The Defenceless (9 page)

‘No.’

‘Then we’ll have to call in the forensic dentist, otherwise we’ll never find out who he was. Or should we hold off a while?’

‘Virkkunen said to give it a fortnight. If we haven’t found any relatives by then, we’ll have to work out his identity some other way.’

‘Okay. More cutbacks, eh? A while ago they would have examined his teeth straight away. Was the girl speeding?’

‘No. And she wasn’t drunk either. She says the victim was already on the ground when the accident occurred.’

‘Yes, he probably was. Otherwise the impact wounds would have been in a different area, on his legs and hips, and the man would have been knocked on to the verge or into the oncoming traffic.’

‘Had he had some kind of seizure?’

‘His heart was slightly enlarged, which can be a sign of high blood pressure, but it’s very common in people that age. Apart from that his heart was normal, no signs of a heart attack, and nothing in the brain either. Heart attack and stroke are the most common seizures. The victim was in his pyjamas. Perhaps he was simply tired and collapsed on the road right there on the spot.’

‘Could he have passed out?’

‘There were no signs of alcohol in his blood and his organs don’t look like they’d been pickled in gin, but of course I’ve sent samples off to be analysed. We’ll have to wait about three weeks for the results.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The victim had a head wound and bruises to his face that are inconsistent with a traffic accident. To me they look like blunt-force trauma, but they were so fresh that they must have occurred on impact. Perhaps in the collision he hit his head against the icy road.’

‘He was lying on his back when they found him. Could he have rolled over?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He was probably lying on his side and was knocked on to his back.’

‘That’s what Gabi said too.’

‘Who?’

Anna felt embarrassed, sensed a rush of blood to her cheeks.

‘Farkas Gabriella, the girl driving the car.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘No. It turns out she’s Hungarian.’

‘My sister’s got a Hungarian piano teacher. Great guy and really good. I could give you his…’

‘Maybe the old man had fallen over just before the accident; he could have been concussed and wandering around the woods, hit his head against something,’ Anna interrupted her.

‘Maybe.’

‘Except that there were no footprints fitting the man anywhere near the scene; nothing in the woods or on the road, though the road was iced over.’

‘He was wearing a pair of slippers. It should be easy to isolate any footprints.’

‘But there weren’t any prints. Not even along the edge of the road, where there’s normally more loose snow than on the road.’

‘Maybe he was walking down the middle of the road.’

‘Maybe.’

Sammy heard music somewhere in the distance. It was getting closer, louder. He opened his eyes. It took a moment to work out where he was. He was sitting in an armchair in a dimmed living room. A mobile phone was ringing on the table in front of him. The word
Mum
flashed on the screen. He recognised that word, but not the melody. It sounded like all the music in this country: boring and American. Macke didn’t answer the call. He was slouched on the sofa. Sammy tried to focus on Macke. The edges of his field of vision shimmered, and the living room, darkened with thick curtains, seemed to whirr in time with the music. Sammy untied the strip of tubing around his arm. He felt amazing, better than he had in a long time. He didn’t care what the time was, what day it was, whether Maalik and Farzad were waiting for him, worried, what kind of appeal they lodged, whether it was successful, whether he was eventually bundled on to a plane for Karachi, whether he was killed straight away or slightly later. He didn’t think of anything, he wasn’t cold, wasn’t hungry.

The armchair felt soft. He felt united with its spars, its threadbare velvet coverings. He was the armchair and it felt good, safe. Again his eyes pressed shut; he didn’t try to fight it. He didn’t fall asleep, but sank into a pleasant, relaxing state of oblivion so powerful nothing could make its way through into his consciousness.

Nothing except one sound. There it was again. A banging, rattling. Sammy tried to ignore it, he didn’t want to open his eyes, but when a man’s voice bellowed right into his ear, he had to. The room was full of people in blue uniforms. Sammy jumped to his feet. The room was swaying violently, he gripped the armchair for support, but only for a hundredth of a second, then he tensed every muscle in his body and dashed towards the hallway screaming like an animal, his arms thrashing wildly, but in vain. He had moved not even a metre before being caught in the iron grip of an enormous
police officer. The powerful arms wrapped around him like pliers. He tried to wrestle himself free but didn’t have the energy, couldn’t match the officer’s superior strength. Sammy slumped, limp, and started weeping against the blue overalls. The prey had finally been trapped; the hare had run for the last time. And as he stood there sobbing, there in the unflinching grip of the policeman’s arms, for a fleeting moment Sammy felt a great sense of relief, of returning to his mother’s embrace.

‘Call an ambulance,’ someone cried out. ‘This one’s not breathing.’

Sammy understood the word
ambulance
. He turned to look at Macke, now receiving CPR on the floor, there amongst the rubbish. Macke’s face, his skin stained with blood, was white as a sheet. What have I done to deserve a life like this, thought Sammy. I should have stayed and defended my mother, not run away like a cowardly sewer rat. Sammy pressed himself tight against the officer’s broad, safe chest. Tears and mucus stained the blue overalls.

‘
WE GOT A CALL
from the switchboard. Missing person,’ Virkkunen told Anna.

‘Finally,’ she said, relieved. ‘Who was he?’

‘The victim reported missing is an elderly woman by the name of Riitta Vehviläinen.’

‘Oh. So why was it transferred to us?’

‘Normally they wouldn’t have called it in, but this woman lives in the same house where we found Marko Halttu and the illegal kid. The same floor, even: Halttu lived in the apartment opposite.’

‘Quite a coincidence.’

‘Indeed. It’s probably chance, but in any case I thought we should have a look at her apartment too, just to make sure we’ve covered our tracks in case it turns out it’s not coincidence after all. I thought you could take care of this while we’re processing Halttu’s apartment.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Sari can help Esko with the drugs case involving these gangs; you go through that woman’s apartment.’

‘Am I looking for anything in particular?’

‘I can’t say. Look for anything to suggest where she might have gone, but don’t rule out the possibility that these gangs might be involved in her disappearance. If a woman living opposite a heroin hellhole goes missing at the same time as we find the tenant of the hellhole dead with a wound to his head and a huge stash of drugs, we have to react accordingly.’

‘Of course. When was the woman last seen?’

‘Here’s her daughter’s telephone number. She called it in; apparently she visits her mother fairly regularly. Call her and ask her to
accompany you to the apartment. She’ll be able to tell you if anything looks out of the ordinary.’

‘Okay.’

The spasms were worse than ever. Sammy was lying in police custody, on a hard bunk in a bare cell. His whole body was trembling, the pain was excruciating and it was attacking him all over. He was sure there wasn’t a single, tiny patch of his body that wasn’t screaming in agony. What’s more, he stank. An officer had visited him that morning, a beautiful, blond woman, and tried to talk to him. Sammy noticed how she was holding her breath, trying to hide a look of disgust. He’d understood what she was asking, his English was good, but he’d only said one word to the officer:
heroin
. He hoped she would get the picture, fast. In this country heroin addicts were given Subutex. Soon he would find relief. Maybe. Unless they didn’t give subs to prisoners. If that were the case, he’d have to languish here a long time before the spasms would pass. It would be a good thing, of course. He was ready to suffer the withdrawal symptoms, he would accept it as divine intervention; that much he owed himself and his family. And the longer the symptoms continued, the longer he would remain in here. Perhaps. Perhaps they wouldn’t repatriate him in this condition. His legs were cramping, cold sweat was dripping from his skin, the pain was terrible. He felt like crying out, crying to God.

The last time he had prayed was in January, at the immigration office of the police station as he went to pick up the result of his asylum application. He had done everything slowly, reached his hand out to the stern-looking officer, opened the sheet of folded paper with exaggerated dignity. He had been so sure. He had saved up money for coffee and cake at the finest café in town, borrowed a suit jacket from Ali in the room next door; he’d even thought of buying a flower to put in his buttonhole but decided it would be a bit over the top. He had resolved to apply to a carpentry course starting that autumn at the city’s academy of arts and crafts. His prayer had been simple:
thank you. Thank you, Holy Lord, for this gift, for the possibility of a new life. And now he was here, in a dead end. This wasn’t a stopping point on the way to hell, this was the deepest inferno, forever banished from Paradise. Everything was over,
finito
, done and dusted. The flames scorched his ravaged body, his head was caught in a clamp and a rack all at once. But he would never pray again. Never.

‘The boy is called Sammy Mashid. We’ve had a warrant out for him for the last three months,’ said Sari. She, Anna and Esko had gathered in Anna’s office.

‘What for?’

‘He’s in the country illegally. His asylum application was refused in January and he immediately disappeared from the reception centre.’

‘He was completely out of it when we found him,’ said Esko.

‘No wonder. That apartment was full of Subutex, amphetamines and God knows what else,’ said Sari.

‘Didn’t he say he was taking heroin?’ asked Anna.

‘Yes. I tried to talk to him this morning, but he just kept repeating
heroin, heroin
.’

‘The hell he was on any smack. The little Paki’s trying to cheat a dose of Subutex out of us. Jesus, do these junkies think we’re stupid? They really think we came down in the last shower.’

‘Esko, don’t use that word,’ said Sari.

‘Why? Virkkunen’s not here,’ Esko quipped.

Anna felt her old sense of loathing for Esko bubbling to the surface. After the initial teething problems, their relationship had improved, and Esko’s behaviour towards her had been bearable and at times almost paternal; he held back his racist jibes at least when she was around, but now Anna realised that teaching an old dog new tricks wasn’t all that easy.

‘Where’s the boy from?’ she asked.

‘Pakistan. He belongs to the Christian minority and has been charged with blasphemy,’ Sari explained.

‘My arse! Christians in Pakistan? They’re all Muslims. Liars, the lot of them,’ Esko snapped.

‘Esko!’ Sari raised her voice.

‘You saw for yourself how high the kid was when we brought him in. I don’t believe a word he says.’

‘Because he’s a junkie or because he’s a Muslim?’

‘Both.’

‘You really are a nasty piece of work. Virkkunen’s going to hear about this.’

Esko let out a smug laugh and gave Sari an icy stare. Anna felt it too; she remembered only too vividly what that stare felt like.

‘You do that, Little Miss Perfect. Be my guest. Come on, Anna. Time for a smoke.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Christ alive, do you have to turn into a nagging cow too?’ he boomed and left the room.

Anna and Sari were left alone.

‘He’s always hung over these days. What an arsehole,’ said Sari.

Anna could see that Sari was really upset. Her face was red and her breath short and tight.

‘Forget about it. You once told me that deep down Esko’s okay.’

‘What must I have been thinking? He’s a fucking drunk, that’s what he is. You should have seen him at that raid yesterday in Leppioja. He can’t even breathe properly. He was huffing and puffing so much I thought he was having a heart attack. Even Raivio, the field officer on the operation, noticed it. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t tell Virkkunen first.’

‘Is this Sammy involved with the gangs Esko’s investigating?’ Anna changed the subject. She didn’t want to discuss Esko’s problems with anyone.

‘We don’t know yet. But Marko Halttu, the tenant, he’s definitely involved.’

‘In what way?’

‘Esko’s informant told us that Halttu had been working for the Hell’s Angels and started lining his own pockets.’

‘So Halttu stole the drugs from the Angels?’

‘Most likely. And if that’s the case, it’s no wonder he ended up dead. He was on the Angels’ hit list.’

Anna tutted. ‘What was the cause of death?’

‘We don’t know yet. There were some signs of violence and the flat was full of all kinds of narcotics. You should have seen the mess; it was awful.’

Anna had seen it. Not in this particular apartment, but during her time on patrol she had visited so many crack dens that she knew they were all the same: filthy, stinking, desperate rooms full of pain.

‘We’re going to need all hands on deck,’ said Sari.

‘I know, and now there’s a body too. At least in that respect, the case will be transferred to us.’

‘Right. Could Sammy be involved with the Black Cobras? Perhaps he and Halttu had plans for all the drugs. The Cobras are attacking the Angels’ territory.’

Anna whistled and nodded.

‘That’s what must have happened. When can we interview Sammy?’

‘He’s totally out of it, doing some serious cold turkey. The doctor will soon decide whether he needs any initial care. If you ask me, we should give him something so that we can interrogate him, otherwise it could take weeks,’ said Sari.

‘That might be best,’ said Anna. ‘You said the boy was an illegal?’

‘That’s right. An illegal alien, or whatever we’re supposed to call people who’ve been refused asylum.’

Anna had a sinking feeling. How many young, male illegal immigrants could be lying low in a city this size? The reality is probably far worse than we can ever imagine, but I have to call Farzad and Maalik immediately, she thought and stepped out into the corridor. Sari remained in the office, staring blankly after her.

Anna finished the call with Maalik with a sigh. Her suspicions had been confirmed. Sammy Mashid was the friend the Afghan men
had been talking about. I feared this would happen, said Maalik, when Anna told him about Sammy’s withdrawal symptoms. I’ll find you a good lawyer, Anna promised before ringing off.

She knew her old acquaintance Zoran had good contacts, so she called him straight away. His wife Nataša answered the phone. Her voice sounded cold and clipped.
She knows
, thought Anna.

Zoran was away somewhere and had forgotten his mobile. Nataša promised to tell him that Anna had called. Anna was doubtful. She tried to ask how things were going, but got only a brief ‘everything’s fine’ in response. Nataša didn’t even mention the kids.

Anna and Nataša had been friends when they were younger, but when Anna joined the police academy their relationship deteriorated once and for all. Or had it happened earlier, after Anna had spent that first illicit night with Zoran? Anna was convinced that Nataša had known everything from the start.

Anna urgently sent Maalik a message saying that they’d soon have a lawyer and that they could visit Sammy in the police cells if they wished.