THE SHARP WIND sends drifts of powdery snow swirling across the ice as Jessica watches the body bag being transported to the ambulance on a stretcher. She shuts her weary eyes for a moment, but the image of the woman’s wide brown eyes and pale skin is burned onto her retinas.
“Quite a night,” Yusuf says behind her, and lights up a cigarette. Yusuf plays Division II floorball in his free time and rarely smokes, only when he’s extremely stressed.
“Let me get one of those,” Jessica says. Cigarette in his mouth, Yusuf shakes his head, nods at the uniformed officers smoking at the police van. He takes a drag, then offers the cigarette to Jessica.
“Forget it.” Jessica sighs and shoves her hands deeper into the pockets of her parka.
“Any word from Erne?” Yusuf asks, exhaling smoke in short, quick puffs.
“He’s talking to Koponen. They’re going through all the murders described in his books. MO, place . . .”
“Shit. How many are there? Murders, I mean.”
“I don’t know. These two were at the beginning of the first book.”
“Jesus,” Yusuf says, tugging the zipper of his jacket all the way up. “What next?”
“Erne should be calling any minute now.” Jessica gestures for Yusuf to step to the side, away from curious gazes. Even though it’s past midnight, the reporters crowded behind the police cordon have been joined by bystanders. Half a dozen police officers are watching the street and the property to ensure that no one trespasses into the scene. A tension fills the air. The evening’s unexpected turns have put everyone present on edge.
“There’s not much we can do right now,” Jessica says in a low voice, coming to a stop at the Koponens’ fence. “All we know is the perp approached the property from the skating track.”
“So we have no way of figuring out what direction he came from.”
“If it’s not impossible, it’s going to be really damn hard. It’s been snowing all evening. Tech is checking the skating track right now.”
“Did the medics say if she drowned or . . .”
“We’ll know soon,” Jessica says, watching the smoke escaping from Yusuf’s nostrils into the biting air.
Yusuf glances discreetly at his phone. “No one has been reported missing,”
“Not yet. But the victim was carefully selected. Based on her appearance, she could have been Maria Koponen’s twin sister.”
Yusuf drops his cigarette butt to the ground, suddenly alert. “Does she have one?”
“What? A sister? No.”
The rotor blades of a helicopter thunder closer. Jessica eyes the facade of the luxurious house and sighs. She knows what it’s like to grow up in a home with so many rooms, it could be a small hotel. She suddenly remembers the leathery smell in the backseat of the black car, the tall metal fence, the fat, friendly man who dressed like a police officer even though he worked for a security company. There aren’t any booms, fences, or guards like that in Finland; there’s not a single gated residential development in the entire country. Anyone at all can ring anyone else’s doorbell without getting into trouble. The Kulosaari waterfront is one of the most expensive neighborhoods in all of Finland, and even so, someone entered the house without anyone noticing and murdered Maria Koponen.
“Jessica?” Yusuf says, rousing her from her thoughts. He nods at the police officer farther down and across the road who is waving for them to come over. He’s talking to an elderly woman in a parka.
They hurry over.
“Detective Niemi,” Jessica says, extending a hand toward the old woman. As they shake, Jessica feels the brittleness of the bony fingers. The woman’s wrinkled face is dotted with liver spots and her voice drags, but her gaze is keen. Jessica notices the little eyes shift and pin themselves on Yusuf, the suspicion flashing in them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come out earlier,” the woman says in a feeble voice, and then looks at the Koponen house in concern. “But I was sleeping so soundly that . . .”
“No need to apologize, ma’am,” Jessica says. She glances at the green metal gate and the steep driveway rising behind it and wonders how the old woman managed to toddle down to the street without slipping and falling. Jessica gives the woman a moment to collect her thoughts. She glances at Yusuf, who looks a little disappointed. And for good reason: it is highly unlikely that an old woman who was deep in sleep a few minutes ago would have seen or heard anything relevant at the time of the murder.
“It’s the oddest thing,” the old woman finally says, and shrugs up her shoulders inside her coat. It makes Jessica think of a shivering turtle. The old woman’s eyes are suddenly fearful.
Jessica takes a step closer. “What’s that, ma’am?”
“You’ll have to come with me. I can’t remember . . .” The old woman gestures for them to accompany her. Jessica and Yusuf exchange perplexed glances and then follow as the woman carefully picks her way across the yard. Yusuf signals for the patrol officer to stay put.
“Maybe her sink is clogged or . . . ,” Yusuf whispers.
Jessica shushes him as they slowly ascend the steep driveway. At the top of the large yard stands an ornate wooden house with a light on in one of the upstairs windows. Despite the disturbing events of the evening and the deep freeze, the old woman has left her front door open.
“You’re going to have to come upstairs,” the woman continues as they step in. She hangs her coat on a hook and swats dismissively when Jessica and Yusuf make to take off their snowy shoes. The varnished plank floor creaks under their feet. The entryway smells of old wood and damp.
“What’s upstairs?” Jessica asks a little impatiently as the old woman places her foot on the first step. She quickly thinks through various alternatives but cannot come up with anything useful in terms of the investigation that would be found on the second floor of the woman’s house.
“You’ll have to come see for yourselves,” the old woman mutters, and continues up the stairs slowly but determinedly. Jessica shoots another glance at Yusuf, who shrugs.
At the top of the stairs there’s a hall, its walls hung with dozens of black-and-white portraits. Most are group pictures in which a youngish woman and a dozen or so children and adolescents are looking at the camera. Maybe the woman used to be a teacher.
Light is shining from the open door at the end of the hall. They make their way to it, the old woman leading the way.
“This is my bedroom. I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to make the bed,” she says as they step across the threshold.
Jessica gives her an understanding smile and eyes the room. A bed, a mirror, a writing desk, an armchair. A Persian carpet, a small chandelier. Everything in perfect order. The old woman walks over to the window and stands there, back to them. Jessica discreetly glances at her watch. Maybe Yusuf was right after all; maybe old age has muddled the woman’s sense of reality.
Jessica wipes strands of snow-dampened hair from her forehead. “You wanted to show us something, ma’am.”
The woman slowly turns around. Her voice is now chilling, mechanical. “Malleus Maleficarum.”
“Excuse me?” Jessica frowns and steps farther into the room. The woman repeats herself; the words sound like Latin. A sudden eeriness falls over the room. The words surge out of the old woman’s mouth as if the lips uttering them are possessed. Her face is simultaneously confused and fearful. Jessica’s fingers rise instinctively toward her holster. Her body is instantly in a state of heightened alertness.
“At my age, your memory starts to be poor,” the old woman says softly. “But there’s nothing wrong with my vision.” She points at the window.
Jessica and Yusuf warily step up to it. They’re standing on the top story of a three-story home built at the crest of a hill, and they’re much higher than the homes on the water. Then Jessica realizes the woman is pointing at something they could not have seen from the street.
“What the hell . . . ?”
MALLEUS MALEFICARUM. The words are there in large letters on the Koponens’ snow-covered roof. Jessica raises her phone to her ear and glances at Yusuf. There’s no sign of the mockery that smoldered on her colleague’s face a moment ago.
Now he looks like he’s seen a ghost.