Beside herself with rage, Anna rushed to the police station and straight into Virkkunen’s office. Esko, Sari, Rauno, Nils Näkkäläjärvi and a few other officers brought in as reinforcements had already started the meeting led by Chief Inspector Pertti Virkkunen.
Anna explained that the autopsy had taken longer than expected.
‘It’s good that you could make it. What do we know about the new victim?’ Virkkunen asked her.
Anna heard Esko scoff to himself. Again he hadn’t been invited to the autopsy.
I won’t let a single old drunk disturb my life, she thought as she plugged her camera into the computer. Concentrate, she commanded herself, forget about those bastards Ákos and Esko, forget about the tiredness, forget everything.
They congregated around the screen.
‘It was an interesting autopsy,’ she began and was herself taken aback at the frailty and brittleness of her voice.
Anna cleared her throat and poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. Sari gave her a worried look. I’ve got to snap out of this, Anna thought.
‘Here we can get an overall picture of the extent of the victim’s wounds,’ she continued more decisively. Everyone’s attention shifted to the computer screen, and she heard the gasps and the muttered expressions of shock. It was no wonder. Mutilated with a knife, the body was a shocking sight, even to the eyes of experienced police officers. Anna continued her account of the autopsy.
‘There were 23 knife wounds in total. The blade was long and thin, like one you might use to fillet a fish. The blows were inflicted while the victim lay on the ground, on his back, and before the shooting. We can see this from the direction of the bleeding, though after the initial attack the victim was subsequently turned over and the blood began to flow back.’
‘So the guy was lying on the running track with the killer on top of him going mad with a knife, before turning him over and shooting him in the back of the head,’ Rauno summed up.
‘Sounds strange,’ Esko muttered. ‘As if the victim just lay down on the track without putting up a fight. Surely there must be signs of a struggle.’
‘Perhaps he’d been struck unconscious first,’ Nils suggested.
‘There were no marks to indicate he’d been hit with anything,’ said Anna. ‘But his wrists were grazed. Linnea is pretty sure he’d been put in handcuffs. His hands were tied behind his back.’
‘How do you put handcuffs on someone running past?’ Sari asked.
‘We wondered that too, but then Linnea found a small needle mark on his left arm. Here,’ Anna enlarged the image and showed them. The mark was only just visible.
‘He’d been drugged,’ Sari exclaimed.
‘So how on earth do you get a syringe into a man running past you?’ asked Esko.
‘The mark is in precisely the place where a right-handed person would inject themselves,’ Anna explained.
‘So it is. Jesus, did the killer force Veli-Matti to drug himself?’
‘It’s highly possible, and at gunpoint it’s not even very difficult. It could have happened anywhere, even in the man’s own home. The killer would have had to transport the man from one place to another; that would explain the handcuffs.’
‘And he had to be drugged in order to get him to the running track in the first place.’
‘A place where people are too scared to go running at the moment.’
‘Guaranteed peace and quiet.’
‘What kind of fixation does this guy have with the running tracks?’ Rauno asked.
‘He must be a runner himself,’ Sari answered quietly. ‘Something has happened to him on a running track, something that compels him to carry out the killings there.’
‘The knife wounds were inflicted so rapidly that it’s hard to establish the order in which they occurred,’ said Anna and switched to a close-up of the knife wounds on the victim’s chest.
‘Christ Almighty,’ said Esko.
‘What about time of death?’ asked Virkkunen.
‘Around the same time as the others: after 8 p.m. but definitely before 11 p.m.’
‘A former student and a teacher. Strange,’ said Sari.
‘Have we established whether Riikka was in fact a former student of Veli-Matti’s?’ asked Anna.
‘Yes. The registers from Saloinen primary arrived in my email this morning. Both Riikka and Virve were in Helmerson’s class through the fifth and sixth grades.’
‘That’s an even bigger connection, given that they all live in the same village. And Riikka was a student of Mrs Helmerson in high school.’
‘As was Virve.’
‘But how does Ville Pollari fit into the equation? He doesn’t seem to have any connection to Saloinen whatsoever,’ said Virkkunen.
‘Maybe we’re looking for connections that don’t exist or that don’t have any significance,’ said Sari. ‘I think Ville’s murder proves that these victims have been selected at random. We found the hideout at Selkämaa. Of course, we can’t be a hundred per cent sure that that’s where the killer planned the murders – it could be nothing more than a playing area for local kids. But let’s assume that the killer used the spot to watch joggers running past. We know that Riikka went there; we know that Veli-Matti went there. The killer simply selected them because they happened to be there at the time. That’s it. We need to find a similar hideout at Häyrysenniemi. I think the running track is more significant to the killer than the identity of the victims,’ said Sari.
‘This is all very good, Sari,’ said Virkkunen. ‘Sounds plausible. Anna, was there any more news from the morgue?’
‘Linnea took DNA samples and ran toxicology tests. That will help us establish exactly what was injected into the victim. She’ll be in touch as soon as the results are through. That’s all.’
‘I’ve tried to established Veli-Matti’s last movements,’ said Esko. ‘Classes started at nine and finished at three. None of his colleagues noticed anything out of the ordinary. It was a perfectly average day. Veli-Matti had stayed on late to prepare for some school development project. The caretaker locked the front doors at four o’clock; there were still a few teachers in the building at that point. It’s a big school, almost a hundred teachers.’
‘Wow,’ Sari exclaimed. ‘In that small village?’
‘I know, you wouldn’t think it,’ said Esko and continued: ‘Veli-Matti came home at around 6 p.m., had something to eat and watched TV. Soon after her husband arrived, Mrs Helmerson went into town: first to a gym class, then to her frail mother’s place, where she spent the night. As she left, Veli-Matti said he was going out for a run.’
‘Did the killer force entry into the Helmersons’ house?’
‘We’ll have to examine the house and ask the neighbours,’ said Virkkunen.
‘I’ve been looking into Mrs Helmerson’s movements around the times of the previous murders,’ said Rauno. ‘She claims that she was at a yoga class on 21 August and at a head teachers’ social evening on 14 September. Both stories check out. The BodyFitness gym has magnetic cards that regular customers use to swipe themselves in – they get special offers the more they use the gym – and Kaarina Helmerson’s card was swiped in for two consecutive classes on the evening Riikka was killed. What’s interesting is that the yoga class finished at 9 p.m. Riikka was killed at 10 p.m. An hour is plenty of time to drive from the city centre out to Selkämaa. The head teachers, on the other hand, couldn’t remember exactly when they left Kaarina. They had all been having a drink in the hotel foyer and retired to their rooms at around 9 p.m., maybe earlier.’
‘Ville was shot between 7.30 p.m. and 9 p.m.’
‘Would Kaarina have driven out to Häyrysenniemi under the influence?’ asked Sari.
‘Head mistresses don’t drink and drive,’ Esko scoffed. ‘When they say they’re only having one drink, they mean it.’
‘There was nothing of interest on Veli-Matti’s telephone,’ said Sari. ‘On the day of his death he ha
dn’t made any calls and he received only one call, from his wife.’
‘Sari, you talk to the Helmersons’ neighbours and get Forensics to go over the house to see if we can find any trace of the killer. Esko and Anna, I want you to talk to Mrs Helmerson’s mother,’ instructed Virkkunen.
‘She’s got Alzheimer’s,’ said Esko, and for a moment it looked as though he gave Anna a conspiratorial smile. Perhaps Anna was so tired she had started to imagine things.
‘And we have to talk to all the previous interviewees again: the Rautios, Virve, Jere, the old folk living near the running track. We have to turn every stone once again. What was the name of the old boy who lives at Selkämaa? The one with the sharp memory?’ asked Virkkunen.
‘Yki Raappana,’ Rauno replied.
‘You talk to him. He knows you. I’ve got to get ready for the media storm. We’ve got a press conference starting soon.’
‘Did you call the health officer?’ Sari asked as she followed Anna to her office.
‘Yes, yes,’ Anna lied. ‘They prescribed me those sleeping pills you mentioned.’
‘Good,’ Sari sounded relieved. ‘They’ll get you sorted.’
Anna remained in her office alone. The clock on the wall was ticking so loudly it made her head hurt. She didn’t dare go to the doctor. She was afraid she’d be put on mandatory sick leave. Then she could kiss her job goodbye once the six-month trial period was over. There was no room for wimps in police investigations. You’ve got to have the psychological stamina.
Nevertheless, at that very moment the thought of being made unemployed didn’t seem all that bad after all.
32
AT KERTTU VIITALA’S APARTMENT the autumnal bleakness took on a whole new form: the stuffy, acrid smell of an elderly woman met them at the door. Anna turned up her nose, and she noticed Esko was doing the same. The nurse from the council’s home-help service who let them in was a youngish woman with brown hair. With an iron grip, she shook hands firmly with Anna and Esko. You need strength in this job, lifting old people out of bed all day, thought Anna. The work was better suited to men, but with wages even lower than in the police force, the job wasn’t all that attractive. Anna felt like opening a window, but perhaps this was forbidden in the homes of octogenarians.
Kerttu Viitala was lying in a bed located right in front of a blaring television set in the living room. The elderly woman was staring at the shopping channel flashing garishly on the screen.
‘Is Grandma thinking of ordering herself one of those Turbomuscles?’ Anna whispered to Esko beneath the booming aerobics music. Esko chuckled.
He’s laughing at one of my jokes, thought Anna, astonished.
The carer heard Anna’s joke too, and she didn’t find it remotely funny. She rolled her eyes angrily and turned down the volume on the television. Anna felt embarrassed. Kerttu Viitala didn’t react at all to the presence of the two strangers standing by her bed.
Anna switched off the TV altogether. The old lady grunted and turned her colourless eyes to look at Anna.
‘I was watching that,’ she said in a plaintive voice.
‘Mrs Viitala, these people are from the police. They’d like to ask you a few questions,’ said the nurse, upbeat. Anna sat on the edge of the old lady’s bed and shook her hand. Esko greeted the lady too, then stepped back to examine the photographs of relatives staring at him from the bookshelf.
‘I’d like to ask about your daughter,’ Anna said to Kerttu, raising her voice just as the nurse had done. ‘We have a few questions about Kaarina.’
The old lady looked at Anna without saying anything. The nurse began to speak as she counted pills into a glass.
‘Kaarina tends to visit in the evenings. She gives her mother her evening pills, a bite of supper, and puts her to bed. She has a night off a couple of times a week, and we come round on those evenings too. Believe me when I say it’s rare to have your own child take care of you. Elderly people are left to struggle by themselves, and nobody cares. Home-helpers from the council come round and change their diapers, cook some food, feed them, make sure they take their medication. We haven’t got room to house them all. Here we are, Kerttu. Here are your afternoon pills. There’s a good girl.’
The nurse stood next to the bed, so close that Anna could smell her breath. And something else, too. Sweat, perhaps. Apparently home-helpers picked up the cumulative staleness of all the elderly folk in the city. Kerttu Viitala groaned as she sat up in bed and raised a quivering hand, blue veins criss-crossing beneath her wafer-thin, wrinkled skin. She took the glass of pills, and with a surprisingly nimble flick of the wrist knocked the entire cocktail into her mouth and swallowed.
‘Gosh,’ Anna said almost involuntarily.
The nurse was standing by with a glass of water. She raised it to Kerttu’s lips and tilted it, a trickle of water running down the front of her threadbare nightgown.
‘Good girl,’ said the nurse, affected and jaunty, and energetically wiped the old lady’s mouth with a sheet of kitchen roll.
Anna watched as the water soaked into the fibres of the cotton nightgown, forming a dark blotch. I want to die suddenly before I turn 70, she thought as she stood up and opened a window. She looked down into the street that bisected the city centre at its busiest point. A constant bustle of people flowed into cafés and shops. Café Penguin, a pleasant and popular place where Anna often stopped for an espresso, could be seen right below. Its terrace had been dismantled and its tethered deckchairs moved to the basement to wait until summer. On the windowsill was a pair of binoculars. When the nurse saw Anna staring at them, she snatched them up and put them in a cupboard in the far corner of the living room.
‘Mrs Viitala likes to sit by the window and watch the people walking around outside, whenever she’s up to it. That’s pretty rare nowadays,’ the nurse explained. Her voice was brusque and she stared back at Anna without blinking. The woman’s eyes were astonishingly blue. We’re disturbing her work, Anna thought. We’re disturbing her.
Anna looked down on to the street. The view that opened up from the window was meant for young people, full of energy, people who lived life to the full and had no need whatsoever for Social Services. A view like this wasn’t supposed to be looked at from above, through a pair of binoculars, body and soul wasting away, worrying about the missed opportunities of the past. The view invited you to dive in head first and let yourself be carried away by the flow. If you couldn’t do that, you belonged elsewhere. In an institution, perhaps, or at the very least further from the city centre.
Anna asked Esko and the nurse into the kitchen. Though Kerttu seemed quite deaf, it didn’t feel right talking about her in the same room.
‘Have you been looking after Mrs Viitala for long?’ Anna asked the nurse.
‘Me personally or the nurses in general?’
‘Both.’
‘Kerttu has been on our books for about a year. At first we only visited every other day to bring her some food. Since last winter the nurses have been coming too. Kerttu’s condition went rapidly downhill at around that time, and she couldn’t get by with only Kaarina’s help. Personally I’ve been coming here since the winter.’
‘Do the same nurses visit every day?’
‘No. We have a rotating system, so you might visit the same customer anything from three to five times a week. It depends.’
‘Where can we get hold of your rota? We may need to establish which nurses visited on certain dates.’
‘Ah yes, of course. You’ll have to ask our supervisor at the home-help department. I can give you her contact details.’
‘Thank you, that would be great,’ said Anna and took the calling card the nurse pulled out of her bag.
‘What condition is Mrs Viitala in?’ Esko asked.
‘Well, you can see for yourself,’ the nurse scoffed. ‘She’s had Alzheimer’s for years, and now it’s reached the point where Kaarina has to explain who she is. Isn’t it terrible? You forget your own child
…’
‘Kaarina told us that Mrs Viitala has moments of lucidity,’ said Anna.
‘Did she now? Not that I’ve ever seen. Of course, Kaarina is here more often than I am. And naturally she knows her mother far better.’
‘In your opinion, could Mrs Viitala confirm that her daughter visited her on certain specific dates?’
Again the nurse laughed.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘Why should she? Has Kaarina done something?’
‘We’re looking into a case.’
‘I have to leave, I’m afraid. We’re on a very tight schedule. Please remember to close the window; old people are very sensitive to draughts. And make sure that the door is securely shut when you leave.’
The nurse went back into the living room. Anna and Esko followed her.
‘Bye for now, Kerttu. See you the day after tomorrow,’ the nurse shouted, holding Mrs Viitala’s hand and stroking its wrinkled surface for a moment. The old lady moaned with happiness.
Then she left. The jangle of her extensive collection of keys could be heard from the corridor.
How many lonely old people must there be in this city, Anna wondered, people waiting for the jangle of a set of keys, the sound of the door opening, waiting for someone, anyone, to come and pay a visit? Anna’s own grandmother, her father’s mother, was 90 years old and still in incredibly good condition. She went to the pensioners’ dance evenings, and visited friends and relatives almost every day. The thought flashed across Anna’s mind that there weren’t any lonely old people back home. Why not?
‘She’s a good girl, she is, my daughter, to look after me like this,’ Kerttu said unexpectedly from the bed.
Anna and Esko took a step closer to the elderly lady.
‘Hello, Mrs Viitala,’ said Esko, again raising his voice.
‘Who is that?’ Kerttu asked with a note of concern.
‘Esko Niemi and Anna Fekete from the police, ma’am,’ he replied.
‘The police? Goodness me, has something happened?’ Kerttu said in a panic.
‘We just have a few questions to ask you.’
The Hummingbird Page 29