Evil Things, page 24
“Call Kyander first,” snapped Hella. “No, wait. I’ll call him. I’d like to be sure that you’re speaking to the right person.”
She dialled the now all-too-familiar number, which was immediately answered by the all-too-familiar voice.
“This is Hella Mauzer. I’m with Captain Hobbs. He wants to talk to you.”
She passed him the receiver.
“Kyander, it’s Hobbs. It’s all settled. Tell your people to free the priest. Yes. Yes. Thank you for your assistance.”
58
“You will find the evidence at Ekberg Café,” said Hella. “Bule-vardi 9. The head waiter has a letter addressed to a Mr Evil. Your people will find a key to a locker inside the envelope.”
“What locker? At the railway station?”
Hella addressed him with her sweetest smile. “I’ll tell you once the doctors take Mrs Waltari away. I’m not sure I can trust your word.”
Captain Hobbs barked his orders into the receiver. His people must have been primed, because ten minutes later – which they spent waiting in uncomfortable silence – the phone rang. Hella’s spirits lifted as she saw the confirmation in Captain Hobbs’ eyes. So Esteri had made it. Amazing, that woman!
“All right, they have the key. Where’s the locker located?”
“The doctor first.”
They waited some more, Hella’s heart pounding. If she’d gauged this right, all hell would break loose any moment now. It was a miracle they hadn’t heard already. But they were serious people. They didn’t listen to the radio during their working hours.
The doctor came in, a short, wiry man, trim and efficient. A Finn. He went straight to Irja.
“Where will you be taking her?” asked Hella.
“University Hospital.”
Hella sighed with relief. University Hospital was good. It was not an army hospital, but of course they would never dare admit a civilian there. It would be tantamount to a confession.
“Will she be all right?”
“With the right treatment, yes. But you people should think twice before travelling to Africa. And pregnant at that! Can you walk?” he asked Irja. “I have two nurses with a stretcher downstairs.”
“I can walk.” Irja got to her feet slowly. “I’ll just say goodbye to my friend.”
Captain Hobbs cut in. “You need to tell me now where the locker is located.”
“The General Post Office.”
Hella wondered if the police would be dusting for fingerprints. She hadn’t told Esteri to wear gloves. And what if they did get her fingerprints? There would be other prints on that locker, a whole lot of them. All belonging to ordinary, law-abiding Finns. She doubted very much someone would take pains to compare the prints to a case the police had closed and archived years ago.
She looked at Irja. They moved into a corner of the room.
“Take care of yourself … and the baby. I’ll come and visit. If I can.”
“I have something for you,” murmured Irja. “Something you forgot back in Käärmela. I’m sorry, I read it.”
Irja pulled a letter out of her pocket. Shivering, Hella recognized her own handwriting: MR STEVE COLLINS, YLE RADIO, UNIONINKATU 20, 00160, HELSINKI. The letter she had put under her pillow in Käärmela and forgotten all about.
“I think he still loves you,” Irja said. He was worried about you when I saw him just now, while you were out and about.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “I recognized the address as I was walking around with Kalle, and then I had this idea … I had to try. There’s more at stake here than just us. The whole country. Innocent people. I don’t think it will start a war. Both parties are guilty, after all. A Soviet captain crossed the border. They’ll never admit it. I had to try.”
“You succeeded,” smiled Hella, her first real smile in weeks as she saw the ginger-haired young man appear at the door, out of breath and waving frantically at Captain Hobbs. She steered Irja towards the doctor. “Go now. Get out of this building.”
From that moment on, time folded back on itself; or so it seemed to her. But maybe this was only her impression because things started moving at a terrible speed but she could hear nothing, only the deafening beating of her own heart.
Hobbs was gesticulating wildly, almost foaming at the mouth, the hapless messenger standing dumbfounded, the microphone that someone had torn off Irja lying on the floor in a heap while the doctor whisked her away. The pale Finnish winter sun, finally deigning to appear over the steel-grey waters of the bay. Kyander materializing out of nowhere, apparently screaming at her, with his very red mouth wide open so she could see the rotten teeth at the back. And all the while, her heart sang. Irja had done it, she had got justice for Anna, for Aleksi, and for all the others, the innocent, the victims. The corrupt state, that above-the-law mortal god, had just been kicked in the teeth. It couldn’t have gone any better. And even if what Irja had said about Steve wasn’t true, it didn’t matter. But maybe it was true. A priest’s wife wouldn’t lie, would she?
At some point, someone – maybe even Hobbs – switched on the radio an assistant had brought him. The men gathered around it like crows. Hella breathed in deeply and willed her heart to calm down. She wanted to hear. To hear it like the rest of the country had heard it.
They were all over the news. She recognized the bellowing voice of Ahti Linna from Radio Finland.
… an unimaginable crime, all the more so because it was committed by our own government, and its partners in crime, the Western Alliance. What cynicism, what contempt for human life! Just listen …
And Hobbs again, a disembodied Hobbs, a pompous fool, declaring, “There’s more at stake here than just a few lives.”
The man was slumped behind his desk now, his head in his hands. The white band of skin on his ring finger trembled.
Quietly, Hella got to her feet and made her way out of the room and down the stairs.
Kalle was still sitting on the sofa in the reception area, pale and scared, clinging to his bus.
Hella waved at him. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go. Have I told you that I know a shop in Helsinki that only sells Fazer Blue chocolate? They have mountains of it, all different flavours, shapes and sizes. I bet you won’t even manage to try it all!”
Author’s Note
While many elements of Finland’s history are real, this novel is ultimately a work of fiction, and I have taken certain liberties in telling Hella’s and Irja’s story. For example, while the city of Ivalo does exist, there is no Käärmela village in Lapland; the name comes from Käärme, meaning “snake”, with the suffix -la, meaning “place”. In the same manner, the Western Alliance does not exist outside the pages of this book, other than as the name of a US bank, although the term “Western alliance” has also been used to refer to a certain intergovernmental military partnership between North American and European countries.
Kerry Segrave’s book Policewomen: A History shows that Finland appointed its first two female police employees in 1907. However, their presence remained marginal; twenty years after this, there were still only five female police employees. By 1950, according to Statistics Finland, this figure had risen to a mere forty-seven.
From 1944, these women, called polissysters in Swedish and naispoliisi in Finnish (Finland’s two official languages), started to receive formal training. As I mentioned in the Introduction, at the beginning their work concerned only women and children. The fact that one of them finally managed to join the homicide squad as early as 1948 is fiction – even though many surely wanted to.
Acknowledgements
I owe enormous thanks to a lot of people:
My agent, Marilia Savvides, for her breathtaking faith in this book, her unfailing kindness and enthusiasm. To all at Peters, Fraser and Dunlop, especially Alexandra Cliff, Silvia Molteni, Rebecca Wearmouth and Laura Otal – it has been a great pleasure to work with you.
My editor extraordinaire, François von Hurter, who took my book and made it a million times better. Thank you also to Laurence Colchester and everyone at Bitter Lemon Press – I couldn’t have dreamt of a better home for Hella.
Sarah Terry, my eagle-eyed copy editor, who ironed out a myriad of inconsistencies and was incredibly patient and kind.
Eleanor Rose, for the time and skill she put into designing a perfect book cover.
Madlen Reimer and everyone at btb, an imprint of Random House; everyone at W. F. Howes.
Father Denis, for answering my questions, and Maritta Jokiniemi, curator of Finland’s National Police Museum, for pointing me in the right direction. Any mistakes are most definitely mine.
My friend Alina Mauchamp, for her invaluable support.
My family, for being patient and helping me keep everything in perspective – you know how much I love you.
Finally, there wouldn’t be any books without readers, booksellers and bookshops – so thank you all!
Katja Ivar, Evil Things
