VON BUNSDORF.
Yusuf presses the buzzer a few times without getting any response. He then reaches for the ornate handle only to notice that the metal gate, with its chipped dark green paint, isn’t locked. An automatic driveway gate stands next to it, along with an old-fashioned security camera.
The front yard is surprisingly large, and a densely spaced row of arborvitae has been planted along the fence. As Yusuf walks up the paved drive, he studies the brick house rising before him, which has white window frames, a steeply pitched roof shingled in black shakes, and a tall chimney. A low flight of flagstone stairs leads to the front door. The house looks nothing like your average Helsinki residence; it’s more like an upper-class manor from somewhere in the English countryside. The drive is lined with heavily pruned apple trees; behind them looms a garage big enough for at least two cars. There are no tire tracks, but the thin dusting of snow under Yusuf’s feet tells him that the drive has been plowed since the storm the day before yesterday. Someone must have been home recently. Maybe someone is at home at this very moment; at least the bright light blazing upstairs would seem to indicate so.
Yusuf climbs the few stairs and stops at the door. The upper half is rounded, and the whole frame is edged in ornamental white brick. An iron lion head the size of a fist glares out of the middle of the door, a knocker in its mouth. There is no doorbell, which is logical, since visitors already have rung the gate buzzer. Yusuf takes hold of the knocker clenched in the lion’s teeth and raps it three times. He waits. There’s no answer.
Meanwhile, he feels a vibration in his pocket. It’s a text message from Jessica. Call when you can. Yusuf locks the phone and holds it against his chin. The von Bunsdorfs are not at home. He can come back tomorrow or send someone else. Or find the phone number and talk to the homeowner via telephone. It’s not likely they saw anything anyway. It’s a bit of a way to the Koponen house, and the army of arborvitae blocks the view, even to the street.
Yusuf shoves his hands in his pockets and walks down the stairs. He’s about to bring up Jessica’s number, but then his gaze lingers on something he didn’t notice before. He shoves the phone back in his pocket and uncramps his fingers. What the fuck? Out in the yard, there’s a knee-high cluster of stones, like a miniature Stonehenge. A short horned figure stands in its center. Yusuf steps from the plowed driveway into the yard, which is covered by a crust of snow a few dozen centimeters thick. Its surface has melted and refrozen; the crunch underfoot makes Yusuf feel like he’s sinking into an enormous crème brûlée with every footfall.
After a minute of trudging through the snow, Yusuf squats down in front of the stones, looks at the meter-high statue, and now sees that it is a fountain. Its curved horns are attached to a goat’s head; the half-naked body beneath is human. The creature’s right hand is raised so the arm forms a right angle, with the forefinger and middle finger pointing upward. A pentagram hangs from the neck. Hooves take the place of feet.
Yusuf grabs the statue by the horns, shakes it, and decides it’s firmly in place. He looks at the goat’s grim eyes, the symbol hanging at its neck, and feels a cold wave surge through his body. He glances around. The monument has been erected in the precise center of the yard.
Yusuf’s thoughts turn to Jessica, to everything she has stumbled upon during the brief course of the investigation. To how she would be the one here now if Erne hadn’t ordered her to stay at home. He gulps, agonizingly aware that there’s no such thing as coincidence. Not in any murder investigation, and especially not in this hellish puzzle.
The yard where Yusuf is squatting is illuminated solely by the white blanket of snow and the glow of the streetlamps peering over the hedge. He feels incredibly exposed. He looks up at the window, sees the light burning inside. Then he turns back to the half-human, half-goat demon carved from stone whose dead eyes stare directly at the house.