In the end, Mrs Wallius grudgingly let us in and called for her boy. He didn’t look the least bit afraid; on the contrary, he was excited. According to the neighbour, the boy was about eleven years old.
“Can we talk in your room?”
We followed the boy, the mother at our heels. I stopped and told her that we’d like to talk to the boy alone.
“Why? What are you trying to do?”
“Solve a murder. If you don’t have any objections, that is…”
The mother was forced to back down.
The boy took a seat on his bed; Simolin and I pulled up wheeled office chairs from the desk. A war game was exploding on the computer screen. Simolin glanced at it.
“I have that. Pretty good, huh?”
“Which version, One or Two?”
“One.”
“Two’s even better, and harder.”
I interrupted their conversation. “Could you tell me once more where you found the car?”
“From the start?”
“From the start. Every single detail. I think you’ve got a pretty good memory.”
“I do.”
“Are you the one who saw the car first?” Simolin asked.
“Yeah. Sami was pretty far behind me… We went there to eat plums. Otherwise they get rotten because nobody picks them…”
“I like plums, too,” I said.
“They’re really good: sweet and juicy,” the boy said. “I was the first one in the Seppäläs’ yard; we came through the back, by the hedge —”
“Wait a minute.”
I pulled a notebook from my pocket and sketched from memory: the house, the garage, and their locations on the plot.
“Use this to show me where you came from.”
The boy drew a line that followed the west side of the house and circled around to the front.
“This is where the plum tree is,” he said, drawing a circle on the paper. “I was picking some plums from the ground, and when I stood up I saw that the garage door was ajar. I could see the trunk of a blue car with a Volkswagen symbol. Sami’s kind of a wuss, so he didn’t catch up to me till then.”
“So then what did you two do?”
“We ate some plums and went home.”
“That early?”
“I had to study for a test.”
“Did you get a closer look at the car?”
“No. Sami got scared and said that he was going to leave, no matter what. So I went with him.”
“Has there ever been a car in the garage before when you’ve gone to eat plums?”
“Never. No one’s lived there for a long time, at least three years.”
“And what about when you came home?”
“My sister came home from school and said that someone had killed Mr Jacobson and that the cops… the police were looking for a blue Golf. I told Mom that there was a blue Volkswagen in the Seppäläs’ garage, the same kind the police were looking for. She called the police, and they came and got the car.”
I eyed the boy thoughtfully. “So the garage door was ajar?”
“Yeah.”
“When the police arrived, the door was closed. How is that possible? Did you close the door?”
“No, we scrammed.”
“So who shut it, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Probably the same guy who you and your friend saw.”
“We didn’t see any guy… We —”
“Sami said you saw a man in the yard.”
“What? We said we wouldn’t tell the —”
“That you wouldn’t tell the police, huh?”
“Yeah. Mom said the guy’s a killer and he might come after us. Sami almost started bawling.”
Jari Wallius was clearly made of tougher stuff than his friend. He didn’t appear bothered by the fact that he had been caught lying to the police.
“That was wrong. You can get punished for lying to the police.”
The kid smiled, as if to show he knew we weren’t serious. “Like what, prison?”
“Not that bad, but you’re not going to get any points for lying, either. Now tell me what you saw.”
The boy thought for a moment, brow furrowed, and then said: “Everything went like how I said at first, but when I got to the plum tree I saw the guy. He was just closing the garage door. Then he went behind the house and left that way.”
“In another car?” Simolin asked.
“He was walking.”
“Walking?”
“Yeah. He looked a little suspicious, so I went and looked in the garage and saw the car.”
“Tell me more about the guy. How old was he, how was he dressed?”
“At least as old as you, maybe even older, normal height, pretty thin. He was wearing blue sweatpants and a blue Nike baseball cap.”
“What brand were his sweatpants?” Simolin asked.
“Adidas, I think.”
“Was he carrying a backpack or a bag or anything?”
“Yeah, a black backpack.”
“Do you remember what brand?”
“There wasn’t one, or else the logo was so small I didn’t see it.”
“Do you remember anything else? Hair, beard, moustache, glasses?”
“Short hair, dark, I think. He didn’t have a moustache or a beard, but he had sideburns to at least halfway down his ear. He had sunglasses on. The kind cyclists wear.”
“Could you draw the glasses?” I asked.
The boy did as asked. The picture turned out well.
“You know how to draw,” I said, putting the sketch in my pocket.
“Yeah, I like drawing.”
“So the man left on foot down the other side of the hill, towards the church?” Simolin asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did you see where he turned?”
“No, I just made sure he left, and then Sami and me went to check out the car.”
An idea occurred to me. “Could you draw a picture of the man? Draw everything you remember: the clothes, the backpack, everything. If you do a good job, we might be able to use it to identify him.”
“Will I get a reward if you find him?”
“Maybe.”
The kid was bursting with enthusiasm as he picked up the pen. It glided nimbly across the paper, and an image began to take shape. I was a horrible draughtsman myself, and had no idea how someone could create a recognizable portrait with just a few strokes.
“You want me to colour the clothes?”
“Go for it.”
The boy bent over the paper, a look of concentration on his face. It only took about five minutes, and the picture was ready. I looked at it, and had to admit it was good. Even the posture of the body was completely natural. The eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but the chin was narrow and long, and the nose slightly hooked.
“You could be an artist when you grow up. Did the guy have a bump in his nose?”
“Yeah. I saw it when he turned sideways. He was skinny, the way athletes are. I think he works out a lot and is in pretty good shape.”
I thanked the boy. The mother was sitting on the sofa, but bounded up as soon as we came out of the bedroom.
“You should have told us that your son saw the man who left the car,” I said in a reprimanding tone.
The woman’s face turned beet red. “I was afraid the murderer might do something if he heard —”
“You’ve seriously compromised our investigation. Thanks to you, the killer has had a significant head start.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry —”
“We’re going to visit your son’s friend Sami now. I’m going to ask you to make sure that your son doesn’t call him. If he does, we’ll be forced to take unpleasant measures —”