The Hummingbird (32 page)

What had finally aroused Rauno’s interest was not the zealous groups themselves but a link to an online retailer selling everything from spelt flour and organic quinoa to Huitzilopochtli posters, plates and necklaces – identical to those found in Riikka and Ville’s pockets. The only problem was that the link didn’t provide any contact information for the company; all he could find was an online order form. A typical online firm, the kind that people are always being warned about. Rauno placed an order to his home address for a bag of organic beans, which had been harvested in South America for thousands of years, and wrote in the form’s A
NY
Q
UESTIONS
? section that he would like to talk with the company directors about a possible bulk order.

We’ll have to get the national police to help us look into these international groups, thought Rauno, my time at work simply won’t be enough. He wrote Virkkunen an email asking him to take care of the matter as soon as possible, switched off his computer and rubbed his exhausted eyes in the cool light of the screen as it shut down. He stood up and rolled his tense shoulders. Could he ask Nina to give him a massage, he wondered, though he knew he didn’t have the nerve. It was pointless. Nina hadn’t so much as accidentally touched him in the last six months, not a hug, a kiss, a touch of the hand. Not to mention sex.

Rauno felt horny. He thought of betraying her. He thought about it every single day. But more than anything he thought of Nina the
way she was before, just a short time ago. Laughing, sweet, wonderful, sexy Nina who couldn’t get enough of him.

What had gone wrong? What should he do?

And for the first time Rauno felt that it was up to him to do something and not just to wait for the marriage to drift towards divorce. He would have to fight; he mustn’t give up. And if things didn’t work out after that, so be it. Let them get a divorce – at least he would have tried. He sent his wife a text message in which he apologised for staying at work late and said he would stop in at the sushi bar on his way home.

What else?

That would have to do for tonight. At least it was a start.

Rauno drove to Kyoto Sushi and picked up a large box of assorted maki. Nina loved those. There had been a time when they had thought sushi to be the most erotic food in the world; they had eaten pieces of sushi from one another’s bodies and made love afterwards.

He drove home. The house was dark and quiet. In the dimness of the hallway he took off his coat and shoes and carefully peered into the girls’ room, where he heard the sound of calm, even breathing.

Nina was sitting in the kitchen by candlelight. She had prepared a pot of green tea, which was infusing as he walked in.

26

ANNA
SAT
ON
THE
BALCONY
SMOKING
.
The beautiful late September day was turning to evening and for once she had left work on time. It was perfect weather for running: about 10°c, a gentle breeze, overcast.

But Anna didn’t have the energy to go out for a run. She had called Ákos. He had been in a bar somewhere and asked Anna to join him. There’s a great buzz, he’d slurred to her on the telephone, come on, my own little sister. Anna had no inclination to check out the buzz, however great. Anyway, Zoran might have been there too. How long had Ákos been back on the drink? She thought back to when she’d last seen her brother. It was less than a week ago. Back then he’d looked good and had been sober. But that was life with a drunk, she knew that all too well. And she also knew that sooner or later her brother would be ringing her doorbell. Sooner, probably. And she would have no option but to answer.

Ákos made her think of their mother; Anna hadn’t heard from her in ages. A sense of yearning tightened in her lungs. Or was it all that tobacco? Anna stubbed out her cigarette, went inside and booted up the computer.

‘
Szia anyu,
’ she said as Skype connected her to her mother’s landline. Her mother sounded surprised and happy.

‘
Szia drága kislányom, hogy vagy?
’

‘I’m fine, thanks. How are things with you?’

‘Oh, same old. How’s your new job?’

‘It’s nice.’

‘And what about your colleagues?’

‘They’re nice too,’ came Anna’s white lie. She didn’t need to tell her mother anything about Esko.

‘What kind of cases are you working on?’

‘Interesting cases. I’ll tell you more when I visit.’

‘Isn’t it awful, my own daughter investigating violent crimes!’

‘They’re not all as violent as you think,’ she lied again.

‘When are you coming home?’

‘I don’t know when I’ll have my next holiday. At least I’m racking up plenty of overtime here. I’ll have to see if I can combine them into a longer holiday over Christmas.’

‘It would be wonderful to have you back for Christmas. What does Koivuharju look like nowadays?’

‘Just the same as it always did. Imagine, ten years have passed and absolutely nothing has changed. Well, they’ve built a few apartment blocks at the end of Takametsä, but that’s about it.’

‘What about Ákos?’

‘He’s okay,’ she said. Once a liar, always a liar.

‘Has he got himself a job yet?’

‘No. Where could he work when he doesn’t speak Finnish?’

‘Still?’

‘He’ll never learn it. You know him.’

‘There was a time I knew a teenage boy full of energy, drive and anger. I always thought he would grow out of it like all the other boys, that the bands and all that terrible music were just a passing phase. But they weren’t. I had to bring him to Finland, didn’t I.’

Anna couldn’t bear listening to her mother playing the martyr. She’d heard it far too often. Her mother seemed to thrive on self-pity and drew her strength from it.

‘Mum, you did what you had to back then. There as no way he could have stayed there. He’d been called up for the army. He was already waiting at the police station. Dad’s former colleagues were stalling, trying to give us time to escape. At least Ákos is still alive. Isn’t that the most important thing?’

‘He might as well be as dead as István and Áron. He never calls me, never sends me a letter, a postcard – nothing. When was the last time he visited? He’s only visited once, and that was years ago.’

‘We haven’t seen you much round here either.’

‘Oh, don’t start that again.’

‘You started it. I’ve already said I’ll pay for the flights. There are cheap flights here from Budapest, if you look around online. I can book for you.’

‘I think it would be best if you came back here. I haven’t the energy to travel these days.’

Anna knew this was nonsense. Her mother was only 62 years old and in perfectly good shape. For some reason, she didn’t want to visit them. They had argued about this in the past. Anna suspected that her mother simply didn’t want to see Ákos in Finland, marginalised and unemployed.

‘Suit yourself, but believe me when I say you shouldn’t leave the initiative to Ákos. He’s not going to make the first move. Call him. Send him a letter or a card.’

‘We’ll see. Let’s talk about you. Have you found yourself a man yet?’

Couldn’t her mother ever talk about something else? She was like a stuck record, raving about Ákos’s employment situation and Anna’s love life. Should she tell her the truth? That she’d slept with an invalid in August and that it was an interesting experience, or that last winter there had been a skateboarder tearaway ten years her junior, quite a cute guy actually, and a run-of-the-mill Nokia software engineer. That one would doubtless please you no end, but they were only one-night affairs, whereas Zoran seemed to linger in the background all the while. You remember Zoran? Yes, you hated him. But I shagged him again the other week.

‘Mum, I’m not looking for a man.’

‘Why not? You’re not some sort of lesbian, are you?’

‘
A fene egye meg, anya!
Why should I spend all my time looking for a man?’

‘Surely every decent woman needs a man of her own. Your biological clock will start ticking if you’re not careful. You’re no spring chicken, you know.’

‘I can assure you there are no clocks ticking.’

‘Why are you always so difficult?’

‘Just leave it, will you?’

‘You know how much I’ve longed for grandchildren. Imagine what it feels like listening to everyone talking about their grandchildren … What am I supposed to say? That one of my children is drinking himself into an early grave and the other one spends her entire life working and isn’t remotely interested in men?’

‘Well, that’s the truth. Would it be so terrible to tell people the truth?’

‘Anna. You don’t understand.’

‘You’re right. I don’t. Goodbye.’

‘Don’t hang up. Let’s talk about something else.’

Only then did they start talking about the goings-on in Kanizsa. Their conversations always followed the same pattern. Anna knew to expect this, and even though every time she resolved not to rise to it, it was no use. She understood only too well why Ákos didn’t want to talk to their mother.

The next morning Anna received a call from Farzad. Their assistant had recognised Riikka. She had eaten at Hazileklek on the afternoon of 21 August.

‘And she wasn’t alone,’ Farzad added.

Anna closed her eyes.

‘She was with another woman. Older.’

What on earth?

‘You want to speak with Jenna? She is here.’

‘Thank you,’ said Anna. The sound of crackling came through the receiver as the phone changed hands.

‘Jenna,’ came a young voice.

‘Hello, this is Fekete Anna from the police.’

‘It’s all right, go ahead,’ she heard Farzad’s voice in the background.

‘So, you remember seeing Riikka, the girl in the photograph, eating at the restaurant.’

‘Yes. It was 21 August.’

‘And how can you be sure?’

‘I noticed them because they were obviously arguing. The girl and the woman she was with, that is.’

‘Arguing?’

‘Yes. They weren’t shouting or anything, but you can tell when things are strained between people. And these two were definitely really tense.’

‘Did you hear what they were saying to one another?’

‘No. They stopped talking whenever I got too close. In fact, I don’t think they talked all that much at all.’

‘Tell me about the woman.’

‘I thought they were mother and daughter, having some kind of argument.’

‘So the woman was clearly much older?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘Hard to say. She was wearing sunglasses and a headscarf. Average size. Old.’

‘How old?’

‘I’m a pretty bad judge of age. Everyone over forty looks old to me,’ Jenna sniggered.

‘Think harder.’

‘Sixty. Fifty, maybe.’

‘Not exactly an OAP, then.’

‘No, definitely not.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t hear what they were talking about? Anything at all, a single word even.’

‘I took their order, asked them if they had enjoyed their meal. They answered fairly abruptly that everything had been fine. I brought the bill. The girl thanked me, the woman didn’t. That was it.’

‘How did they pay?’

‘Separately. In cash.’

A fene,
Anna cursed to herself.

‘What about when they were leaving?’

‘I can’t really remember. A big group walked in just then.’

‘Do you remember seeing a red car parked nearby?’

‘No.’

‘Thank you, Jenna. This information could be very useful.’

‘No problem, great to be of help. Just get the lunatic quickly. Me and my friends are scared to go out in the evenings.’

As well you should be, thought Anna.

27

RAUNO
WALKED
INTO
ANNA
’
S
OFFICE
,
clearly agitated.

‘I’ve made contact with the online retailer that sells all the Huitzilopochtli junk. I sent him an offer so tasty he couldn’t not get in touch with me. Guess where he’s based?’

‘Where? Not here, surely?’

‘Well, no. It’s run by some Russian guy from an office in Moscow. Not the first place I would have thought of. They sell all kinds of mumbo-jumbo stuff, everything from organic produce to new-age trinkets.’