Silence (19 page)

Then he sat up. Sunlight was flooding through the picture window. The lake was flat calm. He was lying on the living-room sofa. He had gone to sleep over the files he was studying, and now they lay scattered on the table and floor.

After Ketola had left, he had leafed through them for hours, imagining that he might come upon some crucial point if he only read attentively enough. He had fought his weariness, and after a while had begun picking up a new file every five minutes in the hope that the next moment, any time now, a key word would leap to his attention. The idea wouldn’t let go of him. The idea of having seen and failed to understand something important. Presumably as the result of his exhaustion and his odd midnight conversation with Ketola.

Finally he had concentrated entirely on the list drawn up by Heinonen and Grönholm. The fifty-five names had been whittled down to forty-eight by the evening. Seven more had passed away, as Sundström had put it, so they were left with forty-eight living men who had in common the fact that they had lived from 1974 to 1983 in Turku and the surrounding area, and had owned small red cars.

He looked at the closely printed page and wondered how they were ever going to get anywhere this way. A murder thirty-three years ago and a girl missing for twenty-four years. Vague indications of small red cars, leading to the compilation of a list of names decades later. Random names on a sheet of paper. That was all the list was, but last night he had suddenly felt quite sure that the list contained an answer. He had studied the names, addresses and telephone numbers until the letters began to dance before his eyes. And he had obviously fallen asleep over them. He couldn’t remember.

He quickly showered and got dressed. As he drove to the city centre he was thinking of the moment in the morning when he had thought Sanna was lying beside him, and he had only to put out his hands to touch her. A moment that left behind a complete void and total clarity, a moment such as he had known often in the past, during the first months after Sanna’s death. Sometimes he would go around the house for minutes on end after waking, looking for Sanna and thinking that her death was the last of his dreams the night before.

In the office he sat at his computer and looked at the picture on the screen saver. The red church with the water in the background, taken on a hazy day like the day of her funeral. Ketola had narrowed his eyes when he first saw it, and for a moment Kimmo had thought he ought to say something to justify himself. He hadn’t, because there was nothing to say. He had scanned it in and put it on the screen, and not thought for a second of anything else. He had chosen this picture because there was no other picture he could have chosen. That was his answer to the unspoken question in Ketola’s eyes.

He thought of Ketola. He had come to work for years with a queasy feeling because he knew he would need strength to avoid Ketola’s piercing gaze. He had always admired Grönholm, who seemed to bear Ketola’s outbursts of rage with perfect equanimity, and of course Kari Niemi, who had a winning smile ready for Ketola even in his craziest moods.

Ketola’s swivel chair was still there. No one used it, no one even thought of removing it from the office. Sundström had brought his own chair with him and moved into an office of his own in the room next door. At this moment he strode vigorously out of it.

‘Kimmo, good to see you,’ he said, waving some sheets of paper in the air. ‘I’d like us to work through this during the morning. Conference at fourteen hundred hours,’ he added.

Joentaa took the list and once again saw the names he had been studying all night. ‘Right,’ he said.

‘I know it’s vague. More than vague, so it ought not to take up too much of our time, but I don’t want to find out later that the murderer really was on this list.’

Joentaa nodded.

‘Heinonen and Grönholm have provisionally filtered out forty-eight names. That makes twelve for each of us. I’ve circled who checks up on which of these people. Phone or go to see them, I don’t mind which. We just want all of us to be able to say something about them at two this afternoon.’

Joentaa nodded again and glanced at the names. Oraniemi, Palolahti, Pärssinen, Peltonen, Seinäjoki, Sihvonen. Must call Sanna’s parents.

‘Niemi sent through to say the blood group matches. The blood we found therefore more than likely comes from Sinikka Vehkasalo.’

Kimmo nodded. That was no surprise. He sat up straight and looked at the names that Sundström had assigned to him. ‘I’ll get going right away,’ he said.

‘Wonderful,’ said Sundström. ‘We’ll look pretty silly if we can’t find this joker.’

Joentaa looked enquiringly at him.

‘The wanker. The arsehole. The bloody murderer,’ Sundström said, clarifying his meaning. ‘Coffee for me – tea for you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please,’ said Joentaa.

3

T
imo Korvensuo was sitting in the breakfast room. His ravenous hunger had gone away, leaving him with a queasy sensation. But he ate all the same. Cornflakes. It was a long time since he’d eaten cornflakes. With cold milk.

The little girl was running about again and looked at him with curiosity. He shovelled cornflakes into his open mouth and rolled his eyes. Milk ran down his chin into the collar of his shirt. The little girl laughed.

Then he took the lift up to his room, went in and packed his things.

The young woman at reception wished him a safe journey home.

His car was in the underground garage. He put his travelling bag and the laptop in the boot. The machine ate his parking ticket, the barrier rose and as he drove he wondered how it actually functioned. What kind of mechanism was at work, what did the link between feeding in the parking ticket and the raising of the barrier consist of? It was probably very simple. A simple mechanism. A simple but good idea. There were bunches of flowers at the foot of the cross. He turned right at the far end of the field and brought the car to a halt at the roadside.

He thought of Aku. The way Aku had looked at him that night by the lake. It wasn’t long ago. Aku had felt sick because he’d eaten too much ice cream. Or maybe not too much, maybe he’d eaten it too fast. Stuffed it all down his throat in too much of a hurry. That was something Aku would have to learn. The more he thought about it, the more important it seemed to him. He’d talk to Marjatta about that as soon as he had a chance.

He sat there for a while. Then he put his mobile on the passenger seat and got out of the car. He walked towards the house through a great surge of warm air.

The curtains were drawn in the house next door; it looked deserted. Korvensuo thought of the tall, stooping man who had been to see Elina Lehtinen yesterday evening.

He felt sweat on his throat and forehead as he pressed the bell. Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing whatsoever. He hummed a little tune. Elina Lehtinen stood there facing him. A few metres away. She stood in the doorway and looked at him, a question in her eyes, and Timo Korvensuo thought that it was all over.

At last.

He pushed open the garden gate and went towards Elina Lehtinen, and he heard her saying something, heard the sound of her voice.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ asked Elina Lehtinen.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Korvensuo repeated.

Elina Lehtinen waited.

‘I … do you know if the house next door … do you happen to know if by any chance it’s for sale?’

Elina Lehtinen’s eyes followed his glance at the property next door. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said.

‘I was just thinking it looks empty,’ said Korvensuo.

‘No,’ said Elina Lehtinen.

Korvensuo nodded. ‘That’s a pity. I was thinking … you see, I’m looking for a house in this area for my family and me …’

The tall, stooping man came out of the house next door. He did not seem to notice them, although he was hardly twenty metres away. He got into his car and drove off, looking straight ahead. Korvensuo watched him drive away, and Elina Lehtinen said, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Oh … yes … yes, that would be very nice. Thank you,’ he said.

Elina Lehtinen smiled.

He followed her into the shade of the house. She went to make tea, and he looked out at her little garden. There was a football on the lawn, and Laura was rowing and Aku was dipping one hand in the water. He could feel it. What a strange sensation. It was cold and tingled on his skin.

He turned and looked into the smiling eyes of Pia Lehtinen. She was laughing out loud. Just a little louder and he would be able to hear it.

‘We can go out on to the terrace if you like,’ said Elina Lehtinen.

‘That would be good,’ said Korvensuo.

Elina Lehtinen poured tea into two cups.

‘Your daughter?’ asked Korvensuo.

Nothing, nothing at all. All energy.

‘I mean, in the photo hanging in your living room.’

‘Yes,’ said Elina Lehtinen.

Korvensuo nodded. ‘I … I have two children myself.’

Elina Lehtinen handed him a plate with a slice of cake on it. Blueberry cake.

‘She looks … nice,’ said Korvensuo.

Elina Lehtinen helped herself to a slice of cake as well.

‘Mine are eight and thirteen. A boy and a girl.’

Elina Lehtinen did not reply.

‘Aku and Laura,’ said Korvensuo.

Elina Lehtinen still did not reply.

‘And … what is your daughter’s name?’

‘Pia.’

‘Pia. A lovely name.’

He raised the fork to his mouth, and Aku felt a cool tingling on his skin.

‘So you’re looking for a house in this area?’ asked Elina Lehtinen.

‘Yes, that’s right. We … I’m having a change of career. Do you know if there’s a property for sale anywhere near here?’

‘I’m afraid not, but I can ask around for you, if you like.’

‘Yes, thank you very much. That would be nice of you. Although in fact …’

Elina looked at him with a question in her eyes.

‘I’m an estate agent. So I can look into it myself. I came here on impulse, because I thought the house next door was empty. But all the same, it would be really kind of you to ask around.’

Elina Lehtinen said nothing.

‘This cake is very good,’ he said.

Elina Lehtinen raised her cup to her mouth, and Aku stood up and dived head first into the water.

‘Here,’ he said, handing her his business card. ‘Just in case anything turns up. It would be really good; I like it here. I’m sure my wife and children would like it as well.’

Elina Lehtinen looked at the business card.

‘Does … does your daughter … I was just thinking, maybe my son is about the same age as your daughter’s children …’

‘My daughter has no children.’

He nodded.

‘She is dead,’ said Elina Lehtinen, and Marjatta called to Aku not to swim too far out.

‘Oh, I’m very sorry,’ he said.

Elina Lehtinen nodded. ‘It was very long ago,’ she said.

‘All the same, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …’

Elina Lehtinen nodded.

‘I really am sorry,’ he said and got to his feet. The flickering in front of his eyes wore off when he stepped into the shadow of the house.

Aku came up to the surface, and Pia laughed without a sound.

‘Well, you have my card,’ he said when they were at the door. He felt her hand in his.

He walked away and Elina Lehtinen closed the door. He heard the latch engage, and Aku came up to the surface breathing deeply in and deeply out, because he had been holding his breath for so long.

Timo Korvensuo got into his car. He imagined driving home, and instead he drove along a road where he had not been for a long time, yet he knew it.

4

T
he building at numbers 86-90 Korvalankatu was a concrete colossus, a rectangular series of flats surrounded by an unusually well-mown area of lawn.

Tuomas Heinonen stood looking at it for a while, wondering whether, during a hot summer like this, he had ever seen such a large, well-tended expanse of turf. The sprinkler system was throwing out jets of water in all directions.

The building must contain dozens of flats, but there was no one in sight. Classical music drifted out of an open window, and a boy was sitting on a swing in the playground. A man with a large beer belly was taking a few rapid steps forward and a few rapid steps back near the refuse containers. Forward and back. Heinonen assumed this was some kind of game that only the man himself, in his drink-sodden brain, understood.

The flat he was looking for was on the ground floor. Venetian blinds were drawn down. Heinonen entered the shade of the stairwell and rang the doorbell belonging to Pärssinen. Olavi Pärssinen. One of the last names on the list that Sundström had given him that morning.

While he waited, he thought about what Sundström really wanted to hear later. That they had spoken to the men, that they now knew what makes of car they had been driving in the years 1974 to 1983 and that none of them had confessed to killing Pia Lehtinen, let alone Marika Paloniemi, still less Sinikka Vehkasalo.

He pressed the doorbell a second time, and rubbed his face and eyes while he waited. Obviously Olavi Pärssinen wasn’t at home. Why should he be?

‘You were looking for me?’

He turned and saw the face of a sunburnt old man carrying a box of tools.

‘Olavi Pärssinen?’ asked Heinonen.

‘That’s me,’ said the man.

‘My name is Heinonen.’ He showed the man his ID. ‘We need a little information from you to help us in our enquiries in the case of a missing person.’

‘Oh,’ said Pärssinen.

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well, if I can help you.’ Pärssinen looked him in the face. Heinonen waited a few seconds, trying to form an impression. The man’s expression seemed relaxed and a little absent.

‘Shall we go inside?’ asked Pärssinen.

Heinonen nodded, and Pärssinen opened the door. ‘This way’ he said and Heinonen entered a sparsely furnished living room entirely in the shade.

‘A beer?’ asked Pärssinen.

‘No, thank you,’ said Heinonen.

Pärssinen smiled, disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a biscuit tin, which he opened and placed on the table.