw that Larissa had gone to sleep on top of him.
He cautiously sat up and pushed her over to the side. Covered her up and hugged her. Kept his arms round her until, half asleep, she began to laugh and asked if he wanted to squeeze her to death.
‘Definitely not,’ he said, loosening his grip.
She nodded, and quickly dropped off to sleep again.
He looked at the swirling snowflakes outside the window and thought of Leena Jauhiainen, who had quietly collapsed at midday. She had been sitting on the sofa for several minutes, holding the baby and asking questions that Paavo Sundström had answered. She had seemed very calm all that time, but then she carefully put the child down beside her and slipped off the sofa to the floor in floods of tears. Joentaa had sat down between her and the baby, holding her shoulder with one hand and the baby’s hand with the other. The baby had been lying still on the sofa, eyes wide open. Sundström had rung the doctor on emergency call, who came quickly and prescribed her tranquillisers.
He got up and went into the kitchen, made himself some herbal tea and sat down at the table with the steaming cup. He wondered whether Leena Jauhiainen was asleep now. Probably she was, thanks to the drugs. Only two days ago he and Patrik Laukkanen had been talking about exactly such drugs. A woman dead of an overdose of sleeping tablets, and now Leena was taking them because Patrik was dead, and tomorrow was Boxing Day. A big day in the English Football League, so Tuomas had said. Joentaa wondered exactly what Tuomas meant when he said he had quite a lot riding on Manchester United versus Arsenal.
The Winter of the Lions Page 3
