The Hummingbird (10 page)

‘I’m getting vibrations; it’s as if the cupboard’s trying to tell me something,’ he said and stuck his head inside the cabinet, closed his eyes and listened.

Anna waited.

‘There should be a .12-calibre Remington pump-action shotgun in here,’ Esko surmised as he crawled out of the cupboard. ‘Which, as you can see, is missing.’

Anna stared at him in disbelief.

‘I checked out his licences before we left – just a few clicks on the computer, that’s how easy it is these days. Besides, if Little Miss Senior Detective Constable would like to take a closer look, she’ll find two packets of 12/70 steel shots. You wouldn’t put them in that monster, and certainly not in that rifle over there.’

Anna felt ashamed. And furious at herself. Why hadn’t she thought of this? Checking a suspect’s licences is an elementary step.

‘Something for you to shove up your arse then, now you’ve come out the closet.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, gagging for it today, eh?’ he replied and gave her a dirty wink. Now there wasn’t even a flicker of a smile on his face.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Call the station, tell them he’s armed,’ Esko ordered her. ‘I’m going out for a cigarette and a snoop round the yard. My sense of smell isn’t what it used to be. Blame the fags.’

Anna remained in the apartment, waves of disappointment pressing sweat into her armpits and on to her brow. I’ve completely cocked this up, she thought. Now that drunken git’s got one up, he’ll be able to laugh at the dago bitch who hasn’t got the first clue about police work. She called Virkkunen and told him what they’d discovered – or rather, what they hadn’t found. She didn’t mention who had checked Jere’s licences and who had not. Virkkunen thanked them for their good work and added the words
ARMED
and
POSSIBLY
DANGEROUS
to the arrest warrant.

Anna went round the rooms one more time, listening carefully to see whether the silence might tell her something as to the whereabouts of Jere and his rifle. If only these walls would reveal their secrets, the stupidity of moments ago would be erased. What’s the use of walls having ears if they don’t have a mouth too, she thought.

That evening Anna finally called Ákos. She had been avoiding her mobile phone on the kitchen table, trying to think of something else to do, and even picked up the phone several times only to put it back down again. She’d gone out to the balcony a couple of times for a cigarette. What would she say? How would she start the conversation? Eventually she plucked up the courage and made the call.

Her brother answered immediately. In the background she heard voices, laughter and the thump of music. Ákos was in a bar somewhere.

‘Anna,
hogy vagy? Baj van?
’ There was a crackle, a clatter, then everything fell silent. Ákos had moved somewhere else, outside perhaps, maybe into the gents.

Anna took a deep breath and counted to three.

‘
Jól vagyok, köszönöm. És te?
’ she said eventually.

‘
Hát én is jól vagyok
.’

A second’s silence. Anna tried to bolster her courage. Then she told him.

‘I moved back a week ago. We’re almost neighbours now.’

‘
A kurva életbe,
Anna. Why didn’t you say anything?’ her brother hollered down the telephone.

‘Haven’t had a chance. I started work yesterday. I’ve been rushed off my feet finding a flat and everything. I wondered if you’d like to come round on Sunday?’

‘Sunday? Why not? The Depraved are playing at Mara’s pub on Saturday night, I can’t miss that, but Sunday’s free. What time?’

‘
Valamikor délután
.’

‘Okay.’

‘Have you heard from Mum?’

‘Not a peep.’

‘I spoke to her last week. She wants to talk to you. You could chat on Skype.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘She misses you.’

‘
A faszom,
Anna, you could have told me you’d moved back,’ Ákos tried to change the subject.

‘How have you been?’

‘You haven’t been in touch much.’

Anna said nothing, but felt a sting of guilt beneath her skin. It was true. For the last ten years she hadn’t had much to do with her brother. They’d called each other occasionally, and seen each other even less. Anna hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t had the energy. Neither have you, she felt like snapping.

‘Hey, I’ve gotta go. Zoran and Akim are waiting. Shall I say hello? Zoran will be happy, that’s for sure.’

‘Okay.
Szia
.’

‘
Szia
.’

Anna ended the call.

Zoran. Damn it, so he was still around.

Anna recalled the last time she’d seen her brother. It had been a few years ago, at the end of a bitterly cold February. Ákos had called her on the verge of death and begged Anna for help. Throwing aside all her principles she had gone to him. Anna cleaned the bedsit, which was swimming in vomit and empty beer cans, and fetched her trembling brother food and sedatives. On the way home she’d hated herself. Thank God I don’t live any closer, she’d thought.

And now she was here again. Less than a kilometre away.

10

ORIGINALLY
,
WHAT
HAD
FASCINATED
ANNA
about police work was its dynamism and variety, and in those respects she had not been disappointed in her choice of profession. Still, she was always surprised at how much paperwork was involved, how much sitting at a desk it entailed. Back in patrol, she’d always rounded off her shifts with paperwork, but here it seemed there was even more of it. Her third morning as a senior detective constable began by switching on her computer, and she would sit working at her desk for most of the day. A surprisingly large amount of her investigative work took place indoors, sitting by her computer, because the police force’s intranet provided access to all manner of information and registers. The world of television drama series, with detectives running along the streets with a gun in their hand, was a far cry from the calm atmosphere in the station’s offices.

She wondered how long it would take before they started to get some results. She hoped they’d find Jere quickly.

At twelve on the dot Sari knocked at the door and fetched Anna for lunch. They decided to go to a wine bar that had just opened up in town and that served lunch during the day. It was a pleasant place with dark wooden fittings and velvet finishings; the ambience was intimate and dusky, even in the middle of the day.

‘We should come here some evening, too,’ said Sari. ‘The wine list looks excellent. Should we have a glass now, wave goodbye to a sober afternoon,’ she giggled.

‘I’ll have one too. The Australian Chardonnay sounds nice and fresh,’ said Anna.

‘Oh. I wasn’t being serious.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, I wasn’t serious about ordering a glass. Not while we’re on duty, surely? It was a joke.’

‘Oh. Yes, right. Sorry,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get my head round the strange alcohol etiquette in Finland. I suppose I’m just too foreign. I’ve never understood what could possibly be wrong with a glass or two, on duty, morning, evening, whenever.’

‘You don’t go out on the piss, then?’

‘Sometimes, if I feel like it – there’s a little bit of the Finn in me, after all. But that’s exactly what I mean: if you have one glass, it’s automatically synonymous with going out on the piss. The way people talk about alcohol here is so strange and hypocritical. Back home only being clearly drunk is frowned upon.’

‘Funny you should say
back home,
though you’ve lived here since you were ten.’

‘I go back a couple of times a year, and I spend all my holidays there. Maybe that’s why. Though generally I feel like I’m somewhere in between, neither here nor there.’

Anna could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She’d had to go and put her foot in it.

‘Have you got a man?’ Sari asked with a cheeky grin. She didn’t appear to notice that Anna thought this a very intimate revelation.

‘No.’

‘Haven’t found the right one?’

‘I don’t know. Suppose not.’

‘What about in your other homeland?’

‘No, not there either.’

Anna felt embarrassed. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of the sweltering heat two summers ago, the shadows on the banks of the Tisza, the 30-degree water in the river that had seemed almost cool. She’d been back home for over a month in a single stretch and had enjoyed her time there more than ever before. This summer she hadn’t managed more than a week there. It had passed in a flash as she’d gallivanted from village to village and obligatory meetings with
relatives. Only one evening had she been able to sit down at a
járas
with her childhood friend Réka, a couple of cans of beer in a cool box, and sit in peace watching the glowing red sun sink into the open, comfortless embrace of the hills. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know when she’d next have a holiday.

‘You really do seem to be somewhere in between.’ Sari’s voice was gentle, but her gaze bored deep into Anna’s dark eyes. ‘You know what, we’re going to order that wine. Jesus, I couldn’t agree more. Finns’ relationship with alcohol is crazy.’

They ordered two glasses of Chardonnay to accompany their lunch of mushroom soup and salmon. There was a buffet with four different side salads. Excellent, Anna enthused, no more lunch in the staff canteen, and definitely no more quickly gobbled trans-fat meals from petrol stations and hotdog stands. She had finally reached a stage in life when she had the time to eat healthily.

‘I haven’t found anything on the Chelkin family. Nothing important anyway. There’s no record of any of them, except with Immigration. Their residence status checks out. Even GP records revealed nothing worse than flu. So if Bihar has been abused, she certainly hasn’t been treated at the health centre,’ said Sari.

‘What about school?’

‘She goes to a high school in the city centre, full of yuppie kids. The younger siblings are still in elementary school, in Rajapuro.’

‘The high school is a good sign. In very orthodox families, girls are often forced to learn about childcare or something similar, if they’re allowed to go to school at all.’

‘The head of year said Bihar is a top student, one of the best in the school. She hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, except that Bihar can be quite reserved, not at all outgoing or overly sociable. She just put it down to cultural differences.’

‘That may be the case. In many cultures girls are brought up to be quiet and meek, closed off. What about friends?’

‘According to the teacher she has a few friends at school.’

‘A boyfriend?’

‘Don’t know. But she’s been absent quite a lot recently. Spent some time in Turkey last year.’

‘Was it a long trip?’

‘A couple of weeks.’

‘Hard to say anything based on that. They have the right to visit relatives.’

‘But what if she felt she had to run away?’

‘Still…’

‘And what if she was there for some sort of arranged marriage?’

‘That’s something we’ll have to ask them, though they won’t tell us. How long has the family lived in Finland?’

‘Ten years. Bihar was in first grade when they arrived. They are Turkish Kurds and came here as asylum seekers. Now they all have Finnish citizenship.’

‘What about the parents?’

‘The father, Payedar Chelkin, is a 44-year-old electrician but hasn’t worked a day in ten years.’

‘Of course not,’ Anna sniffed.

‘The mother is Zera. She’s only 34. Imagine – she must only have been 17 when Bihar was born. She doesn’t have a profession. The youngest child, Adan, was born soon after the family came to Finland. And the son Mehvan is in eighth grade.’

‘Have you asked around the Rajapuro school?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘Try and look up one of Bihar’s former teachers. Middle-school teachers know a surprising amount about their students’ family backgrounds.’

The mobile phone in Anna’s handbag beeped. It was an SMS from Rauno. ‘Esko says to tell you Riikka’s friend Virve Sarlin is coming for interview tomorrow.’

‘What the hell’s the matter with that guy?’ Anna wondered.

‘He can be a bit grouchy sometimes.’

‘A bit? I think he’s grouchy quite a lot. All the time.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Can’t he send me a message directly?’

‘Pff. Seriously, don’t waste your energy on it,’ said Sari.