YUSUF LEANS BACK in his chair and watches as Jessica and Erne reenter the room and take their seats. Photographs of the body fished out of the water are being projected on the screen. The devastating darkness that formed the backdrops of the previous photographs has been replaced by a clinically cold aluminum table and white sheets. The woman’s face is pale, serene.
Yusuf unzips his cardigan. The air in the room has grown stuffy. More people have gathered there: two technical investigators, a guy from the National Police Board, as well as the medical examiner conducting the autopsy, Sissi Sarvilinna.
“Our preliminary findings confirm drowning as the cause of death . . . ,” Sarvilinna says, and moves on to the next slide with the click of a remote. The laser pointer bounces restlessly around the screen. Yusuf has never met Sarvilinna before, but he has heard she is aloof, stupefyingly direct, and not the least bit fun, despite an idiosyncratic form of black humor. In her religious-conservative attire, she is the stereotype of a no-nonsense medical examiner.
Yusuf squints and wonders how a dead person can look so peaceful. You’d think suffocating would have left traces of fear and panic on her face.
“. . . but diatom analysis indicates she was drowned elsewhere.” Sarvilinna scans the dumbfounded faces in the room, as if taking the mystery to the next level gives her pleasure. Mikael and Nina are the only two who don’t seem caught off guard by the information.
“And then buried under the ice,” Erne whispers. “I knew the way Koponen expressed it during the video call sounded somehow strange.”
“The lungs are full of fresh water,” Sarvilinna continues as if Erne hasn’t interrupted her. “Tap water, to be exact.”
“When did she die?”
“Between six and nine p.m., by rough estimate. Furthermore, I can say with relative certainty that she was in the freezing water for a couple of hours, maximum.”
“So she was drowned somewhere yesterday evening and then brought almost immediately to the Koponens’ shore,” Jessica says, jotting down her observations.
“And after the perp drilled through the ice, dropped the body into the water, and covered the hole in the ice with snow, he walked across the yard and into the house, then murdered Maria Koponen,” Yusuf says, glancing uncertainly at the medical examiner like a schoolboy who’s unsure of his answer.
Sarvilinna doesn’t make the slightest indication of responding; instead, she glances at her watch in apparent boredom. It’s not her job to confirm the detectives’ guesses. She came here to present the facts. The. Cold. Hard. Facts.
“How did it happen in the book?” Jessica asks, and inquisitive faces turn toward Mikael. He rustles a little blue plastic bag and pops a piece of gum into his mouth. Then he shoots a look at Nina and begins: “In the book, the suspected witch is bound at the wrists and ankles. Then she’s thrown into a pool. It’s a medieval method of testing whether someone is a witch—either that or a barbaric trial. Take your pick. If the suspect floats even after she’s tied up, it’s definite proof she’s a witch, and she’s immediately sentenced to death.”
Jessica shakes her head incredulously. “On what goddamn basis?”
“There are two answers to that question. Many believed that, because witches rejected their baptism when they joined the devil’s legions, water would repel them. Another belief was that water repels the witch because it symbolizes purity. The craziest thing is, if the victim sank to the bottom and drowned—which logic would argue would have been a pretty common result—she was freed from suspicion. But the test had to be performed to acquire the necessary proof. Shitty deal, but hey, at least they did it.”
Yusuf dries his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Jesus Christ. That makes no sense.”
“So our victim died as a result of one of these tests?” Erne asks.
“It’s possible. If the murderers copied Koponen’s novel. That’s how the crime takes place in the book.”
“Marks on the body support this theory. There are signs of binding at the victim’s wrists and ankles,” Sarvilinna says, and clicks onward, bringing up a close-up of the deceased’s face.
“Where did this trial take place?” Jessica asks. “In the book, I mean.”
“At the home of the chief inquisitor,” Nina says. She and Mikael exchange glances and sigh more or less simultaneously; they’re about to be bombarded with more questions. “Everyone involved in the investigation should read the books. There are some similarities, but . . .” Nina shuts her eyes.
Mikael picks up where Nina left off. “That’s just it. There are similarities, but only up to a point.”
“Look . . . at this juncture, it’s critical we make one thing clear for everyone.” Nina sits up straighter. “Koponen’s books are part fantasy: supernatural things happen in them. There are women suspected of being witches, and then there are real witches too. For instance, in Koponen’s version, the woman sitting at the table has already been killed, but then she appears at the head of the table, all dressed up, with the blood-chilling smirk on her face.”
“So the killers didn’t copy the book’s murders exactly? They took inspiration from the events in general?” Erne asks.
The man from the Police Board, leaning against the rear wall of the room, massages his eyebrows.
Nina undoes her blond hair just to tie it up again. “That’s how it looks.”
Erne makes a note in his little pad. “What about the immolations at Juva?”
“In the series, they’re two totally different events. The sole similarities to last night’s murders, aside from MO, are that the victims are a man and a woman,” Mikael says, and twirls his gum on his tongue.
“Do we know for a fact that the Juva victims are Porkka and Koponen?” Nina asks.
Jessica raises her hand. “I can take this one. The male victim’s teeth were removed, apparently to hinder identification for some reason or other. But DNA tests have already confirmed the victims’ identities. DNA lifted from hygiene products at the Koponen residence matches DNA samples taken from the male body.”
A few seconds pass before anyone says anything. It’s official: Roger Koponen is dead.
“To go back to the Ice Princess,” Jessica says, and immediately regrets using the macabre shorthand in the full conference room. “Is it true we still have no idea as to the victim’s identity?”
“Yes. No one matching the description has been reported missing.”
“What about a nonmatch?”
“The murderers could have made up and dressed the victim however they wanted, but I’m sure we’re not going to find some ninety-one-year-old Alzheimer’s patient underneath, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Fine. What about Maria Koponen? How was she killed?”
“There are no external wounds,” Sarvilinna says, crossing her arms. “In all likelihood she was poisoned. But it will be some time before we know for sure.”
“But what about that smile?” Erne asks.
Sarvilinna brings up a slide of Maria Koponen. Then a second and a third. She advances through the images until a photo of some sort of contraption made up of tiny parts appears before them.
“Those are plugs we found in the cheeks. They were joined by a fine line or wire tied around her head. The line was heard to see, because heavy makeup was applied over it, as well as a sealant to produce the rigid effect on the face,” Sarvilinna explains with a scratch of her earlobe.
“Insane,” Erne says. The next ten seconds pass in collective headshaking.
Eventually Jessica sees the tall man decked out in the uniform of a high-ranking officer glance at his watch and gesture Erne over. Erne rises slowly from his chair, and the two of them step out into the corridor.
Jessica can sense her superior’s distress. Erne’s role as director of investigations is anything but easy. Four bodies within the course of a few hours are rare by any measure. Serial killer. Everyone who has investigated serious crimes knows such cases are extremely rare in Finland. The country’s criminal history knows only a handful of instances that, loosely interpreted, meet the criteria: two or more homicides carried out as distinct actions. Even in this instance, the use of the term is, at the very least, questionable; the facts seem to indicate that, despite certain similarities, the murders in Kulosaari and Juva were committed by different individuals.
“We’ll be receiving the preliminary laboratory results within the next few hours.” Sarvilinna pulls a thick folder from her leather satchel. “Everything we already know is in here. You know where you can find me.”
Tentative murmurs fill the room as Erne steps back in. His boss’ tongue-lashing has been brief but intense. The stress shines from Erne’s face. No one says anything.
Yusuf opens a tabloid app on his phone, even though he knows it will simply compound the agony. The headlines are confused; the reporters don’t know where to begin. Police. Bestselling Author. Wife.
A moment later, the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling flicker as Sarvilinna shuts the door behind her.