by Helena Halme
Iain fell asleep immediately and slept deeply without dreaming. He was awakened by the same dark-haired hostess, who, after not getting any response to her knocking, opened the door and peered in.
‘Half an hour to harbour.’
Her shrill voice made Iain’s head hurt. He’d had too much to drink last night.
Kerttu was already eating at a sea-facing table in the cafeteria. She was wearing a pair of pale-coloured flared jeans with the shiny boots and a tight yellow jumper. Iain tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
‘I’ve got my make-up on.’
She had a suitcase next to her, with the two bags of shopping. Iain made a joke about the weary-looking people queuing up for food. Kerttu laughed, but concentrated on her food.
‘Let me help you with those. I’ll get my things and we’ll go out together,’ Iain said when he’d finished eating the egg sandwich, which was the only food he could consider having from the counter. His cup of awful black coffee was half-drunk.
Kerttu looked at Iain, then at her hands. Iain hadn’t noticed the untidy fingernails last night.
‘I…I can’t,’ she looked at Iain and continued, ‘I’m married. My husband is waiting at the jetty.’
They said goodbye and Iain returned to his cabin. Of course it all made sense. Kerttu was a cleaner, the ‘uncle’ she’d gone after, her husband. He’d been working in a factory outside Stockholm for two years while she was still in Finland. They had no children, but he wanted some. ‘I’m sorry, I drank too much,’ she said. Iain smiled, then laughed out loud.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Kerttu had asked him, her eyes wide with anxiety.
No, he didn’t mind, he’d assured her.
* * *
The sun was blindingly bright when Iain stepped outside the ferry port in Stockholm. It was noticeably warmer here than in Helsinki. As Iain followed a crowd of people from the ferry walking wearily towards the underground station he noticed the Swedes looked more Western. They wore colourful, fashionable clothes. There were many more foreign faces than in Helsinki. And everyone spoke perfect English. Even a teenage hippie sitting with his feet up in the ticket booth at the station, with the hems of his frayed jeans on show, spoke to Iain fluently, giving him precise instructions on how to get to Solna.
Solna police station was a small red-brick building in the older part of the Stockholm suburb. It stood a little way from the modern shopping centre, with its new, tall blocks of flats overlooking the low commercial buildings, where Iain’s bus had stopped. He’d got directions to the police station by a friendly pizza restaurant owner, speaking English in an Italian accent. After a few minutes’ walk, the street turned narrower and the blocks of flats were only four or five storeys high.
* * *
Sergeant Karlsson wasn’t like the other Swedes. His English was very shaky. He was a young, tall man with angular features, his long fair hair resting on a colourfully patterned tank top. The sleeves of the shirt underneath were slightly too short for his long arms. He gestured for Iain to sit down and settled himself opposite. They were in a small office, with windows overlooking a snow-covered park. Folders and papers were strewn all over a couple of grey filing cabinets.
Sergeant Karlsson held an orange folder. For a moment he said nothing and Iain waited.
‘You are interested in the Miss Berglund case?’
‘Hmm, yes,’ Iain looked at his notes.
Karlsson leant back in his chair and crossed his hands. He surveyed Iain.
‘Why?’
At last Iain had found the bit about Miss Berglund in his notes. The Swedish policeman’s pronunciation made the name sound wholly different.
‘It’s an Embassy matter. We believe she was a British citizen. I thought my colleague had telephoned Inspector Lund?’
‘Yes,’ Karlsson bent down towards the file again. He lifted his eyes to Iain and continued, ‘but there was no UK passport.’
Iain waited, keeping eye contact with the policeman. He was parched and wished that instead of being so difficult, the young man would offer him a coffee.
Finally Karlsson took a deep breath in and handed Iain the folder.
Miss Berglund was beaten to death. The pictures shocked Iain. There were black and blue marks all over her body and her face was smashed up. It was unrecognisable as that of a young woman in her late twenties. The police report was in Swedish, but Iain could see it was dated about a month ago, 22 January 1979.
‘Cause of death?’
‘Bleeding, like, here,’ Karlsson pointed to his belly.
‘Internal bleeding? And how was she found?’
‘She did not go to work and a friend came to her home.’
There was a brief silence. Karlsson continued, ‘She was beaten and also there was sign of sex.’
‘Rape?’
Karlsson stared at Iain.
‘Had she been forced to have sex?’ Iain tried again.
‘Aah…we know not. There was, how do you say? Seed inside her.’
‘Semen.’
‘Yes.’
Iain looked at the pictures again. Poor girl, what sort of person would have done this?
‘And did you find out who did it?’
‘We think this man,’ Karlsson leant over and pulled out a black-and-white picture. It had been taken with an old-fashioned camera and there was white edging to the picture. The man was standing a little way off, leaning on a railing by water. He was wearing a leather coat. Though he wasn’t looking into the camera, Iain recognised him immediately. The Colonel had been right.
‘Did you catch him?’
Karlsson looked down at his hands, ‘No.’
The Swedish policeman explained how all their searches had been futile. No one seemed to know where he’d disappeared to. The work friend knew that Miss Berglund was in love with a foreign man, perhaps from the Soviet Union. She’d met him once, accidentally in the centre of Stockholm. He’d been with Miss Berglund and the three of them had gone for a beer in a bar. The friend thought he was very controlling, and had warned Miss Berglund about the man.
‘And there are no other suspects?’
Karlsson shook his head, ‘No other boyfriend. Her family come from northern Sweden. She know nobody in Stockholm,’ Karlsson added, ‘so I think you wrong. She is Swedish, not English.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, mistaken identity,’ Iain said, getting up from the chair, ‘Thank you anyway.’ He shook Karlsson’s long, bony hand and left the police station.
* * *
Iain spent the rest of the day sightseeing in Stockholm. He went up to the Kaknäs Tower and surveyed the place from above. The city was made up of several islands, connected to the mainland by long bridges. Trains and cars crossed the overpasses, emitting fumes into the crisp, cold air. Several shipping lanes were cut into the frozen sea. Iain thought he must come back to Stockholm in the summer. Perhaps bring Maija. He had lunch in one of the many reasonably priced restaurants near the train station, and finally had a look at the Old Town before heading back to the North Harbour. At the ferry terminal he went into a telephone booth.
‘That’s very careless,’ the Colonel said when Iain told him about the photo.
‘Don’t think he knew it was taken.’
‘Have you got it?’
‘No,’ Iain hesitated. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask for a copy, ‘It was difficult as it was, Sir!’
‘Alright Collins, have a good return trip.’
10
It took Maija only to the first tram stop to tell Iain about Pia’s accident at the Linnonmaas’ house. Iain looked at Maija’s eager face.
‘I’m so relieved that Pia isn’t involved in anything, you know, what you thought.’ She straightened herself up slightly and looked out of the window. ‘Otherwise, I wasn’t sure if I’d have been able to come out tonight.’
‘I’m so glad,’ Iain said. The tram came to a corner and the movement shoved him nearer to Maija. She looked up at him
. She looked so fragile. Iain bent down and kissed her mouth. He put his arm around Maija and said, ‘She’s a good girl, your Pia.’
Maija reached for a hankie in her handbag and blew her nose loudly. Iain took his arm away. He’d never get used to the manners of the Finns, even after marriage to one, it still took him by surprise how natural they found all their bodily functions. For sex, of course, it was liberating. The image of Kerttu’s full breasts flashed quickly in front of him. Iain glanced at Maija. He mustn’t feel guilty; it was just sex. Iain shook his head, this must not do. Concentrate on the task. He started talking about the film, Heaven Can Wait, they were about to see. Of course, in Britain it had been showing for weeks already, and he’d read the reviews in the papers at the Council. Just the sort of romantic thing Maija would like, he thought.
‘So, tell me, what did Pia say she’d done at Anni’s?’ Iain was taking a chance, asking too much might make Maija suspicious, but he could not think of any other way of getting the information. The Colonel had told Iain about the ‘incident’ at the Linnonmaas’ flat. Iain’s new brief was to forget about the Linnonmaas and concentrate on Kovtun and Pia. But how could he when the two seemed intertwined?
‘They’d been messing around in the snow outside, you know kids’ stuff, really too childish for them, and had fallen sideways onto some rock or other,’ Maija said.
‘But you said she had marks on her wrists?’
Maija looked sharply at Iain.
‘The ropes on the sleigh were around her wrists.’
* * *
When they arrived at the Kino there was already a queue for tickets. They heard a commotion, someone shouting ahead of them. Iain leant across to get a better view. He felt Maija’s body next to him, also stretching to see. A man in a shabby coat was talking to the ticket seller in a loud voice. The woman behind the glass was shaking her head. She looked frightened. The man was holding a bottle of clear liquid, and waving it at the woman inside the booth. He said something and stuck the bottle in his pocket. A real drunk, Iain thought. The man turned around and Iain could feel Maija freeze. She moved swiftly back in line with the queue. The man had both his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was standing still, staring at Iain and Maija. People behind him in the queue were nudging him to move and eventually he did, walking slowly past the queue and past Maija and Iain. When he was level with them, he looked at Maija and smiling said, ‘Dobryj večer’.
Iain watched the man, who kept his eyes on Maija as long as he could, walk out of the glass door. The queue was moving quickly forward. Iain glanced at Maija. She was facing forward, with her head held high. She hadn’t reacted in any way when the man had spoken Russian to her.
‘Did you know him?’ Iain asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Who?’
‘The Russian man.’
Everyone in the queue turned to look at Iain. He coughed and looked down at his boots. He’d forgotten Finns didn’t use that word.
‘Of course not,’ Maija said, lifting her eyes to Iain and then looking pointedly at the people around them. Iain nodded and placed his hand around Maija’s waist. She was still tense.
* * *
When Iain paid for their tickets, he said, ‘What did the drunk want?’
The cashier looked at Iain in surprise.
‘Come on, the film is about to start,’ Maija said anxiously, taking hold of Iain’s arm. But Iain wasn’t budging. He glanced at the clock above the ticket booth and saw they had plenty of time yet. The woman behind the glass was looking from Maija to Iain. A couple behind Iain in the queue started to shuffle closer to him. Eventually the ticket seller coughed and said, ‘Oh, he just wanted to buy a ticket to the cinema with a bottle of vodka. Like many of the Soviet citizens we get here, he had no Finnish marks.’
* * *
Just as the film was about to start, Iain made an excuse. ‘Sorry Maija, need the loo,’ and found a telephone in the foyer of the Kino Theatre. He was glad to see it was empty. Even the lady selling the tickets had left her post.
‘We need to talk to the girl again. She’s becoming a nuisance, isn’t she,’ the Colonel said.
Iain had considered telling the Colonel of the little incident with Maija and the Russian, but decided against it. He needed to work out what it meant first.
Back in his seat, next to Maija, Iain put his arm around her. The film had barely begun, but he needed to get back to Maija’s flat as soon as possible. He started to cough violently, taking his arm back and reaching for a handkerchief in the pocket of his trousers. A few people around them started to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Iain’s throat hurt. Maija whispered, ‘Should we leave?’
* * *
Iain insisted that, as recompense for missing the film, he should take Maija right back to her flat instead of saying goodbye at the tram stop on Erottaja. Iain thought he might get in to check, and hopefully talk, to Pia about that night’s events. In the tram to Kasarminkatu, Iain was thinking how close he was to telling Maija all. She didn’t lack intelligence; he feared she’d soon see through the stupid excuses he had to invent to speak to Pia. If only there were fewer days until the Geordie gunboat sailed back to the UK. Iain didn’t know how long he could keep up this act.
* * *
Pia woke to the sound of a door slamming. She was fully clothed, but covered by a blanket. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. She held her breath and listened for any noises. She’d been dreaming of being shut in a ship, sitting amongst crates of machine guns, surrounded by the faint scuffling of rats and dirt, hiding from the Gestapo. The hold of the ship smelled musty and all Pia could hear were the echoes of somebody’s heavy boots walking on the deck above her.
Pia sat up and looked around the room. The street light cast an orange glow through the Venetian blinds. She put her bedside lamp on and saw a note had been pushed under the door.
‘I’ve gone out to the cinema with Iain. Have the tinned pea soup and rye bread for supper. Mum.’
Pia looked at her watch and saw the red marks on her arms and suddenly remembered. No wonder she had the Gestapo dream! Pia didn’t want to leave her room in case someone was lurking behind the sofa in the living room. She shook her head, determined to ignore the fear. Light, she thought. That will make everything look normal. Now the room looked safe, with no hidden corners, just the piles of clothes on the floor, the school books on the desk, reminding Pia of the Finnish homework she had to do for the Old Crow.
She’d been tired at school. In the morning her mother had said she should take a day off, insisting Pia looked as if she was sickening for something. Maija was surprised when she hadn’t taken any notice. Apart from training for the Tournament Pia might as well have stayed at home. Anni had still not been at school, and Heikki, too, had been away. That wasn’t unusual, though; he often skipped days. But now, with the two of them going out, Pia had hoped he’d tell her when he was planning to bunk off. She’d felt lonely all day.
First a cup of coffee and then pea soup. It was nearly nine o’clock. She must have slept a good two hours. Pia decided to phone Anni as soon as she could on the pretext of telling her about the Old Crow’s homework assignment. Pia hoped she’d be coming to school tomorrow. Without her father present, Anni would tell her what was going on. Pia stepped into the kitchen, putting lights on as she walked through the hall and the living room. She thought about the Admiral’s involvement in the British security forces. She’d talk to him, too, she decided, and slowly stirred the thick green soup in the pan. The smell of the salty pork and soft peas filled her nostrils. Suddenly she felt very hungry. She was spooning the soup into a bowl when the phone rang.
Anni, Pia thought, and ran smiling to the phone.
‘Hello!’
‘Miss Mäkelä?’ a man’s voice said.
‘Umm, no,’ Pia said, not really knowing why.
‘I speak with Pia Mäkelä?’ the voice said. Now she recognised the accent. It was Kovtun. Her voice mustn’t
tremble, Pia thought, and she said, in her most grown-up manner, ‘I’m afraid she’s not in.’
Pia was trying to copy her mother when she wanted to get rid of someone. She’d heard her use the voice on the Reader’s Digest salespeople, as well as on the Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to the door.
There was a long silence.
Pia noticed her hand was shaking. She heard a quick breath being taken at the other end. Then the Russian hung up. It took Pia a long time to replace the receiver. She double locked the door and placed the chain across, then turned the lights off in the hall and in the kitchen. Crawling to the window, she stood up at the side, looking down at the empty road. The clock ticked in the kitchen. When Pia saw him, she stopped breathing. The man was walking slowly along the street opposite. He went past the flat, then turned around at the corner and came back. He came to a halt right opposite the kitchen window. Pia’s mind raced. What was he doing there? Had he followed her home? She looked around and saw she’d forgotten the light in the living room. He could probably see her shadow through the thin cotton curtain. Pia pulled herself back and sat on the floor underneath the window and waited. The faint smell of the pea soup now made her feel sick. She wanted to cry but didn’t dare make a sound. What could she do? Mr Linnonmaa had said they’d not trouble her anymore. Should she phone him? Or the police? Perhaps Anni’s father could send the police to arrest the Russian. Could the Finnish police do anything with the KGB? Pia doubted it.
After what felt like an age, Pia crawled out of the kitchen and into her room, turning the light and the lamp off. She peered through the bottom of the Venetian blinds, parting them a fraction.
