Silence Read online

  He remembered the perfect sun beyond the windows of the house that he had shown a potential buyer that afternoon. A nice woman, she had been friendly, they’d had a pleasant conversation between equals, people talking to one another, understanding each other. That was how these things worked. It had been late in the afternoon. The woman had said a friendly goodbye, said she liked the house and he had driven to the lake, jumped into the water and swum right out, as far as his strength would take him, and he’d felt very strong.

  He controlled the pain behind his eyes by holding his breath, by concentrating entirely on not breathing.

  The other man’s name had been Pärssinen.

  Pärssinen. A surname. He didn’t know the man’s first name. He never had known his first name.

  Pärssinen.

  Later, he had kept meeting people with the same surname. Only a few months ago he’d sold a property belonging to a Pärssinen, a nice house in Vantaa, very close to Helsinki airport, but there was no problem with air traffic noise. A wonderful house, and the name Pärssinen had been nothing but a marginal note in his files.

  Marjatta. Laura and Aku. They were close to him, it would take him only seconds to be with them, and it was good to know that; the knowledge calmed him slightly.

  The name had been Pärssinen.

  He couldn’t remember what the man looked like; in the following days and weeks he had spent a lot of time trying to erase Pärssinen from his memory in a way that would leave no trace behind. It had been clear to him right at the start that Pärssinen was the key, for once that man seemed never to have existed, none of the rest of it was real. That had worked. It had worked because he had wanted it to work. Because he had realized there was no other option.

  Once the link was broken, none of it was real. If you made up your mind, if you really made it up, there was nothing left. He had known that ever since; he knew it better than anyone else.

  It had worked, and now it wouldn’t work any more. As simple as that. It could all be reduced to that so simply, and for a moment he felt a kind of satisfaction, because he had finally managed it, because he was alone at last and able to think.

  He closed his eyes and felt Pärssinen coming back to life in his mind. Everything that Pärssinen had been. He let it happen, because there was no avoiding it. He leaned back and let it happen.

  Pärssinen. A stocky, powerful man with a round face and sparse hair. He had been living in the grey block of flats on the outskirts of the city for several months when Pärssinen came to act as caretaker, and moved into the flat on the ground floor.

  For some time they had said hello in passing; it was summer and university vacation. He used to sit on his balcony with his books, reading a little, watching the children playing a little, and Pärssinen had clipped hedges and mowed the lawn round the block of flats.

  Then, on one of those summer days, Pärssinen had spoken to him. He said he had been watching him, he had an eye for certain things that other people didn’t notice. He remembered. He remembered perfectly; it was all coming back now. He felt it flood into him. Not just the memory of that conversation, but also the memory of what he had felt like. Pärssinen hadn’t needed to say any more, because he had understood at once. He had seen himself reflected in Pärssinen’s eyes, had seen what no one knew, what no one could know, not Pärssinen and least of all himself, and he had understood that, against all logic, Pärssinen had simply seen it, and he had felt the moment of understanding and the moment directly after it as a huge and deeply alarming relief.

  Pärssinen had smiled in a calm, even friendly way, and invited him into his flat.

  That was how it had begun, and now the memory came back, now everything came back. He looked at what his son had scratched into the wood of the table, and once again he saw the flickering projector, the Venetian blinds pulled down, the dappled sunlight on the floor, the films … Pärssinen taking the rolls of film off a shelving unit, that particular film, the one he had wanted to watch again and again, his favourite scene in that film, his hand on his thighs, and Pärssinen laughed when he saw that; then he had laughed too and felt free for the first time in his life, entirely free, and Pärssinen had wound the film back until the girl was sitting on the edge of the bed again with her head bowed, her hand moving up and down a fat penis; then the girl had raised her head to look at the camera and he had seen a strange, beautiful face; he had straightened up slightly, his trousers fully open now, let out a soft cry and ejaculated on Pärssinen’s floor.

  Pärssinen had laughed.

  He heard himself groan. He was sweating. He felt dizzy.

  ‘Papa, I feel sick. It was the ice cream,’ said Aku.

  He opened his eyes. Aku was standing in the doorway.

  ‘I …’

  He saw Aku at the door. He wanted to stand up and go over to him, but it was no use. He felt himself staring at his son, he saw pain and something like fear in the boy’s face, he wanted to say something, he wanted …

  ‘Did the ice cream make you feel sick too?’ asked Aku.

  9 JUNE

  1

  In the morning Kimmo Joentaa went to see Ketola. He had thought about calling first to say he was coming, but then he simply set out. He had never been to Ketola’s place before, but he knew the address: number 18 Oravankatu.

  The house was on a rise, in a well-tended, quiet residential area at the other side of Turku. The path up to the house was carefully raked, with flowers in bloom to right and left of it. Kimmo was surprised, without knowing what he had really expected.

  It was some time before Ketola opened the door. He smiled at Kimmo as if he’d been expecting him to arrive. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Come along in.’

  He looked different, changed in a way that Kimmo couldn’t pin down at once. He seemed calm, but at the same time as if he were concentrating. In any case, he didn’t seem to have slept any more than Kimmo had himself. Kimmo caught the faint smell of liquor on Ketola’s breath.

  ‘Your weekend cancelled, right?’ said Ketola. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m sure you …’ Kimmo stopped short when he saw the model standing on the table in the middle of the living room. The field, the road, the avenue of trees, the little bicycle, the bright red car. Ketola had taken the whole thing off its wheels and put it on the table. It really did look like part of a model railway set.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve …’ Kimmo said.

  ‘Heard about it, yes, of course,’ said Ketola. ‘I have. I saw the news, and I was surprised. My old case from right back then …’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Kimmo. ‘ thought of you at once, on the day you retired.’

  ‘And the model we found down in that lumber room. I brought it up from the cellar again last night, my own cellar this time.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kimmo looked at the model on the table and wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘Do you know any more details?’ asked Ketola.

  ‘No. Or rather yes, we probably know who the missing girl is.’

  ‘So someone really has gone missing?’ Ketola had straightened up. Kimmo heard the excitement in his voice.

  ‘Looks like it. A girl about the same age as Pia Lehtinen in the old case. Her parents recognized their daughter’s bicycle and sports bag when they saw them on the news.’

  Ketola stared at him. ‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘That’s …’ He began chuckling quietly. ‘Sorry, that’s downright, oh, just amazing … excuse me, please.’

  ‘Of course I thought of you straight away. It mattered to me to hear how you see it, ask what you think about it.’

  ‘Nothing simpler,’ said Ketola. His voice was suddenly clear and penetrating, just as it used to be when he was still Kimmo’s superior officer. ‘Nothing simpler. It’s the same man. For some reason or other he’s come back. He must be out of his mind, but then he was already out of his mind thirty-three years ago, and now he’s lost control again after thirty-three years. That’s it. I don’t know what set
it off, but I feel perfectly sure that’s the answer.’

  ‘All the same, I can’t understand …’

  ‘It’s not a case of understanding! One can’t understand such people, Kimmo! Don’t let anything lead you astray. I let myself be led astray back then, I did something wrong, to this day I don’t know what, but you – all of you – you must put that right now, understand? It’s really important that you don’t make the same mistake we made all those years ago.’

  Kimmo nodded and avoided Ketola’s piercing gaze. He did understand. Of course. He also understood Ketola’s excitement. He understood how badly shaken Ketola, a younger Ketola, had been by the death of Pia Lehtinen and the failure of the CID’s enquiries into the case. And how he could never quite put that failure out of his mind.

  All the same …

  All the same, the idea of a copycat murderer strikes me as more plausible, don’t you think?’ he said.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Ketola had jumped up, stopped halfway across the room and sat down again. ‘No, that’s garbage. It’s important for you to concentrate on what we found out at the time. Or at least you ought to bear it in mind. It has to be the same murderer, you have to keep your eye on that, anything else is nonsense.’ He was speaking calmly again, but with conviction. ‘I’ll offer Sundström my assistance. In looking through the old files.’

  Kimmo nodded. He thought that was a good idea, even though he didn’t share Ketola’s opinion. Not without further evidence. He simply did not know what had happened. All he knew was that Kalevi and Ruth Vehkasalo would not have slept a wink last night, and he was afraid that their daughter was no longer alive.

  ‘How are you going to proceed? I assume you’ll soon be searching that lake, the one where we found Pia Lehtinen.’

  ‘We already have, although – well, I was going to say unsuccessfully, but successfully would be better, because we didn’t find her. Not yet. We’ll go on searching.’

  ‘Hm, yes, you reacted quickly. That’s surprising. Even before you’d identified the missing person.’

  ‘The bicycle was lying right beside the cross erected in Pia Lehtinen’s memory. I told Sundström about the connection and he ordered the search at once. He always reacts pretty fast, sometimes just on instinct. And very often he entirely forgets to discuss it with Nurmela.’

  Ketola hardly seemed to be listening, for his smile was a long time coming. Then he said, ‘Good man.’

  ‘I’m going straight out to see the missing girl’s parents. Her mother collapsed yesterday evening. I got Niemi to give me the sports bag we found before coming here. I want to show it to the parents. Maybe it’s not their daughter’s after all …’

  ‘Mm, collapsed …’ murmured Ketola. ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll come too. To see the parents. Of course I won’t go into the house with you, but I’d like to come along, I’m sure you won’t mind; I’ll wait outside. And then I’d like a word with Sundström anyway. I want to do my bit at this point. I’m sure you can understand that.’

  Kimmo nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ said Ketola, standing up before Joentaa had any chance to object. A little later Ketola was at the door, ready to go. He had put on the green jacket he used to wear to work so often, whatever the time of year. Very likely Grönholm had been right in suspecting that he had ten to twenty identical jackets hanging in his wardrobe.

  They went out of the house. It was going to be a hot day. A girl was jumping into a swimming pool in the garden next door.

  ‘I’ll drive my own car,’ said Ketola.

  Kimmo nodded.

  ‘And by the way …’ said Ketola.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s the missing girl’s name?’

  ‘Sinikka Vehkasalo,’ said Joentaa.

  Ketola looked at him for a while, nodding to himself. ‘Sinikka Vehkasalo. Ah, yes, right.’ Kimmo had a feeling that he had been about to say something very definite, but then he just smiled faintly and waved it away ‘Pia Lehtinen, and now Sinikka Vehkasalo. I’ll follow you,’ he said, getting into his car.

  2

  The pale green house looked deserted.

  Joentaa glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Ketola had parked some way off and was sitting in his car. During the drive he had been wondering whether he should ask Ketola to be present at his interview with the parents after all, and had decided against it. Now, on impulse, he waved to him, signalling that he wanted him to come into the house. Ketola got out of his car, looked enquiringly at him and strode to meet him.

  There was nothing against it, thought Joentaa, and a good deal in favour. No doubt he ought to have discussed it in advance with Sundström, but there was no time for that now.

  Ketola had been one of the CID investigators of the old case and, even if they didn’t know just what had happened then, it was already clear that there was some connection. Knowing as he did about the earlier investigation, Ketola might be able to dredge up from his memory something that other people wouldn’t notice. It was good to have him here.

  ‘You want me to come in too?’ asked Ketola.

  ‘I think that would be a good idea. If you don’t mind, I’ll say a word or so – how you were head of the department for a long time and involved in enquiries into the Pia Lehtinen case back then.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ketola looked for a moment at the house outside which they were standing. ‘I wonder if there’s anyone at home?’

  ‘I rang this morning and told them I’d be coming,’ said Joentaa and pressed the doorbell.

  A few seconds later the door was opened, as if Kalevi Vehkasalo had been waiting for them to ring the bell. ‘Good morning,’ he said, shaking hands with them both, and asked them in. Joentaa noticed that he was dressed for the office or a business meeting. He had shaved and there was a fresh smell of aftershave about him.

  Everything has to be the same as usual, thought Joentaa. The less it really is the same, the more it has to be. Then he thought of Sanna and didn’t hear what Kalevi Vehkasalo was saying. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’

  ‘My wife. She’s better, or a little better, I think. She’ll be here in a moment,’ Vehkasalo repeated.

  ‘Good.’ Joentaa nodded.

  Kalevi Vehkasalo avoided looking at the sports bag in its plastic container, now lying heavy in Joentaa’s hand.

  ‘Do sit down,’ said Vehkasalo and Joentaa sat where he had the night before. The dish of chocolates was on the table, with five still in it. Joentaa had counted them the previous evening while Sundström was eating them. There had been seven, Sundström had eaten two, leaving five in the dish, and they were still there. Of course. What would have made Ruth or Kalevi Vehkasalo feel like eating a chocolate? Maybe Sinikka had liked chocolates. Sanna for one could sometimes positively stuff herself with chocolates, looking cross when he laughed at her.

  He dismissed that thought and turned to Kalevi Vehkasalo, who sat there in his formal office suit, trying to make himself seem normal.

  Carefully, Joentaa put the sports bag on the table. ‘I’d like to …’ he began.

  ‘I’ll just go and find my wife,’ said Vehkasalo, rising again, but he stopped in mid movement. Joentaa, turning, got to his feet to shake hands with Ruth Vehkasalo.

  Again, the pressure of her hand was barely perceptible, and Kimmo Joentaa remembered Sanna’s mother Merja Sihvonen. In the days after Sanna’s death she had looked just the way Ruth Vehkasalo did at this moment. She shook hands with Ketola as well.

  ‘That’s Sinikka’s bag,’ she said tonelessly.

  Joentaa nodded and was going to take the bag off the table, but Vehkasalo stopped him. ‘Wait a moment.’ He bent over the bag and looked at it hard. ‘Yes … yes, but we knew that anyway,’ he said, leaning back again abruptly. Ruth Vehkasalo stood there beside Joentaa, staring at the bag and crying without a sound.

  ‘We knew it, Ruth, after all. Now do – do please …�
�� said Vehkasalo.

  Joentaa carefully put the bag down beside the chair he was sitting in. Ruth Vehkasalo went on staring at the table where it had been.

  ‘Ruth, do please come and sit down beside me,’ said Kalevi Vehkasalo.

  After a while Ruth Vehkasalo came out of her trance-like state and sat down on the sofa beside her husband. ‘There’s no news,’ she said. It sounded like a statement, not a question.

  ‘No, not yet,’ Joentaa confirmed. ‘Well, first I’d like to say that I’ve asked Antsi Ketola to be present at our conversation. He was head of our department until a few months ago, and he’s the only one left of the team who carried out enquiries into the case of Pia Lehtinen. So I asked him to be here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vehkasalo absently. ‘It’s certainly good to know that you’re doing all you can to … to find Sinikka.’

  Ruth Vehkasalo cast an appealing glance at Ketola, as if looking for help, but Ketola just sat there beside Joentaa, curiously motionless, saying nothing.

  ‘And I’ll just go back over the course of events yesterday until the point when Sinikka went to volleyball training,’ said Joentaa.

  ‘She went to school,’ said Ruth Vehkasalo. She spoke in a low, monotonous voice, as if she had already said that over and over again, maybe in her thoughts. ‘She came home about one o’clock and of course she was in a good mood, because the holidays had begun. She was going straight out again, but I wanted to talk to her about her report because … because her class teacher had told us a few days ago, at parents’ evening, that she was often truanting, and we hadn’t known that. So I tried talking to her again, but it was no good, it was impossible. In the end I couldn’t stand it any more and I shouted at her. She went to her room. She was perfectly calm, but she wouldn’t look at me. She was going to see a girlfriend and on to volleyball …’ She stopped short and looked at her husband before going on. ‘Magdalena plays in the volleyball team too, that’s how they met. If only I’d let Sinikka leave when she wanted to, they’d have gone to training together and everything would have turned out differently!’ She had straightened up and screamed rather than spoke those last few words.