Authors: Harri Nykanen

Nights of Awe (5 page)

BOOK: Nights of Awe

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“What did he yell? One word or more?”

“There was more than one word, at least two, if not three.”

The man in a tracksuit and ski-cap who was out exercising his mutt came closer.

“Are you a police officer?”

“Yes. Could I have a word with you in a minute?”

“I didn’t see anything, I wasn’t even here then.”

The man retreated slightly, and I returned my attention to the woman.

“Do you remember any of the words?”

“Remembering something like that would be impossible; it’s all Greek to me. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“What happened next? Did you go see who was yelling?”

“Heavens, no. I don’t interfere in such matters.”

“What matters?”

“Altercations between foreigners.”

“What do you mean by altercations?”

“Well, I don’t suppose the man was yelling at himself…”

“What happened next? Did you see anyone right after the yelling? Anyone who might have been involved in what happened?”

The owner of the mutt edged furtively closer. The woman gave him an angry look. He had clearly violated her territorial bounds.

“Two men came from the bridge. That’s when I was certain that they had been the ones arguing and yelling… they looked foreign.”

“Can you describe them in more detail?”

“Dark… dark-skinned.”

The woman gave me the once-over.

“Like yourself. Both of them were wearing coats, with the hoods pulled up over their heads… and gloves, both of them. Between thirty and forty, moved lithely, like athletes.”

“Try to remember any details about their appearance or clothes. I’m certain you have excellent powers of observation.”

My flattery paid off.

“Dark-blue sweatshirts and black sweatpants and running shoes. That’s all I can say. They walked a little way, then one of them started running…”

The woman paused and frowned.

“Then a woman screamed.”

“Screamed what?”

“Or more like shrieked. There were no words.”

“But you didn’t see who screamed?”

“No. It only lasted a moment.”

“Was there anyone here in the dog park besides you?”

“At least two people, maybe three, but the only one I remember is that actress from the City Theatre, a young woman who lives somewhere nearby, because I’ve seen her on many occasions. She has a Jack Russell terrier. Her picture is in the case out in front of the Theatre. Brunette, slim, short hair.”

I waited for fifteen minutes, freezing the whole time, and chatted up every dog owner I ran into. No one had seen or heard anything. And so I cut across the park to the City Theatre.

The display cases were in front of the main door. Vivica Mattsson. Brown hair, slim, short hair, just like the poodle lady said.

She was one of the stars of a musical that was about to premiere.

The porter hung up the phone as I entered. I showed her my police ID.

“Is Vivica Mattsson here?”

“She’s in rehearsal.”

“Would you ask her to come out here, please. It’s important police business.”

She hesitated, but went off to find Mattsson. It took four minutes.

Evidently it was a dress rehearsal, because Mattsson was in costume. She had on a Fifties hoop skirt with red polka dots and a shirt with a white collar. She looked as innocent as a girl who was about to be confirmed, but that was highly unlikely.

“I was told you’re a detective. What’s going on? I’ve been in rehearsals all morning.”

I told her what happened at the bridge without going into details. I didn’t want to read them in the tabloids.

“You were apparently out walking your dog next to the bridge at that time.”

“That’s true. It was about eight o’clock, but I don’t remember seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary.”

“The killers most likely passed the dog park as they left: two dark-skinned guys in hoodies and sneakers. At least one of them may have been carrying a gym bag.”

“Do you mean dark or black?”

“Dark, like me.”

She gave me an evaluative look.

“I’m Jewish.”

“So some of you are cops?”

“At least one of us.”

It wasn’t the first time I had been asked this question. People seemed to have a strong belief that Jews have some secret, Old Testament-based motive for not joining the police force. In reality, there was only one reason: the lousy pay.

Vivica Mattsson sat down in one of the armchairs in the lobby and tossed one leg across the other. I eyed her tanned thigh. Despite the warnings of dermatologists everywhere, Mattsson clearly enjoyed sunbathing. It was easy picturing her in a string bikini on the rocks outside a seaside villa inherited from her grandpapa.

I decided it would be more natural if I also sat. Mattsson frowned; it looked as if she were remembering something.

“So Arabs, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t see, but I might have heard. Do you speak Arabic?”

“No.”

“Someone angrily shouted something from the bridge in Arabic, or at least that’s what it sounded like. A train went past right then and after that I didn’t hear anything else.”

“We know those two men probably headed this way at about the same time. But you didn’t notice them?”

“I think this one dog owner came over right then to talk, and I was focused on that.”

“The woman with a small black poodle?”

“Right.”

“Do you remember who else was in the dog park?”

“No. It was a late night last night, and I was pretty groggy this morning, I still am. I can’t wait to get some rest… I didn’t feel like talking, but she’s such a chatterbox… Did you need anything else from me? It’s opening night tomorrow…”

“Call me if you remember anything more.”

I gave her my card. She looked at it for a minute and started to smile.

She was beautiful, so beautiful that I couldn’t help taking a quick backwards glance from the vestibule. But she was already gone.

Oksanen was sitting in the back of the van, talking into his mobile phone. There was no sign of Stenman. Oksanen hung up as soon as he saw me. From the haste of his movements I knew it wasn’t a work-related call, most likely arrangements related to the next police-guild rally.

“We’re making progress,” Oksanen told me, waving the plastic bag containing the Hertz map.

“How so?”

“This edition of the map only came out a couple of weeks ago, and it’s meant to be left in the car. My buddy at Hertz promised to get his team to find out how many maps have been snagged from vehicles. Then he’ll go into the computers and dig up the personal info on the customers who rented those cars and give it to me.”

“Sounds good.”

“I was thinking, during rush hour, trains would have been going through here pretty often, and some locomotive engineer might have seen something on the bridge. We can get a single message out to all the engineers through the control centre.”

“Also a good idea.”

Huovinen’s metallic green VW Passat was climbing the hill, behind it a black Opel Vectra.

“Here comes Huovinen,” Oksanen said.

You could tell from Oksanen’s voice that he didn’t care for Huovinen, and presumably the feeling was mutual. Huovinen had lectured Oksanen pretty harshly a couple of times about time on the clock going to his rally pursuits.

Huovinen was accompanied by a man of about forty, wearing a light-green poplin coat and dress trousers. He had intense, almost black eyes.

I was sure that I had met him before somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where. Still, I guessed what he was doing with my boss.

“Let’s have a little powwow. Where are Stenman and Simolin?”

I told him.

“We don’t have time to wait.”

Huovinen nodded at his visitor.

“This is Inspector Sillanpää from the Security Police. I’ll let him explain why he’s here.”

Sillanpää had the hard look of a punched-up boxer.

“There are quite a few things about this case that interest us. Two foreigners, facial mutilation, the method of killing, the scene of the crime, which is Finland’s busiest and perhaps most important section of railway track. I also understood that the deceased haven’t been identified yet, and we’d like to assist in identification so we can do background checks on them. If they have a record, maybe we can piece together some kind of scenario for what happened. And of course the case also interests us as a possible hate crime.”

“Do you have any suspicions about what this is all about?”

“No more than you do.”

If Sillanpää was lying, he was used to it.

“What was found on the bodies?” Sillanpää asked.

“On one of them, nothing; on the other, a map of Helsinki and a gun. Or actually, the gun had fallen onto the roof of the train. It was found later at the rail yard.”

“No mobile phone?”

“And a mobile,” I was forced to admit.

“We want the phone. We’ll immediately deliver you everything we recover from it.”

“The phone is critical for the investigation at this stage.”

“You’ll get the call data as soon as we retrieve it. This has already been agreed on with the deputy police chief.”

I glanced at Huovinen. I could tell he was irritated by this news.

“One of our detectives has the phone at the moment.”

“Where is he?”

“Probably already on his way back here.”

“Let him know we want the phone immediately.”

Typical SUPO talk, I thought. Sillanpää spoke as if the entire Security Police, right up to the chief inspector, stood behind his wishes.

“I’ll try to get in touch with him.”

I walked a little way off and called Simolin.

“How’s it going?”

“We’re just about done.”

“There’s a guy from SUPO here, he wants the phone.”

“You want us to quit?”

“Nah. How long will it take?”

“Ten minutes, max.”

“Make a note of all calls, both received and made, and messages, and write down the security code. The boys from SUPO can crack it for themselves.”

I went back to the van.

“He’ll be here within half an hour.”

Huovinen looked at me thoughtfully. He had a keen nose in matters like these. He handed me a printout that was folded in quarters.

“The official press release that was distributed through the Finnish News Agency, in case you’re interested.”

I read the release. Huovinen had been unusually succinct. I was sure the journalists wouldn’t be satisfied.

“I promised to flesh it out this evening. You have anything to give me?”

For a moment no one spoke. The silence clearly bothered Oksanen the most.

“I’ll call Arja and ask about the security cameras. I could go get the tapes.”

“Good,” said Huovinen. He looked preoccupied.

Huovinen was forty-seven, but he was already greying. He was a handsome man, so handsome that during our time in the police academy he had earned money on the side as a male model for a clothing manufacturer. He was remarried, and wife number two was an Estonian-born cellist.

Huovinen came out of his reverie.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Coming from Huovinen, this meant almost completely free rein. He probably knew how to cut the corners that could slow an investigation better than anyone else at headquarters.

Sillanpää was also roused from silence.

“I’ve got other things I could be doing. Where’s this detective? I’ll go pick up the phone from him myself.”

“I didn’t think to ask, but he’ll be right here.”

Sillanpää eyed me with the usual suspicion. He had a clearly exaggerated need for control. Maybe it was part of the job description.

Huovinen buttoned up his charcoal-coloured wool coat. “You gentlemen can manage without me. I’m going to head over to the ministry. If something comes up, call. I’ll let you know about the meeting.”

He got into his car and drove off.

“Was the phone unlocked?” Sillanpää asked.

BOOK: Nights of Awe

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