The Hummingbird (13 page)

Anna sat reading for so long that her eyelids started drooping shut of their own accord. She switched off the computer and crawled into bed, letting the fatigue get the better of her. Yet once she had switched off the lights, she found it impossible to get to sleep.

Sari gently rinsed between her legs. A small scratch had appeared on her labia and it stung each time the water touched it. Water and sperm trickled into the lavatory. There they go; thank God for the hormonal coil, she thought glowing with warmth and happiness. Her husband had returned from a week-long business trip just as the kids were going to bed. After he’d read them their bedtime story, he’d grabbed Sari and carried her into the bedroom and locked the door, and any remaining signs of jetlag were long gone. The fringe benefits of all those work trips. After all these years, their sex life was still exciting. This was the reward for weeks of loneliness, of running
the family’s everyday life single-handedly. Not a bad reward at all, Sari thought as she towelled herself off and climbed back into her husband’s warm embrace. She could have carried on straight away, but knew it would be best to wait a while.

‘How was your week?’ he asked as he gently caressed Sari’s back.

‘A nightmare. Two big new cases came in at once: a murder and a case of honour violence. The honour case might be a false alarm, but the murder is going to be a big one. And Esko’s being a complete wanker, for a change. I think he drinks every night. He’s been pretty rude to our new detective who only started on Monday. Anna Fekete, she’s called.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘Really nice. Good at her job. A bit quiet.’

‘They hardly need another chatterbox down at the station.’

‘You shut up!’ Sari quipped and threw a pillow at her husband. ‘We went to the gym together yesterday. Her Finnish is perfect, and I mean really flawless; you’d never know she’s not originally from Finland. There was no need to worry about her, after all. I’ve invited her round some evening.’

‘That’s nice. Where’s she from?’

‘Was it Serbia? I didn’t want to pry. Somebody said she’s Serbian. I’ll ask her next week. We agreed to go to the gym once a week.’

‘Sounds great.’

His hand was now stroking her stomach, his rough fingertips gently scratching her skin.

‘How was the trip?’ she asked. ‘Mmm, that feels good.’

‘China is a polluted, strange, chaotic place. Beijing is, at least. But we struck a good deal. Your skin’s so soft.’

‘Will you have to go back again?’

‘Not until after Christmas. Thankfully.’

‘What if the kids and I joined you next time? I could take some time off. I’d be fascinated to see the culture over there.’

‘Not a bad idea. But I won’t be able to spend much time with you while we’re there.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Do you think it’ll work?’

‘We’ll make it work.’

Sari’s mobile beeped as a text message arrived, but she didn’t care to read it.

‘I love you. I’ve really missed you.’

‘Me too,’ Sari mumbled into her husband’s mouth, and the kids didn’t wake up once that night even though the couple made no attempt to hold themselves back.

12

A
NERVOUS
BIHAR
CHELKIN
was waiting outside Anna’s office. Anna watched her through the venetian blinds in the staffroom. The girl was chewing gum and repeatedly glancing up at the large wall clock whose second hand glided evenly across the white surface of the clock face. Her head was covered in a tightly wrapped hijab and her body was cloaked in a long trench coat. What’s she wearing beneath that, Anna wondered. Just a swimming costume? She’ll be sweltering.

The warm sunshine had continued since Monday afternoon. Today it was almost 25°c.

The rest of the family had arrived at the station too, and the entire team had been briefed for their interviews. Rauno and Esko were to take care of Payedar and Mehvan Chelkin, while Sari would talk to Zera and Adan. In Vantaa, Bihar’s aunt and uncle were currently being interviewed by the local authorities. To her surprise, Anna found a certain satisfaction in the idea of Esko and Mr Chelkin sitting across the table in Interview Room Two. She knew Esko wouldn’t assume the role of the sympathetic policeman and conduct the interview like an informal chat. She was convinced that Payedar Chelkin would go home shitting bricks, mentally crushed. Or rather, he wouldn’t be going home at all; he’d be taken straight into police custody in handcuffs to await sentencing. Anna recognised her emotion as that of revenge – and it felt damn good.

The Chelkin family had been granted asylum after waiting in a reception centre for over two years. The application process was long but not at all exceptional. That was what to expect if you had the audacity to try and come here: years of waiting.

The shoreline. The screeching seagulls in Munkkisaari.

Table tennis with Ákos.

The worry carved into their mother’s face.

Memories began to flicker in the back of her mind, oozing out of their hiding places like a toxin.

Anna had to go outside for a cigarette. Just to keep the level of toxins in my body stable, she chuckled to herself.

Anna smoked her cigarette so quickly that she felt faint. That’s that rule broken too, smoking at work, she thought, disgusted at herself. Let this be the first and last time, and yesterday doesn’t count because I’d already clocked off. She crushed the butt against the rim of the stinking communal ashtray and dropped it down the brown flue. This is one habit I mustn’t start, she decided.

We were given leave to remain relatively quickly, she thought as she walked back up the stairs back to the Violent Crimes Unit. After her cigarette, the climb felt tougher than normal.

At least they hadn’t been forced into a cycle of agonised worry, wondering where they could escape to next. But back then there had been a state of emergency law; they were privileged. In any case, they were already – how could she put it? – European, Ákos with his Mohican and a cassette full of Finnish punk music. A boy on civil service at the reception centre had formed a band with him almost immediately. Back then Ákos’s assimilation had seemed so certain. Their mother had hated his new friends.

A young Kurdish woman had been invited to the station to serve as an interpreter.

Bihar had informed them that she didn’t need an interpreter. Anyone who came to Finland as a first-grader would know Finnish better than their own mother tongue, which was destined gradually to dwindle and lose its fluency. Anna knew all about that, but didn’t want to think of it now. Bihar’s parents, on the other hand, didn’t know a word of Finnish. The interpreter was there primarily for them. Anna had checked a total of three references to ensure that
the woman wasn’t a relative of the Chelkin family. Getting to the truth would be hard enough, and an interpreter unable to remain objective could put a stop to the investigation altogether.

With a sense of great satisfaction, Anna had asked the interpreter to arrive a full hour before the interviews were due to commence. She remembered only too well Esko’s comments about wasting public money, and she also knew that this woman’s few hours of interpreting represented the only source of income for her entire family.

Anna popped a menthol pastille into her mouth, went into her office and asked Bihar to step inside.

‘We’ll be recording this interview,’ Anna informed her as she switched on the video camera. ‘Interviews with minors are always recorded. And I’d like to remind you that as the plaintiff in this case, you are required to tell the truth. Do you understand?’

Bihar nodded to the camera.

‘You placed a call to the emergency services in the early hours of last Monday morning. Is that right?’ Anna began.

‘I suppose,’ the girl replied, a note of defiance in her voice, and turned her eyes from the camera to Anna.

‘Why did you place that call?’

The self-confident defiance of a moment ago was shaken. For a fleeting moment Anna thought she could see, behind the girl’s dark eyes, an animal cowering in a corner. Bihar closed her eyes quickly, took a deep breath, then opened them again, her fear concealed once more.

‘Um … well … I think I was dreaming. I was having a nightmare and I must have been half asleep when I called, didn’t really know what I was doing. I woke up when the cops turned up at my aunt’s place asking what was going on, what I’d gone and done.’

‘What were you dreaming about?’

Bihar shuddered almost imperceptibly. She hadn’t expected that question. Perhaps she’d assumed the businesslike Finnish police wouldn’t start asking about her dreams; surely they’d stick with the facts, with the real world.

‘I can’t remember,’ she answered instinctively. ‘Couldn’t remember when I woke up either.’

‘And when did you wake up?’

‘When the police arrived.’

‘And that was?’

‘I dunno, four or five in the morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that – it was almost morning.’

‘Was your dad in your dream?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Did your dad threaten to kill you?’

‘In my dream or for real?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Did he?’

‘Not when I’ve been awake, he hasn’t. I can’t remember anything about that dream. He might have threatened me, if that’s what I said on the phone.’

‘Why were you in Vantaa?’

‘Spending the weekend with relatives. Is that against the law?’

‘What relatives?’

‘My aunt and uncle.’

‘How do you travel to school?’

‘Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘I walk to the bus stop and get the bus.’

‘Do you walk with anyone?’

‘No, I go by myself.’

‘What about Mehvan?’

‘He’s in a different school. I’m in high school, he’s still in middle school.’

‘Were you forced to walk with your brother in the past? When you were in middle school?’

Bihar’s dark eyes looked away from the camera and stared up and down the walls, avoiding Anna’s gaze.

‘No,’ she replied.

‘My colleague says otherwise. She had a chat with your former
teacher yesterday, one Riitta Kolehmainen. She says otherwise too. She told us your brother followed you like a hawk right through middle school, never let you out of his sight. She also said you were frequently absent.’

‘I always had my parents’ permission,’ she snapped.

‘Yes. This isn’t about truanting.’

‘Of course, me and Mehvan walked to school together when we were in the same school. Nothing weird about that.’

‘Didn’t it bother you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Didn’t feel like it was restricting your freedom?’

‘No.’

‘You went to Turkey last year.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Nothing special.’

‘Were you there celebrating your engagement?’

‘Of course not,’ she scoffed with a forced laugh.

‘Really? What do you do after school?’

‘Watch TV, do my homework, visit friends. Normal stuff.’

‘Who are your friends? Are they Kurds? Finns?’

‘Finns at school – there aren’t any other refugees in our class, or in the whole school. At home they’re mostly Kurds, then there are a few Somali girls that live across the street.’

‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘No,’ Bihar answered.

‘Have you had one in the past?’

Bihar stared at the surface of the table; her long, black eyelashes fluttered, casting a shadow on her cheeks. She took a sip of water.

‘No,’ she said eventually and tried to give Anna a convincing look in the eyes.

You’re lying, thought Anna.

‘Bihar, I’m your friend,’ Anna decided to change tactics. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. Just tell me the truth and I will make sure you
get to safety. Right now. You won’t have to go home or be frightened of anyone ever again.’

Bihar shuddered again, hesitant.

‘I don’t think it’ll help,’ she said eventually.

‘What do you mean?’

‘’Cause there’s nothing wrong.’ She assumed the bored expression of earlier and blew a chewing-gum bubble that burst across her lips.

‘You called 112. Your life was in danger. I’ve heard the tape. You don’t sound remotely sleepy; you sound downright petrified. I can see you’re afraid now, too. I can see you’re lying to me because you’re frightened. Wake up, girl! Do you want to live with that kind of fear for the rest of your life, let them control you like that?’