‘Thanks a million. Can I…’
‘No. Go now. Go! Ea lesum!’
He did not look to see whether she left or not, for surely she would leave if he so commanded it. He turned and walked in the opposite direction, and for a brief moment he sensed a slight uncertainty, a doubt in his mind, but then he remembered the face of the man on the inside flap of the book; he remembered every detail of his face, even the overgrown hair around his neck. That this man should dare try to steal his son!
He was filled once again with a fighting spirit, that same unshakeable will, the strength with which he doggedly carried out his work from day to day, and he was no longer in any doubt as to who next would be sacrificed to Maammo through the Orange Apostle.
31. Hide Out
If anyone were to walk along the thin dirt track around the edge of Kulosaari Park in the direction of Naurissalmi, before long, if they looked carefully, they might just make out a small clump of rushes. It wasn’t particularly big, barely even a hundred square metres, but it was high and thick: the rushes grew in a dense patch and were so tall that in parts the tips of theirs flowers stood several metres high. And those with a keen eye might even notice that a narrow strip of land ran through them; not really a path as such, but a vague parting in the undergrowth, as if a very thin person had wandered through there every now and then.
The water was cloudy, the bottom was covered in mud, though the tops of a few rocks could be seen jutting out through the surface. And if someone were to walk along this narrow strip, they would soon see that the rocks formed a kind of bridge. Less than a metre apart, it was possible to walk along them to a place hidden within the rushes. At the end of the path was something of a surprise: a flat stone, polished smooth by centuries of tides, making it comfortable to sit on.
Matti sat shivering on the rock.
He sat crouched with his arms wrapped around his shins, his cheek resting against his knee, and he couldn’t understand what it was he’d been thinking – or rather, he couldn’t comprehend that he hadn’t been thinking anything at all. He’d been in some kind of trance, and had taken off his trousers, shoes and socks and waded from the rock into the sea. Only when his underpants and the bottom of his shirt were wet had he snapped out of it; only then had he taken fright and retreated back to the rock, leaving the water barely rippling.
Had he done it because he wanted so much to get away from everything? Away, loose, free, trying to escape, though he had nowhere to go. He didn’t dare think of home, he was sure a police car would be waiting for him in the driveway. And if there was no police car, then his things would be scattered around the garden awaiting his return. The headmaster had said he was going to ring his mum, and he was certain she would do the same as she had done to Sanna on countless occasions: throw all her things into the front garden, as if to say ‘take your stuff and leave’. Only after a drawn-out ritual humiliation and a lot of pleading would she allow her to stay - ‘this time’.
On top of that, he couldn’t quite understand what had happened during the lunch break at school. Leena had been away all day, skiving probably, and Matti had wanted to ask her why she’d suddenly gone so quiet. Had he offended her in some way? The other boys had noticed that she wasn’t at school and Janne, Rike and Stenu had cornered him in the playground. As soon as Janne had asked: ‘Where’s your girlfriend today, Matti Shithead?’ Matti had punched him. He’d been clenching the pebble the priest had given him, and had done what the priest had instructed him to do, thinking: ‘This moment here and now is crap, but at the same time I’m already back home.’ Then he’d just lashed out, punching him once, right in the face. He hadn’t even had enough time to see where he’d hit him, but Janne fell back, landing on his arse, and the area around his left eye had started swelling so much you could see it from a distance.
They had all fallen silent. Janne had yelled a little, and the others had helped him away. Rike had threatened to go to the headmaster, and apparently he had done so. Matti was duly summoned to the headmaster’s office during the next lesson. The head had said he was shocked, that he was going to call Matti’s mother, and that he was going to do all he could to put an end to bullying and violence in his school. He had even threatened Matti with the police and social services and goodness knows what else. At this very moment he was hiding amongst the rushes, sitting on a rock shivering with his arms wrapped around his legs. He hadn’t thought to take off his wet underpants; he felt like a little boy who had wet himself.
It was beginning to get dark, though as spring went on the darkness seemed somehow much weaker. An old-fashioned motor boat could be heard chugging in the distance: pfut-pfut-pfut. The air smelled of fish. He stood up, numbness pinching his legs, removed his jeans which had stuck uncomfortably to his backside, and listened. There was not a sound from the dirt track, nobody was moving around. He took a long stride and stepped on to the first of the rocks leading back to the shore, carefully pulling aside the rushes so that he could see the next rock. Somewhere deep within him grew the feeling that there wasn’t anything or anybody in the world that could help him other than Leena’s priest. If only for a short while the priest had made Matti feel better, and at least for the moment, the perpetual bullying seemed to have stopped.
32. Advice
They came at almost exactly the same time, or perhaps Kikka beat him by a second or two; it was almost as if she gave Mikko permission to come. He didn’t roll off her straight away, as Kikka enjoyed the feeling of him inside her afterwards, the way he slowly drifted away before finally slipping out in his own good time. He too enjoyed the sensation of Kikka contracting around him, slower and slower. There they lay, breathing as one, their sweat mingling, and for a brief moment they themselves were one. It felt good.
Mikko breathed in the soft perfume on Kikka’s neck and with his fingers gently brushed her tangled hair behind her ears. Kikka’s hand was between his shoulder blades and she delicately caressed the most sensitive part of his back. Time passed, and it was a good kind of time: not a single negative thought went through Mikko’s mind; all that existed was the moment and the warmth of Kikka’s bare skin. But soon it too had passed. He released his grip, slowly rolled on to his back and lay beside her. Kikka nestled her head between his shoulder and his neck and with her other hand pulled the sheets up around them. They were motionless once again; all they could feel was the gradually calming beat of their hearts.
‘You’re worried about something,’ she said quietly, in a way that meant she didn’t expect him to explain.
‘A bit.’
‘Because Matti hasn’t called you?’
‘Partly.’
‘It doesn’t mean something’s happened to him. Kids that age can sit for hours moping about anything, especially if he really did get into trouble at school like Cecilia said.’
‘It’s just so unlike him… And what really annoys me is that I went there and left that telephone with her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she could very well ‘forget’ to give it to him, or break it.’
‘A grown woman?’
‘Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous. All kinds of things started happening while we were going through the divorce. I used to have a green Loden hat that I wore while writing. It was a bit like a talisman to me. Then it mysteriously disappeared.’
‘That’s pretty low.’
‘I know. And once while she was watering the flowers she managed to spill half the watering can over my typewriter, the electric Olympia, even though the nearest vase was at least a metre away.’
They lay there in silence for a moment yet, not moving, and as their passion subsided they could make out the various sounds within the building: somewhere downstairs a door slammed angrily, someone roared back and forth across the courtyard on a sputtering moped, while the couple next door were in the early stages of yet another argument, just beginning to raise their voices as if they were looking for a suitable reason to have a row. All
this made Mikko feel uneasy and he tossed and turned, but no matter what position he found, nothing felt comfortable.
‘What’s wrong now?’
‘Everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the house; then there’s this office – for some reason I just can’t bring myself to like it. And I guess I feel a bit melancholic about Sanna moving out today.’
‘You’ll soon get used to Matti being there instead. But I’ll still give you the same advice: go and talk to your parents about it.’
‘You don’t know them.’
‘But you’re their son. And this is only a temporary problem.’
‘Even so…’
‘For crying out loud, you’re only asking for a loan. Just draw up all the proper paperwork.’
‘They can certainly well afford it. To my knowledge Father gets three times as much pension as I do wages.’
‘And with five leased properties – surely one of them must be empty. They could take you on as a tenant.’
‘The two-bedroom in Punavuori might be vacant, at least they mentioned that they were going to renovate it. There would be just enough space for Matti and me, and I could use the room facing the courtyard as an office.’
‘Go and talk to them.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Mikko, wriggling on to his side, with his back to Kikka. His eyes were blank and his face was like a grey stone, his mouth an iron fissure running through it.
33. News
Harjunpää had walked from Pasila to the Police Station so quickly that a thin trail of sweat was slowly running down the end of his nose. For a reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he was eager to get stuck into the underground case, with an enthusiasm much like when he had first joined the Crime Squad. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t remember being in a situation quite as frustrating as this before: two fatalities, possibly linked, but still they couldn’t ascertain whether either of them was in fact a crime. On the train that morning it had also occurred to him that they should get hold of the CCTV tapes from the upper level of Hakaniemi station and examine the point at which he had walked in, to check whether the woman who kept returning to the platform was the same woman who had preached to him.
Upon arrival he headed straight for the bathroom. He threw his shoulder bag on the floor, ran the water until it was cold and began rinsing his face. Only as he was dabbing himself dry with a paper towel did he notice that he was not alone. There was someone else in the toilet, someone who had clearly been there for some time, and there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he sang merrily to himself.
Harjunpää took another towel as he heard the toilet flush. Then came the sound of a belt being fastened and a moment later the door of the left-hand cubicle swung open: Piipponen appeared. The evening paper was folded beneath his arm – presumably he had been reading it just now – but when he saw Harjunpää his expression changed in an instant, as if a Venetian blind had suddenly been pulled shut.
‘Christ, Harjunpää,’ he puffed. His voice was serious and sharp; irritated wrinkles appeared across his forehead, and with a flick of his wrist he opened the paper to reveal the headlines. ‘Take a look at this!’
The lettering was thick and ominous, only three words followed by a bulky question mark, a little touch that nonetheless revealed so much. “UNDERGROUND SERIAL KILLER?” Harjunpää hissed wearily. The question mark meant that the press had absolutely no confirmed information, only enough to come up with a suitably scandalous headline that would sell its papers. This headline meant that once again someone had leaked information – a problem spreading like a cancer through the police force.
‘These guys should be strung up by the balls and have a hot poker shoved up their arse,’ Piipponen growled, his moustache quivering. ‘You know what this means, we’ll be doing nothing but answering reporters’ phone calls all day. And before you know it the TV news will expect some kind of comment.’
‘Who could have done this? Surely not Mäki.’
‘Hang on,’ Piipponen exclaimed. He began leafing through the newspaper, trying to find the lead article, and after scanning through it for a moment he read, ‘“According to police sources…”’
‘You know what that means.’
‘Not a clue.’
‘It means,“According to some half-wit mole…”’
‘Shit…’
Harjunpää was already thinking frantically about who could have been behind it. Apart from himself, the only people who knew about the case in detail were Mäki, Onerva and Piipponen. Of course, then there was everyone at forensics, as well as the whole team at the Crime Squad; after all, they had all gone through the case together in the coffee room. The reality was that any one of thousands of police officers could have been responsible for the leak: all it would have taken was access to the squad’s case files.
‘What are you looking at me for?’ Piipponen snapped and his eyes widened. He was shocked, and stood tapping his fingers against his chest, making his voice shake. ‘You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with…?’
‘Of course I’m not. I was just thinking and stared at you by accident.’
‘Harjunpää, for Christ’s sake don’t go spreading things like that.’
‘Of course not… We’re having a meeting in Mäki’s office at quarter to.’
‘You know what?’ said Piipponen slowly, as if something very important had just occurred to him. ‘There is a silver lining to all this.’
‘And that is…?’
‘All the chief inspectors will have got wind of this, and the ministers. They’re bound to be interested. It’ll give the whole investigation a boost. We’ll all be put on overtime – a suspected serial killer! We’ll get this case rolling once and for all!’
‘Which means we can look forward to spending all our evenings and weekends here too. Thanks very much, but I’d be happy with your basic bread-and-butter policing,’ Harjunpää muttered as he turned on the tap again. His mouth suddenly felt horribly dry. Piipponen slammed the door shut behind him and a moment later, echoing further along the corridor, Harjunpää could hear him singing yet again.
34. Shadow
‘Ecce sum cumbale,’ he groaned, heavy and frustrated. There were a number of reasons for this. Firstly he was too close to the church, which stood barely fifteen metres away. He was sitting in the park outside Kallion kirkko, as inconspicuous as the shadow of the bushes nearby; a black evil radiated from the church’s grey granite walls – it was almost palpable – while the wail of thousands upon thousands of people killed in the name of Christian heresy rang in his ears.
Secondly, he had deviated from his usual routine. Previously he had always selected his victims at the underground station, at the last minute - just before the arrival of the Orange Apostle; but this time he had planned everything in advance and now lay in wait for the chosen one. From this vantage point he had an unobstructed view of the iron gate leading into the courtyard of the house on Neljäs Linja. The door of number 24 opened out into the street while all the others opened into the courtyard. There was no possible way he could miss Mikko Matias Moisio slipping off to the underground station.
‘Prate Mamolae non?’ he uttered, looking for an answer within himself. For this was the worst of his problems: Maammo had not appeared to him. He had remained awake and wandered praying through his underground temples until the early hours, but nothing had happened. Only once had he discerned a faint bluish green glimmer in the wall of the tunnel leading north east, but when he had run up to the spot it had disappeared. He could not understand what was happening. Did Maammo not wish for him to sacrifice this Mikko Matias? Not at all? Or simply not on that particular day? Perhaps Maammo wished merely to test him. Precipitating the New Big Bang was a task requiring the utmost trust and skill, and perhaps Maammo wished to test whether he was capable. He sat, pondering.
From further down the hill came the pulse of the morning rush hour t
raffic along Hämeentie like water running through a brook. A van rumbled along Neljäs Linja, shuddering across the cobbles; a lark was singing; on the fourth floor of Mikko Matias’ building someone closed a window; and at the edge of the park an old woman appeared walking a dog the size of a cockroach. From out of nowhere a flock of jackdaws rose into flight, and for a brief moment the air was filled with their noisy squawking. Was this a message from Maammo? Perhaps Maammo had instructed them to nest near the church in order to keep an eye on the evil plotting priests. Suddenly the black iron gate of number 24 was pushed open.
A man stepped out on to the street; he was on the thin side and had bad posture. He was carrying a brown leather case; he checked his watch. There was not a shred of doubt: this was Mikko Matias Moisio, the chosen victim – he could tell from his overgrown hair and profile; his nose was larger than average. The straggling tufts of hair across his cheeks sealed the matter once and for all.
‘Ea lesum cum sabateum,’ he proclaimed and held his breath. He waited to see which route the man would take: would he turn first into Suonionkatu then along Kolmas Linja or would he take the road straight down the hill along Siltasaarenkatu? He glanced in passing at the window of a shop on the corner. It was filled with corsets and brassieres and lace underwear, all items that lured men into sin and lewdness. On his way to the park he had noticed them and had made the first sign of the curse in front of each window.
The man continued straight ahead past the colossal church building. This too had horrified him: an entire block of flats filled with priests! The man then turned at the next corner – this was the most obvious route, as there was an entrance to the underground station at the bottom of the hill. Just before the man disappeared from view he quickly made the sign of the holy diamond. In this way there would always be an unbreakable connection between them. Even if he disappeared from view, the mark of the diamond meant he would be able to find the man again and again.
TH02 - The Priest of Evil Page 15
