Until Thy Wrath Be Past Part 16

T.K.: Tore Krekula.

A.-M.M.: You have told the police that you and your brother Hjalmar Krekula paid a visit to Hjorleifur Arnarson yesterday.

Why did you do that?

T.K.: We heard that the police had been there and asked questions about Wilma Persson and Simon Kyro. We were relatives of Wilma's. She lived with her great-grandmother Anni Autio. And Anni and our mother are sisters. But the police never tell us a b.l.o.o.d.y thing. So we wanted to know what the h.e.l.l was going on.

A.-M.M.: Can you tell us about your visit to Hjorleifur Arnarson?

T.K.: What do you want to know?

A.-M.M.: Just tell us what happened.

T.K.: We asked what he'd spoken to the police about. He said, nothing in particular. He said you'd asked about Wilma and Simon, but he knew nothing.

A.-M.M.: Who did the asking? You or your brother?

T.K.: Me. I asked the questions. Hjalmar isn't much of a one for talking.

A.-M.M.: And what happened then?

T.K.: What do you mean, what happened then? Nothing happened then. We went home. He didn't know anything.

A.-M.M.: Did you touch anything while you were in his house?

T.K.: It's possible. I don't remember.

A.-M.M.: Think hard.

T.K.: As I said, I don't remember. Is that all? Some of us need to earn enough money to pay your wages, you know.

A.-M.M.: Interrogation concluded at 19.42.

Transcript of the Interrogation of Hjalmar Krekula.

Place: Kiruna police station.

Date and time: April 28, 19.45.

Present: Inspectors Anna-Maria Mella and Sven-Erik Stlnacke, and District Prosecutor Rebecka Martinsson.

A.-M.M.: Interrogation begun at 19.45. Can you tell us your name, please?

H.K.: A.-M.M.: Your name, please.

H.K.: Hjalmar Krekula.

A.-M.M.: You and your brother visited Hjorleifur Arnarson yesterday. Can you tell us about the visit?

H.K.: A.-M.M.: Can you tell us about that visit?

H.K.: A.-M.M.: Should I interpret your silence as meaning that you . . .

H.K.: He didn't say anything. Can I go now?

A.-M.M.: No, you can't go now, we have only just . . . Sit down!

R.M.: Can I have a word, please?

A.-M.M.: It's 19.47. We are taking a short break.

"We have to let him go," Martinsson said to Mella and Stlnacke. "We've got their clothes. We have to hope that the forensic examination gives us some results."

They were standing in the corridor outside the interrogation room.

"But they haven't said anything!" Mella said. "We can't just let them go!"

"They are not under arrest. They've said what they're going to say."

"Nevertheless we have the right to keep them here and interrogate them for six hours. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can sit in there for six hours."

"Do you want to be charged with professional misconduct?" Martinsson said calmly. "We have no justification for holding them."

Olsson and Rantakyro came out into the corridor, attracted by the sound of raised voices.

"Rebecka says we have to let them go," Mella said.

"We'll nail them regardless," Olsson said by way of consolation.

Mella nodded.

We simply have to, she thought. I won't be able to cope otherwise. Please G.o.d, let them find something on their clothes.

"We managed to search the houses after all," Rantakyro said. "Well done, Svempa."

Stlnacke looked at the floor. Cleared his throat to show that he had noted the compliment.

"By G.o.d, we did!" Rantakyro said, making a manful effort to transform the gloomy atmosphere. "I'd have given anything to have been there."

"Yes, it was perfect timing with the telephone," Martinsson said, giving Stlnacke a congratulatory look. "Anyway, let's say goodbye to the Krekula brothers for now. Anna-Maria, do you have the doc.u.mentation for Wilma, Simon and Hjorleifur?"

"Of course," Mella said.

"O.K. Since I'm taking over the investigation, I'll need to read all the material. I thought I'd do that this evening."

No-one spoke. Everyone was looking at Martinsson.

"Having made the decision to search the Krekulas' houses, I'll be taking over the preliminary investigation," Martinsson said.

The three male officers turned to look at Mella.

"Of course," she said in an unnaturally offhand tone of voice. "But we're not used to being so formal. With Alf Bjornfot it was business as usual. We simply kept reporting to him as work progressed."

"As I mentioned earlier today," Martinsson said, and now the words came flowing smoothly out of her mouth, "you're no longer working with Alf Bjornfot, but with me. I want to read all the material. And I naturally expect you to report to me as soon as anything happens."

"'Expect'," said Mella before she could stop herself. Then she darted into her office and fetched the doc.u.ments lying on her desk to hand them over to Martinsson.

Having followed on her heels, Martinsson collected them in Mella's doorway, the other officers trailing after her like a tail.

"They're probably not in the right order," Mella said.

"That doesn't matter," Martinsson said.

She glanced at the noticeboard in Mella's office. Pinned up were photographs of Wilma Persson, Simon Kyro and Hjorleifur Arnarson, with the dates when the first two had disappeared and when Hjorleifur had been murdered. There were maps of the area where Wilma had been found dead, and of Vittangijarvi. The names of the Krekula brothers were also posted.

"All that stuff," Martinsson said, pointing, "we'll move into the conference room tomorrow. So we have everything in one place. When shall we meet tomorrow? Eight o'clock?"

I don't care what they think, Martinsson said to herself as she walked off with the doc.u.mentation under her arm. I'm responsible now, and everything will be done by the book. It's not my style to watch from the sidelines. If I'm in charge of the investigation, I'm the one who makes the decisions.

"Wow," Mella said when Martinsson had left. "Do you think we'll have to line up before the meeting tomorrow? In alphabetical order? Like at school?"

"But she did a b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant job today with Tore Krekula," Stlnacke said. "Without her . . ."

"Yes, yes," Mella said impatiently. "I just think a little humility wouldn't go amiss."

The silence between them seemed to last for eternity. Stlnacke looked hard at Mella. Mella stared back at him, ready to fight her corner.

"Looks like it's time to go home," Olsson said, and was seconded by Rantakyro, who explained that his girlfriend was getting annoyed she'd phoned him about supper an hour ago now, and he had promised to call in and rent a film on the way home.

Word soon gets around in a little town like Kiruna. Pathologist Lars Pohjanen tells his technical a.s.sistant Anna Granlund that Rebecka Martinsson saw Wilma Persson in a dream after she died and told him that Wilma did not die in the river. That was why he took samples of the water in her lungs.

Granlund says she believes in that kind of thing her sister's grandfather's cousin was able to staunch blood by the laying on of hands.

Granlund's work is covered by hospital confidentiality rules, but she cannot resist telling her sister about this phenomenon over a pizza lunch at Laguna.

Her sister promises not to say anything about it, but close family does not count, of course, so she tells her husband that evening.

The husband does not believe in that kind of thing, however. That is precisely why he tells one of his mates about it while they are sitting in the sauna after a body-building session. Perhaps he feels the need to test the credibility of Martinsson's claim. Could it really be possible? He wants to see how his friend reacts.

His mate does not say much at all. Just pours more water onto the hot stones.

His mate often goes hunting with an old Piilijarvi resident, Stig Rautio. They b.u.mp into each other outside the Co-op. He repeats the story to Rautio. Asks if he knew Wilma Persson. She was murdered, it seems. It was that District Prosecutor Rebecka Martinsson the one who killed those pastors a few years ago she was the one who . . .

Stig Rautio. He hunts on land owned by Tore and Hjalmar Krekula. He calls on Isak and Kerttu Krekula with the rent he owes Tore Krekula Tore's wife has told him her husband is visiting his parents. There is no urgency regarding the rent payment, but Rautio is curious. Everyone in the village, indeed in the whole of Kiruna, knows that the police have searched the Krekula brothers' houses in connection with the murders of Wilma Persson and Hjorleifur Arnarson. Isak Krekula is in bed in the little room off the kitchen, as he always is nowadays. Kerttu Krekula is frying sausages and has made some mashed turnips for her boys. Hjalmar is eating, but Tore is only drinking coffee: he's already eaten at home after all, he has a wife who cooks for him.

Kerttu Krekula does not ask if Rautio would like a mug of coffee. They realize that he is only nosing around, but they cannot tell him anything. He hands over the envelope with the rent. He had used the first envelope he could lay hands on, and it happened to be one of his wife's special ones, bought at Kiruna market. It looked as if dried flowers had been pressed into the hand-made paper. Taking the envelope, Tore gives it a quizzical look. Aha, says the look, someone is trying to give the impression of being posh and remarkable.

Rautio regrets not having looked for a different envelope: a used one with a window would have been better, but so what! He says he has heard that the police have been round what a gang of idiots, halfwits! What the h.e.l.l do they think they're doing? Next thing we know they will be knocking on his door as well. Then he tells them about that business concerning District Prosecutor Martinsson and Pathologist Pohjanen. That she had dreamt about Wilma Persson, and gone to the pathologist as a result.

"Before long they'll be buying crystal b.a.l.l.s instead of chasing after thieves," he jokes.

n.o.body reacts, of course. The joke hangs in the air, awkward and heavy-handed. The Krekulas carry on as if nothing had happened. Hjalmar eats his mashed turnip and pork sausages, Tore taps on his coffee cup with his fingernail and gets a refill from his mother.

It is as if nothing unusual has happened. They make no comment on what Rautio says about the police. The kitchen is as silent as the grave for what seems like an eternity. Then Tore checks the notes in the envelope and asks if there is anything else Rautio wants to discuss. No, there is nothing else. He leaves without any gossip to pa.s.s on.

When Rautio is gone, Tore Krekula says, "What a b.l.o.o.d.y load of rubbish! Claiming that the prosecutor dreamt about her."

Kerttu Krekula says, "This will be the last straw for your father. It'll be the death of him."

"People talk," Tore says. "They always have done. Let 'em."

Kerttu slams her palm down on the table. Shouts, "That's easy for you to say!"

She starts clearing the table. Despite the fact that Hjalmar has not finished eating yet. A clear signal that there is nothing more to be said.

There never is anything more to be said, Hjalmar thinks. It was the same then. Last autumn, when Father had his heart attack. When Johannes Svarvare got drunk and started blabbing. There was nothing more to be said almost before they started speaking.

It is late September. The sun is setting on the other side of the lake. Hjalmar Krekula has carried the outboard motor indoors for his father. It is lying on the kitchen table, on a layer of newspapers. Johannes Svarvare usually dismantles it and gives it a service for Isak Krekula. The carburettor is blocked as usual.

Svarvare messes about with the motor. Isak serves him some vodka, by way of thanks. Tore Krekula's wife is at a Tupperware party, so he is having dinner with his parents. Hjalmar is there as well. There is no room to swing a cat round in the kitchen. The table is piled high with plates of hamburgers and macaroni in white sauce alongside engine casing, screwdrivers, keys, a sheath knife, a plastic bottle with a long tube containing oil for the gearbox, new spark plugs and a tin of petrol in which the filter will be soaked.

Svarvare is gabbling away nineteen to the dozen. He is going on about old marine engines and various boats they have had or helped to build, and he even babbles on about the time he and his cousin loaded five sheep into his uncle's rowing boat to take them to their summer grazing on one of the islands in the River Rautas, and how they hit a rock in Kutukoski and sank, all the sheep drowned, and he and his cousin only just escaped with their lives.

They have heard the story about the drowned sheep in Kutukoski before, but Hjalmar and Tore Krekula continue eating and listen just like they used to do when they were children.

"Speaking of drowning," Svarvare says as he unscrews the carburettor, "do you remember that time in the autumn of 1943 when we were waiting and waiting for that transport plane that never arrived?"

"No," Isak says, sounding a warning note.

But Svarvare has been drinking, and does not hear any warning notes.

"It disappeared, didn't it? I've always wondered where it can have come down. It was coming from Narvik. It always seemed to me that the plane was bound to have followed the River Torne past Jiekajarvi and Alajarvi. But if you asked folk who lived up there, none of them had seen or heard such a plane. So I reckon it must have gone off course and turned south after Taalojarvi, then somehow turned off again and tried to make an emergency landing on the lakes at ovre Vuolusjarvi or Harrijarvi or Vittangijarvi. Don't you agree? The whole crew must have drowned like rats."

Tore and Hjalmar concentrate on their food. Kerttu is standing at the counter with her back to them and seems to be busy with something. Isak says nothing, merely hands Svarvare the key so that he can detach the float. Svarvare continues his outpouring: "Anyway, I told Wilma she and Simon go diving, you know that this would be something for them to explore if they could find it. Try Vittangijarvi, was my advice. Because if it had gone down in ovre Vuolusjarvi we'd no doubt have heard about it by now. And Harrijarvi is so small. So Vittangijarvi would be as good a place to start looking as anywhere, don't you think?"

He unscrews the mouthpiece, puts it to his mouth and blows out the flakes of metal. Then he holds it up in the light from the window. Squints through the little hole to see if it is clean. He turns to Tore and Hjalmar.

"I was only thirteen then, but your dad took me with him. We needed to work in those days."

"What did Wilma say?" Isak asks casually, as if he was not really interested.

"Oh, she was as keen as anything. Asked me if she could borrow some maps."

Svarvare sounds satisfied now. It is evidently a pleasant memory. A keen young woman interested in something he had to tell her. Their fingers on the map.

He drops the filter into the can of petrol. Dries his hands as best he can on his trousers, and knocks back the few drops left in the Duralex gla.s.s.

But instead of refilling it, Isak screws down the cork of the vodka bottle.