The Fire Witness

161

Twenty minutes later, Joona parks his car on a narrow gravel road. He opens an iron gate, and he and Flora walk through a shady yard up to a wooden house painted red with white trim. The roof is made of asbestos cement tiles. The autumn greenery is filled with buzzing insects. The thunderstorm is still building overhead.

Joona rings the doorbell. Its chime is deafening.

They hear a shuffling sound, and then an elderly man opens the door. He’s wearing a vest, suspenders, and slippers.

“Are you Torkel Ekholm?” asks Joona.

The man is leaning on a walker. He’s looking at them with old, watery eyes. There’s a hearing aid behind his large, wrinkled right ear.

“Who wants to know?” he asks. They can hardly hear him.

“Joona Linna. I’m a detective inspector with the National Police.”

The old man peers at Joona’s ID and smiles slightly.

“Ah, the National Police,” he says softly. He gestures for Joona and Flora to come inside. “Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

They sit down at the kitchen table as Torkel goes to the stove after apologizing to Flora for having no cookies to offer her. He talks quietly and appears to be quite hard of hearing.

A clock is ticking loudly and over the kitchen bench there’s a moose-hunting rifle, a well-oiled Remington. An embroidery piece with bent corners is hanging crookedly nearby. It reads “Happiness in the home comes from contentment.”

Torkel Ekholm scratches his chin and looks at Joona.

Once the water is boiling, he takes out three cups and a tin of instant coffee.

“When you live alone, you keep things simple,” he says, and shrugs as he hands Flora a teaspoon.

“I’m here to ask you about an extremely old case,” Joona says. “Thirty-five years ago, a five-year-old girl was found dead at Delsbo Church.”

“That’s right,” the man says without meeting Joona’s gaze.

“Was it an accident?” Joona asks.

“Yes,” the man says.

“I don’t think it was an accident,” Joona says.

“I’m relieved to hear that,” the old man says. His mouth trembles and he pushes the sugar bowl toward Joona.

“Do you remember the case?” asks Joona.

The spoon clinks against the coffee cup as the old man pours in the coffee powder and stirs. He looks back up at Joona.

“There are certain cases that I wish I could forget.”

He gets up and shuffles over to a dark dresser and unlocks the top drawer. He explains that he’s kept his notes from that case all these years.

“I knew that someday, someone would want these from me,” he says so softly they can hardly hear him.