It was just before four in the afternoon, but Harjunpää decided to give it one more go; he tried to suppress the murky feeling that had nested in his mind that he was up against an insurmountable mystical force. He dialled the number, and after a few rings the tape cut in: You have reached the answering machine for senior citizens’ officer Kaisa Salin at the Department of Social Services. I will be unavailable today. In urgent matters, please contact my colleague, officer Timo Väänänen, on extension… Harjunpää had already written down the number and he knew what was going to happen, but he dialled the extension nonetheless and it went straight on to the tape: You have reached the answering machine for senior citizens’ officer Timo Väänänen at the Department of Social Services. I will be unable to answer the telephone today. In urgent matters, please contact my colleague, officer Kaisa Salin, on extension number…
He put the receiver back in place and looked out of the window; far behind the horizon lay Kirkkonummi, Elisa, the girls and Grandpa.
‘Same again?’ asked Onerva, her knitting needles clacking. Harjunpää nodded; he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He’d managed to get hold of Ms Salin last week and they’d almost ended up having an argument: as she saw it, Grandpa wasn’t a lonely old man without a home or a carer and therefore his case wasn’t considered urgent, and her opinion remained unchanged despite Harjunpää’s explanation of why things were the way they were. On top of that there had been something in her tone of voice that had made Harjunpää feel like the villain of the piece and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to contact her again. He didn’t know what to do. He felt caught in one of life’s mysterious traps.
‘I’ve had an idea. It’s pretty simple, but it’s good,’ said Onerva. She was sitting in front of a map, knitting; it looked so down-to-earth and made him think of autumn. Harjunpää was used to seeing Onerva at work with a pair of knitting needles in her hands and he’d learned that from the point of view of their ongoing investigations it could only mean good. When Onerva was knitting she was connected to a power concealed within her and, as strange as it sounded, it was at these moments that her mind brought fresh ideas to the problems at hand.
‘Yes?’
‘It seems from the interview transcripts that all these women had spent the evening in a bar somewhere, but only Meriläinen’s report mentioned where she’d been: the Hotel Inter.’
‘OK,’ Harjunpää mumbled and didn’t quite follow; he was still thinking about Salin and what old people must feel like every time they reach her answering machine.
‘So tomorrow we’ll call all these women and ask them where they’d spent the evening. And I bet we’re talking about no more than maybe three locations.’
‘Right,’ said Harjunpää, suddenly smiling: it seemed so simple and yet so utterly sensible. ‘And we’ll visit these places and ask them if they’ve got a regular customer that looks like a chaffinch.’
‘Or whether anybody’s seen somebody matching the description on the street. In one of the doorways opposite, perhaps.’
They had gone through all the reports and transcripts several times (there were now twenty-six separate incident reports and as many red pins on Harjunpää’s map, most of them in the Töölö area) and they all followed the same basic pattern: the victim had left a bar fairly drunk and come home, often with a man they had only met that same evening, and woken up in the early hours as the man had started caressing her again, only to discover that there was a third person in the apartment. The intruder had then fled immediately and no one had been able to give a detailed description of him due to the darkness, let alone identify him from photographs. Many had stated that the bathroom light was switched on. None of the victims had claimed to have been sexually assaulted by the intruder, and the medical examiner’s reports had remained inconclusive because each woman had already engaged in intercourse with the man she had brought home.
‘What do you think?’ Onerva asked. ‘We’ll let Lampinen and Juslin concentrate on Nikander as much as they want to, yes?’
‘I was thinking along the same lines… Now I understand the whole thing with the bathroom light: he switches it on so that enough light seeps through the doorway for him to see properly and to escape if necessary. And both people who live in the flat think the other forgot to turn the light off.’
‘That could well be it. And I was thinking: if we now have twenty-six reported incidents, there’ll probably be just as many who have noticed something but haven’t reported it. And how many women haven’t noticed anything at all?’
The telephone rang.
‘Harjunpää.’
‘Hi, it’s me,’ said Elisa, and Harjunpää knew from her voice that something was wrong. ‘Timo, I’d arranged a doctor’s appointment for four o’clock, and Grandpa knew about it, but now I’ve been looking for him for half an hour and I can’t find him anywhere.’
Harjunpää drew a breath; Grandpa had gone missing several times before.
‘Did you go down to the phone box?’
‘That’s where I went first. They haven’t seen him at the shop either.’
‘What about the girls?’
‘They’re all at home. Ari said he’d seen an old man standing up on the hillside about an hour ago…’
Harjunpää rubbed his forehead. There were a number of paths leading down the hill, the majority of which led to other clusters of houses, but those on the left went first to the meadows then on to the swamp, and after that there was nothing but forest for about ten kilometres.
‘Should we call the police?’
‘Not yet. I’ll be there in an hour, let’s see if we can find him first,’ Harjunpää tried to keep her calm, though he felt so worked up himself that he wondered whether or not to go down to the parking bay, take one of the police cars and speed back home.
‘Timo… I think he’s trying to avoid the doctor. And his nitrate tablets are still on the hall table.’
‘Have another look for him. Look through the neighbours’ gardens. And I’ll be there in an hour…’
Onerva looked at him quizzically.
‘Grandpa’s gone missing,’ he said, went over to the wardrobe and picked up his jacket. ‘Sometimes he just can’t seem to find his way home.’
‘Good day, one and all,’ said Lampinen who had appeared at the door with Juslin lurking behind him. ‘What kind of blooding sewing group do you call this? In case you’re interested, Nikander’s been hanging around the city centre all afternoon. In Töölö, to be specific. It’s as if he’s casing the area in advance so he can have his way at night.’
‘And he’s one hell of a letch,’ growled Juslin. ‘You should see his head spin whenever a woman walks past him. I can see him there in the dark: some sweetheart lying there virtually unconscious, legs akimbo, naked as the day she was born. And he puts his hand down on her thigh, gives her a little squeeze… Breasts like foxes’ muzzles, he has a little suckle… and… and his fingers start stroking her bush and he’s… He’s probably got a different woman every night. What a fucking pig!’
‘But we’re going to get him. We’ll set him a trap he can’t…’
‘Is it all right if we talk about this tomorrow? I’ve got to go.’
‘Well! I suppose it’ll have to be all right,’ Lampinen said, then nodded at Onerva’s knitting. ‘I hear people actually pay you for those things, those… let’s call them rags.’
‘That’s right. I get the money brought round in a wheelbarrow twice a week.’
‘Get away,’ Lampinen scoffed, his interest growing, and a glimmer of envy flashed across his face. ‘Well, when I’ve been out round town with the missus I’ve seen people pay over 600 marks for those things… And when you make them on duty, and add that on to your police salary, I bet you make a nice healthy profit.’
‘Goodness, you think just the same way I do.’
‘I take it you’ve got a secondary occupation licence for that?’ he asked, apparently in jest. ‘I used to do a few shifts as a doorman, and you could even say that’s related to police work, the things you hear… But one day they demanded to see a licence and the squad didn’t grant me one. You can imagine what it’s like trying to pay off the mortgage on this wage.’
‘I’m off. Onerva, will you lock the door?’ said Harjunpää and left the room, though even in the corridor he could hear Onerva laughing.
‘Buy some needles and get knitting. We could set up shop together.’ Harjunpää strode along the pavement towards Pasila train station. Holding it by his finger, his jacket dangled over his shoulder and sand crunched beneath his feet, and he kept telling himself that in all probability Grandpa had already returned home. But like some kind of life jacket he thought that, if Grandpa were still in the woods, the most obvious place for him to go was Pilvikallio; Grandpa had been very taken with the place when they’d been out picking mushrooms. His third thought sent a shudder through him, though he knew that Grandpa didn’t want to end up in an institution.
‘Who’s that walking so fast? Whoever it is, you can tell by his steps that he’s superintendent material.’
Harjunpää turned around; he’d heard quickening footsteps behind him a moment earlier. The Bogey Man was standing behind him. He hadn’t noticed where the chief had sprung from; he certainly wasn’t among the commuter regulars.
‘Afternoon.’
‘Quite the Indian summer,’ said Kontio, and Harjunpää slowed his step a little though he didn’t want to – perhaps he did it out of politeness or surprise, as Kontio was never seen talking to people from other units.
‘Can’t complain, I suppose…’
‘I’ve got a spot of business over at the eastern building. I hear you’re pretty busy down at Violent Crimes.’
‘We’re never short of cases.’
‘What was it I heard today – was it in the canteen? Apparently you’ve got a case so big you’re coordinating a Combat unit.’
‘Well, we’re just liaising really.’
‘You see, Harjunpää,’ Kontio lowered his voice and glanced behind him as if to make sure nobody was listening in. ‘To be honest, we’re on similar ground, you and me, and it’s all a bit delicate.’
‘Yes?’
‘My boys are still looking into the Finnair deposit-box job. And between you and me they’re pretty sure who did it. You might know him, one Reino Leinonen.’
‘Can’t say I do, sir.’
‘Be that as it may, my boys are keeping an eye on him. But what with your case, Lampinen’s watching him too now. My lads are worried it’s going to blow the whole operation.’
‘There must be some misunderstanding… Our suspect doesn’t officially have a name yet. One rather weak suggestion is Klaus Nikander. Lampinen’s been following him.’
‘Listen, Harjunpää,’ said Kontio firmly, like someone who knows better. He stopped by the entrance to the underpass and Harjunpää stopped too; he had no choice. ‘You know I’m not on good terms with Järvi and his team. They’ll make things hard for me out of pure spite. Make sure this Leinonen isn’t watched any more.’
‘But how can I…?’
‘Make sure he isn’t watched, or it could cause the investigation a whole range of problems if there are too many people sniffing around him.’
Kontio gave him a curt wave and turned, and he was soon halfway along the tunnel and his dark, stout back seemed to be repeating: Make sure he isn’t watched.
Harjunpää walked up to the platform. He felt clammy and dirty, as though his soul needed a shower, then he remembered the autopsy and the smell of the pathology lab: after all these years of routine he’d started to feel nauseous. What was that all about? And as for the water body, he was still none the wiser. There was still nobody he could visit, nobody he could tell, ‘We’ve found your husband. Your father’.