TH02 - The Priest of Evil (7 page)

‘Morning. Murder Squad’s on their way,’ he said, quiet and sober.

‘Hi. What’s the situation?’

‘I just heard on the radio that they haven’t managed to get him out yet, just some body parts. And it is a he, apparently.’

‘Thanks,’ said Harjunpää as he lifted the tape, crouched underneath and made his way briskly down the escalator. By now he could clearly make out a smell that he couldn’t quite put his finger on – it was simply the smell of the underground, a blend of stone and slowly seeping water.

Upon reaching the intermediary level he noticed that the incident had occurred on the eastbound track, where a glowing orange train now stood stationary. Just then he sensed another smell: the smell of a mutilated body, of blood. The train’s carriages had been separated from one another, leaving a gap of twenty or so metres between them. At first Harjunpää didn’t quite understand what was going on: every time he had dealt with underground cases in the past the body had had to be extricated from the front of the train.

Nonetheless it was at this gap that the firemen were working and one of them had crawled so far under the carriage that only the glow of his lamp could be seen. The paramedics had already begun gathering their equipment and were clearly getting ready to leave. This was the final confirmation that no one was going to be brought out from beneath the train alive. There were a number of constables from the division standing on the platform, amongst them DS Viitasaari, who was wearing the field director’s vest. Kivinen from forensics was crouching down beside a body bag laid out on the platform. From a distance the body bag looked empty, or so Harjunpää thought.

‘Hello, Harjunpää,’ Viitasaari nodded and glanced down at his notebook. ‘This is looking pretty bad. Not a single eyewitness, or if there were any they were long gone by the time we got here – probably in too
much of a hurry to get to work. And here’s the funny thing: this guy’s managed to get himself stuck
between
the carriages.’

‘What about the driver?’

‘That woman over there. We breathalysed her, she’s clean. Didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary coming into the station, just crowds of passengers waiting. It was only when she was about to pull away that she noticed people waving to her in the mirror and someone running up to her compartment.’

‘Let’s hope there’s something on the security tapes.’

‘We’ve taken them in. You can collect them before you leave.’

‘So maybe it wasn’t suicide after all, perhaps he just stumbled.’

‘That’s what we’ve all been wondering.’

Harjunpää brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He would have to interview the driver himself and arrange a time for her to come down to the station, but his real hope lay with the security tapes: he guessed that all in all there must have been several hundred cameras dotted around the station. No doubt they would have to put a notice in the paper asking for witnesses to come forward. Identifying the victim was another priority, though he most likely had a wallet in his pocket containing the relevant papers. Next of kin, if there were any, might be able to shed some light on this.

Harjunpää trudged over to Kivinen and the body bag. Kivinen was focussing his camera on something at the bottom of the bag and Harjunpää bent down to see what it was. Before him lay a human face ripped from the skull, like a limp, rubber mask; through the mouth and eye sockets all that could be seen was the black at the bottom of the bag. It was clearly the face of a man – a young man at that. He was cleanly shaven, and through everything else Harjunpää thought he could make out the faint smell of a familiar aftershave.

In addition to the face, the bag also contained a hand, sticky with blood. It was the left hand, severed at the wrist, and on the fourth finger gleamed a flat, golden ring. Harjunpää sighed and reached into his bag for a pair of disposable gloves – they were the new kind that could even withstand needles, to a certain degree – then he crouched down, took the
severed hand into his own and gently began wiggling the ring loose. It came off surprisingly easily, perhaps because the hand had already bled dry. He wiped the ring on his other glove and peered at the inside.

Jaana
, read the inscription. In the dim light he couldn’t make out the date.

He liked calling it composing, and when he was at home by himself and could put the music on full volume it was like flying. In some ways they were one and the same thing, they gave him a chance to forget all the crap things in life – like Roo, or the fact that his mum must have been a bit mad to break them all up like that. And then there was the fact that his dad didn’t seem to give a fuck about him.

He gave a start and quickly looked around to the left and the right; he didn’t have to look behind him, because all that was there was the cafeteria wall. He couldn’t see them yet. He gave a soft sigh: he couldn’t see them because it was only the first break. It usually started after lunch, then continued all afternoon and on the way home too, if he forgot to wait behind the coat rack until they had gone. Janne was the biggest bastard of the lot.

But even this he could forget about when he was composing. He would start by staring at an object, like the sand in the playground, and gradually he would notice that it wasn’t just sand, it was a whole collection of tiny, individual crystals. Each one of them had a shape and colour of its own, and light reflected off them in different ways. And even though they appeared to be in random positions, by the laws of nature they were exactly as they should be. It was truly magnificent!

Then all of a sudden it was as though he no longer simply saw these crystals, he could
hear
them – they were like sublime music, the swell of a great orchestra. At times like this his hands rose up of their own accord and began conducting the orchestra. This had even happened in school once or twice, and that’s why everyone thought he was a fucking nutcase. That’s where it had all started.

Even his mum said he must not be right in the head, and she hated him for it. So did Roo – but he hated Roo back. He didn’t know whether it was a mental illness or not, but he was afraid it might be and the thought that he was different from everyone else frightened him. He’d never belonged to anybody’s group or gang: everywhere he went, he was always alone.

Trembling slightly he took a deep mouthful of air, then another, and his mind was filled once again with the sensation of flying, and it was even better than composing; when the music was already playing, everything happened much quicker. Straight away he began conducting the orchestra, and a moment later he noticed that the shoes lined up beneath the coat rack weren’t just sitting there, they were chattering away to one another. One of them was explaining how it had stepped in some chewing gum, another had stepped in dog’s droppings, while a third recounted how, in a queue at the checkout, it had met such a wonderful pair of high heels that it had fallen in love with them in an instant. And as for the green rug in the living room, it was no longer a rug: it was a raft, a slice of the jungle, drifting upon the ocean, and only it knew where it was heading.

A moment later and everything had turned into a great dance: his legs moved supplely as though he had springs in his knees. He soared across on the jungle raft, flew from one room to the next, finally flying above all the furniture – or at least so he imagined. Nothing else existed, just the flying, not a single one of those bastards or his frightening thoughts. How he loved this!

By now the grains of sand had turned into a great horde of people, a choir singing a hymn, like the beginning of the waltz theme of
Also Sprach Zarathustra: tada-diti-ti-tii!
The strings began to weave their melody upwards, then a violin appeared and swiftly took the lead, and like a thief his hands slipped out of his pockets and rose up into the air – and that’s when it hit him.

This time it struck him on the temple. It really hurt, like fire. He let out a silent ‘fuck’, and he could feel his lips trembling; he knew that tears were not far away. The sand was once again just sand, and he stood there, his shoulders hunched up, surrounded by the noise of the playground at break time.

They appeared from behind the games wall. That’s where they had thrown the stone. They came straight towards him, first that shit-head Janne, then Stenu, and all of a sudden he felt a desperate need for the toilet.

‘How’s Matti shit-for-brains?’ Janne began. Then they were around him in a semi-circle and he was trapped: behind him was the wall. ‘What’s with the hands? Having a wank?’

‘No.’

‘Have you got such a big dick that you need both hands?’

‘Give it a rest.’

‘Lend us your phone,’ said Stenu. The expression on his face was so demonic that Matti knew what was coming next.

‘No.’

‘Why not? You afraid I’m going to nick it?’

‘No.’

‘Then why won’t you lend it to me?’

‘I haven’t got one.’

‘What? Did you hear that? He hasn’t got a phone!’

They all burst into laughter. It was always false laughter at first, but when they saw how crap he felt, and that he could do nothing but stare at his shoes, it turned into real laughter. Then they all took out their mobile phones – Rike had one of those fancy new ones that can do almost anything – and held them up to their ears. Then it started:

‘Hello? Hello? Can Mummy’s boy Moisio hear?’

‘Pick up! There’s a lot of people calling you!’

He turned and stared at the wall with numbed eyes, but the bastards wouldn’t let him be. They grabbed hold of him and spun him back round.

‘Been looking at pussy on the net again?’

‘He won’t even look you in the eyes! Look!’

‘And why haven’t you been on the net? Say something, you little shit!’

‘I haven’t…’

‘I’ll tell you why: ’cause you haven’t got a computer!’

‘Fuck! He hasn’t got a computer! Do you think he’s got a dick?’

‘Let’s have a look!’

‘Piss off, leave me alone.’

‘And what if we don’t? Going to tell your dad?’

‘Shit-heads!’

‘No you won’t. And do you know why? ’Cause you haven’t got a dad either, you fucking poof!’

‘You’re the…’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Janne; he sounded almost amazed and started stretching his arms. Matti was so afraid that it felt as if his hands were swelling. ‘Did you hear that? This poor tosser just called me a poof.’

‘I heard him.’

‘Me too.’

‘I heard him call you an arse bandit too.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Janne said stretching his arms again. He came right up to Matti and grabbed the scruff of his jacket. He could smell the smoke on Janne’s breath. ‘Right, gay boy, you know what’s going to happen to you after school?’

‘Don’t, please…’

‘You’re dead. Next break I’ll come and see if you want to apologise. And you can say sorry by kissing my arse. But if you don’t want to…’

At that moment someone came up behind them. It all happened so quickly that he couldn’t tell where she had come from, but she shoved them so hard that they all stumbled and fell over. For a moment he thought it might be the girls’ PE teacher, but it was Fat Leena from Year Eight. Some of the other children called her the Hammer Thrower. She had Janne by the ear and twisted it so hard that he fell to his knees.

‘What the fuck are you doing, you fat cow?’ Janne cried out, but this time his voice was trembling too.

‘Just thought I’d show you what it’s like,’ said Fat Leena. She had already stretched her hands out towards Skate, but he legged it and only stopped when he realised Fat Leena wasn’t following him. The others moved back, as though they were going to help Skate, even though they too were running away.

‘I’ll report you to the police!’ shouted Janne. ‘This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this, fat bitch! And you’ll pay if my phone’s broken!’

Only when they were far enough away did Janne dare raise his middle finger at her.

‘Suits me fine!’ she shouted back. ‘Whenever you’re ready. But you’ll never win.’

The bell had obviously rung, though Matti hadn’t noticed when. Everything had happened so fast, and now there was no one in the playground but the two of them. He could feel his shoulders heaving – he had learnt how to cry without making a sound. He felt bleary and ashamed, the shame thick like porridge in his head, and he felt that he simply didn’t dare go to his next lesson.

‘Get a move on,’ shouted Fat Leena abruptly.

From the footsteps he could hear that Fat Leena was leaving, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow her.

‘Leena,’ he finally managed to say. All he could do was stare at the ground, embarrassed and bowing his head, but he could hear that Fat Leena had stopped walking.

‘What? Thanks?’

‘Yeah. And, um… Could you walk home from school with me today?’

‘When do you finish?’

‘Three.’

‘Me too. See you at the front door.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ said Matti, though he wasn’t sure whether Leena had heard him or not, because just then a medicopter appeared from behind the trees, its blades chattering, and flew low over the school. There had been an accident somewhere: perhaps a car crash, perhaps someone had been in the wrong lane and smashed into a lorry.

Or even tried to kill themselves.

Sinikka was warm and happy – even though she was upside down, but she didn’t know this. In any case, this was precisely the position she should have been in. She kept one of her tiny thumbs in her mouth and sucked on it. She very often did this, particularly when she heard the
now familiar murmuring:
If you go down to the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise
…

This murmuring made Sinikka feel better than any other. It was like a murmuring all of her own: it was so close that it caused something to flicker gently, deep within her.

For every bear that ever there was, will gather there for certain because today’s
…

Ding-dong!

That was a noise Sinikka had heard many times before, and though she hadn’t really worked out why, she knew that the ding-dong meant that the world would begin to bounce slightly quicker than usual, and that would be followed by more murmuring, first the familiar, strong one, then another, fainter murmuring.