The Hummingbird (24 page)

Ville had left the house at around 7.20 p.m. Maria had lain in bed, signed into her Facebook account with the laptop propped on her stomach. She had spent half an hour chatting with her sister, who lived in Paris. Then her mother had called and they had spoken about all manner of things, including where to find a good deal on a tumble dryer. At around 8.30 p.m. she had switched off the computer and got up to heat the sauna. By 9 p.m. she had already begun glancing at the clock with a note of irritation and called her husband’s mobile phone; she heard it ringing in the hallway. At 9.15 p.m. she had telephoned Jussi, who hadn’t answered the phone.

Maria had waited another quarter of an hour before calling the police. The duty office had suggested she calm down and wait until morning, saying that there was no point organising a search party at this stage, that things like this happened surprisingly often and that men came home sooner or later with their tail between their legs.

‘That officer laughed at me,’ she said, devastated. ‘Can you imagine? He laughed it off! I shouted at him that Ville wasn’t like that, he wasn’t that kind of man!’

Maria started to weep. She hid her face in her hands, the sound of stifled sobs emanating from between her fingers. After a moment, she boldly raised her head and glared at Anna and Esko, a look of accusation in her reddened eyes.

‘If the police had acted as soon as I called, you might have caught the person who did this. You let that madman get away.’

Anna and Esko held their tongues.

‘May I look at your Facebook account?’ Anna asked Maria.

‘Can I refuse?’

‘At this stage, yes, but as the investigation goes on, probably not.’

‘Be my guest, read whatever you please,’ she snapped and fetched her laptop, catching her breath.

Anna and Esko scrolled through Maria’s account. Her small number of friends didn’t include anyone from Saloinen. The conversation with her sister had been saved in her chat history at exactly the time she had said. Maria had complained about her back pains and talked of the pain of waiting for things: waiting for dinner to cook, waiting for her husband to come home from work or a run, waiting for there to be something good on TV. And on top of that, waiting to give birth. Her sister had complained about the continual protest marches blocking the streets of Paris.

Nothing suspicious, nothing even remotely violent.

But who would write something like that on Facebook? Lives portrayed on people’s walls were more idyllic than those in women’s magazines.

What’s on your mind, Facebook relentlessly asks. I’m sick of my husband; I think I’ll shoot him.

Anna sniffed.

It was clear that Maria didn’t know Riikka. She took a long look at Riikka’s graduation photograph and shook her head.

‘No, I’ve never seen this girl,’ she said, her voice steady and firm.

Neither did she think it was feasible that her husband was having an affair with her or anyone else. Ville wasn’t like that, she reiterated. Ville was a good man. He would never have done anything like that. They loved one another, enjoyed each other’s company. They were happy.

Maria stroked her stomach and looked through the kitchen window out into the garden where the lawn was still green and healthy, just as it had been all summer.

Anna wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that there were no infections, no boils lurking in this household and that the
child soon to be born would be able to live in an environment that strengthened the beloved memory of its father.

But from experience she knew that people’s histories often revealed enormous, all-encompassing lies, all kinds of skeletons. The sense of anxiety tightened its grip on her. It disturbed her concentration, ripped her thoughts from the present moment, from the case at hand, and pulled them towards the ghosts of her own past. Anna gave her head a shake. Focus on the here and now.

‘Where was Ville on the evening of 21 August? Do you remember?’ Anna asked.

‘What day of the week was that?’

‘Sunday.’

‘Ville always goes for a run on Sunday evenings.’

‘Where?’

‘Around Häyrysenniemi.’

‘What about Selkämaa?’

‘Where’s that?’

Anna explained that this was where they had found Riikka’s body. Maria shook her head. Why would Ville have travelled so far to go running when there was a track much closer? His work forced him to sit behind the wheel of his car quite enough as it was.

‘Where were you that evening?’ Esko eventually asked.

‘Here,’ she responded calmly. ‘Where else would I be?’ She glared at Anna with a look of near contempt in her eyes. It burned. Why is she staring at me? Anna wanted to turn away. She stood up and said she’d like to visit the bathroom. Maria said it was in the hallway. Anna locked the door and stood in front of the mirror. A strange, unfamiliar face stared back at her.

I’m not in control of this, said the mouth in the mirror.

I don’t belong here.

As they were driving back into town, Anna asked Esko for a cigarette, trying to test the ice. To her surprise, Esko pulled over at a bus stop and handed her a cigarette. They stepped out of the car and smoked in silence, watching the passing traffic. The tobacco tasted good.

*

That evening Virkkunen was on the news. He appeared on the television in a special bulletin at 7 p.m. He was on the ten o’clock news. He was on the radio. Tomorrow things would really take off when the latest developments hit the papers, headlines screaming from the windows of every shop and kiosk. Anna could almost hear the city and tranquil countryside around it simmering and drawing breath in a collective display of fear, as though a bomb had exploded.

She was listening to the radio in a patrol car parked outside Bihar’s house. Virkkunen’s matter-of-fact voice went through the main events relating to the jogging murders as reporters tried to dig for more details. ‘For technical reasons, I can’t answer that,’ she heard him reply on more than one occasion.

It was late. The lights were on in the Chelkins’ apartment. Every now and then a shadowy figure appeared at the window. Anna got the impression that she was being watched, too.

‘The police would like to ask members of the public for anything they might have seen or heard in the area around the Selkämaa running track on 21 August and the Häyrysenniemi track on 14 September. Any observations could be useful to our investigation,’ Virkkunen continued on the radio.

‘How does the killer move from place to place?’ a reporter asked.

‘That’s what we’re trying to establish.’

‘Should we expect more murders?’

‘A ruthless killer is on the loose,’ Virkkunen said plainly. ‘Until we establish how he selects his victims, we ask everyone to avoid these running tracks, especially in the evenings.’

‘Is it still safe to go for an afternoon walk?’

There came a rap at the window. Anna gave a start.

‘Let me repeat: moving around in the dark, especially near the shore and along these running tracks, is to be avoided,’ said the voice. Anna switched off the radio and rolled down the window. It was Payedar Chelkin. He glared at Anna with a menacing glint in his eyes.

‘Leave us alone!’ he threatened her.

‘Remember that you’re speaking to a police officer,’ she replied and gripped the steering wheel.

‘Don’t police have better to do?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Now you have better to do! You go investigate murders. Go away!’

‘The police will do exactly what is required of them.’

‘Leave my daughter!’

‘You leave her alone, then I can do the same.’

‘I not do anything wrong! You go find running killer. You have better to think about.’

‘You seem to know a lot about these murders.’

‘I see it on news. News full of it.’

‘How convenient.’

‘What you say?’

‘How convenient that we’re working on a big murder case; you think we won’t have time to investigate you.’

‘Police have more important things than my family.’

‘There is nothing more important to me than your family,’ said Anna; she started the engine and sped away. Bihar’s father remained standing on the pavement shaking his fists. In the rear-view mirror, Anna could see him shouting something at her. A chilling thought ran through her mind.

Could Payedar Chelkin be so crazed?

Just then she received another text message.

Anna slowed down and pulled in at a bus stop. The screen on her phone showed an icon the shape of an envelope. Without even looking, she knew where it had come from. Or rather, she didn’t know at all.

I wanna fuck u, bitch!

The number from which the message had been sent was different. Of course, this was standard fare for professional criminals: change your number and service provider regularly enough to make tracing the messages impossible. But this message I’m not deleting, Anna resolved.

21

HELENA
LAAKSO
lived in the village of Saloinen in a small detached house behind the local shop, the bank and a pub, and located about a kilometre from Riikka’s house. She was a small, nervous-looking woman, who had read the news in the paper and called the police helpline to explain that she had been out walking her dog on the evening of 21 August and had seen a car driving towards the running track at Selkämaa.

Helena Laakso greeted Anna and Sari, showed them into the living room and gestured for them to sit down in soft, velour-covered armchairs. Pots of tea and coffee had been set on the coffee table along with freshly made scones and small cakes. Mrs Laakso brought in a jug of cream and small spoons, placed them carefully on the tray, agitatedly swiped at a grey hair that had escaped from her loosely tied bun and was hanging across her face. Anna noticed that the woman’s hands were trembling with anxiety.

Anna began to wonder whether the sighting of the car was nothing but a lonely old woman’s way of getting someone to visit her, of feeling needed and important, if only for a moment, for someone. Sari seemed to be thinking something similar, as she glanced at Anna with a sceptical look in her eyes. Let’s see what this is all about, Sari whispered when the lady went into the kitchen to fetch the sugar bowl. Anna looked at the knick-knacks and photographs on the bookshelves: confirmation and graduation photographs, newly married couples and little children, grandchildren presumably. A dog. And where was the dog? Only now did Anna notice that there was no mutt scampering around between their legs, and they hadn’t heard a single bark all the time they’d been here.

‘So, you were out walking your dog on the evening of 21 August,’ Anna began as Mrs Laakso brought the sugar bowl to the table. The lady’s restless eyes looked at the tray to make sure that she had brought everything they needed.

‘I walk my dog every day,’ she replied firmly, dispelling the officers’ slightly scatty, uncertain first impression. Her low, powerful voice would have been better suited to another body, one younger and less fragile.

‘And where is the dog now?’ Sari asked and sipped her coffee.

The woman stopped and looked at Sari with an air of concern.

‘Excellent coffee,’ Sari added hastily.

It was true. The coffee was strong and black. Caffeine bit urgently into her palette.

Mrs Laakso visibly relaxed and sat down on the sofa.

‘Oh good,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘They told me in the shop that the machine was idiot-proof, but you never know. I’ve only used it a few times. I bought it yesterday.’

‘You have a new coffee maker?’ Anna asked.

‘Yes, it’s one of these new-fangled things that George Clooney advertises on the television. Terribly expensive, but the coffee is simply marvellous. Please, take some milk if it’s too strong. I only have strong coffee at the moment. I’ll have to order a milder blend and some decaffeinated stuff next time I’m online.’

Helena Laakso smiled at the success of her coffee and no longer seemed remotely unsure of herself. So much for first impressions, thought Anna.

‘Ah yes, the dog,’ said Mrs Laakso and gave an energetic whistle. There was a scraping of claws against the wooden floor in the kitchen and an enormous bull mastiff came plodding into the living room. It lay down at its owner’s feet and didn’t pay the guests the slightest attention.

‘I’ve taught him to stay in the kitchen until I call him whenever we have guests. I’ve always been annoyed at dogs that run into the hallway jumping and yelping. After all, you are my guests.’

The small woman scratched her gigantic dog behind the ears. The dog closed his eyes with an air of calm. With a dog like that nobody would be afraid to live alone or walk alone in the woods.