The Fire Witness

97

Joona is in the police station, riding up the elevator. He’s holding a small plastic bag containing the key ring. The fob looks like a large coin, a silver dollar. “Dennis” is engraved on one side and a light blue flower with seven petals is embossed on the other. The coin is linked to a large, empty key ring.

Late last night, Elin called Joona. She was in her car driving Daniel back to the hospital and was planning to stay in a hotel in Sundsvall for the night. She told Joona that Tuula had stolen this key ring from Vicky’s purse early on Friday.

“It was important to Vicky. Her mother gave it to her,” Elin said. She promised to courier it to him as soon as she’d checked in.

Now Joona is turning the plastic bag over and over in the fluorescent light of the elevator. Then he stuffs it in his pocket and gets off at the fifth floor.

He wonders why Vicky’s mother would give her a key ring with the name Dennis on it.

Vicky Bennet’s father is unknown. Her mother gave birth outside the health-care system. The child did not enter state registers until she was six. Perhaps the mother knew the name of the father the entire time. Was this a way to let Vicky know?

Anja is at her desk and, before he can ask her if she’s learned anything about who Dennis is, she says, “There is no person by the name of Dennis in Vicky Bennet’s life. Not at Birgittagården, not at Ljungbacken, and not with any of the foster families.”

“Strange,” says Joona.

“I even called Saga Bauer from Säpo,” Anja tells him, and smiles. “They have their own records, of course.”

“Someone must know who Dennis is,” he says as he sits on the edge of her desk.

“Nope,” she sighs, and drums her fingers on her desk. Her nails are long and red.

Joona looks out of the window. Clouds are chasing each other in the strong wind.

“I’m stuck,” he says. “I can’t look at the reports from the National Forensic Laboratory, I can’t ask questions, and I have nothing more to go on.”

“Perhaps you should recognize that this is not your case,” Anja says quietly.

“I can’t let it go,” he whispers.

Anja smiles, pleased, and her plump cheeks turn red.

“Since you’ve nothing better to do at the moment, I’d like you to listen to something,” she says. “And it’s not Finnish tango, for a change.”

“I didn’t think it was,” he says as he pulls up a chair.

“Of course you did,” she mutters, typing on her computer. “This is a telephone call I answered earlier today.”

“Do you record your calls?”

“As a rule, yes,” she replies in a neutral voice.

A woman’s thin voice starts speaking.

“I’m sorry that I keep calling,” the woman says. Her voice is almost breathless. “I talked to a policewoman in Sundsvall and she said that a detective by the name of Joona Linna might be interested.”

“Talk to me,” Anja’s voice says.

“If you’ll listen to me, only listen, there’s something important I have to tell you about the murders at Birgittagården.”

“The police have a tip line,” Anja’s voice explains.

“I know,” the woman says quickly.

There’s a waving Japanese cat on top of Anja’s computer. Each time it waves, it clicks.

“I saw the girl. She didn’t want to show her face,” she says. “There was a large rock. A bloody rock. You have to look for it.”

“Are you saying you witnessed the murders?”

They can hear the woman breathing before she answers.

“I don’t know why I’ve seen this,” she says. “I’m frightened and I’m very tired, but I am not crazy.”

“Are you telling me you saw the murder?”

“Or maybe I’m going crazy,” the woman says, as if she didn’t hear Anja’s question.

The telephone call ends abruptly.

“This woman’s name is Flora Hansen. She has a report made against her.”

“Why?”

“Brittis at the tip line got tired of her calls. Flora has called in a number of false tips and wanted to be paid for further information.”

“Does she call the tip line often?”

“No, she’s never called before. It’s just the murders at Birgittagården. I thought you should hear this before she calls back. She’ll certainly phone you. She keeps calling even though the police have reported her. And now she has my telephone number.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Brittis says that Flora has an alibi for the evening of the murder. She held a séance for nine people at Upplandsgatan 40 here in Stockholm,” Anja says, amused. “She calls herself a medium. She says she can get answers from the dead if she gets paid for it.”

“I’m going to go see her,” Joona says, getting up from the chair.

“Joona, people know about this case,” Anja says. Her smile is uncertain. “And before too long, someone else will have a tip. If Vicky Bennet is alive, someone will see her sometime.”

“Right,” he says as he buttons his jacket.

Anja is about to start laughing but catches Joona’s gaze and suddenly realizes what he knows.

“It’s the rock,” she says. “So it’s true there was a rock.”

“Right,” he says. “But only The Needle, Frippe, and I know that the killer used a rock.”