Two patrol cars and a tech van stood in the drive. I could see an elderly couple peering out of the windows of the house next door. You couldn’t miss the woman’s silvery hair. Evidently they were the eyewitnesses to the crime.
I didn’t want to disturb the CSIs right when they were busiest. The sky was growing dark and threatening rain. A downpour wouldn’t do anything to further the technical investigation.
The deceased was lying on his left side, head towards the front door. He was dressed in dark-blue cotton trousers and a lightweight sweater. The door was wide open, and I could see an investigator going about her business in the hallway. Someone else was taking a photograph inside.
I touched Simolin’s sleeve. “Let’s go have a chat with the neighbours.”
They were expecting us; the door opened before I could ring the bell. The man and grey-haired woman who had just been standing at the window were peering out through the crack. I introduced Simolin and myself, and the man asked us in.
A mid-length fur coat was hanging in the hallway, then the family dog trotted in and started sniffing at my feet. It was small and white and fluffy; I didn’t recognize the breed. My nose started to itch and I could feel a sneeze coming on. I was allergic to animal fur, which was one reason the relationship between me and Mr Mayer’s daughter had withered on the vine. Both Old Man Mayer and Karmela had wanted me to take over the fur shop.
I got right to the point. “Which one of you saw the assailant?”
“Kalevi, my husband, did,” said the woman.
“So you didn’t see him at all?”
“I saw him sitting in the car, but by that time it was too late to tell if he was a policeman or not.”
“What about the vehicle? What can you tell us about that?” Simolin asked. The man leant in. Now we had entered his area of expertise.
“It was a dark-blue Volkswagen Golf, no doubt about it. Isn’t that what the police drive? There weren’t any police markings on it, but there was a blue light on the roof… Or wait, I wouldn’t bet my life on that; it was behind the bushes and I could only see part of it. But there was definitely something on the roof. I didn’t see the licence plate.”
“Could you tell us what else you saw? Start from the beginning, and tell us everything.”
“I didn’t see the incident itself — the murder, I mean. I went to the window to have a look once Titi started barking. Titi has her very own chair set up there, because she’s a curious little girl. So I heard her barking and went to have a look. Through my binoculars, I could see Jacobson lying in the doorway and a man who looked like a police officer walking away. Kaarina was upstairs and I yelled for her to come down. The second she got here, the man drove off. Ooh, I was miffed at her, but Kaarina’s legs aren’t too good.”
“Yours are even worse,” his wife huffed.
“Which is why I was downstairs.”
The man showed us the binoculars that were on the hallway table.
“I had these. I looked out the window to see what had happened to my neighbour, and I could see there was blood on his face. I phoned an ambulance right then and there, and they called the police when I told them what had happened.”
“So the man was dressed like a police officer?”
“That’s what it looked like. Blue uniform and a cap. He had badges on his chest and his sleeve that looked like police badges to me, you know, the sword and everything.”
“So you didn’t see the actual shooting?”
“No, but who else could it have been? No one would leave someone lying in a pool of blood unless they were the guilty party.”
“No doubt you’re right about that. What about the shot?”
“I definitely would have heard a shot. There’s nothing wrong with my hearing. The murderer must have been a professional. They use silencers.” Now Kalevi was getting excited.
“So you didn’t see the gun?” Simolin asked.
“No. That darned bush was right in the way.”
“Was Jacobson often home in the middle of the day?”
The woman shook her head. “No, he wasn’t.”
Her husband agreed: “Not a chance. Jacobson was a workaholic. Owned a chain of office supply shops. Inherited it from his father and expanded it quite a bit. Must have at least twenty employees. Jews have a nose for business.”
“What about recently? Was he home yesterday? Or the day before?”
“I think he was. Yes, he was. Now that I think about it, he’s been home for at least three to four days. Which is a little odd, because he didn’t seem ill. Usually if he’s ill, his wife stays home to tend to him. The kids have already flown the coop, of course.”
“How well do you know the Jacobsons?” I asked.
“As well as neighbours do after having lived next door to each other for close to thirty years. We used to visit each other now and again, but because we’re of different generations that was the extent of it. The Jacobsons have been good neighbours: never make a fuss and keep the yard tidy. The children were always polite, too.”
“Did Jacobson ever mention receiving any threats?”
“No,” the man sighed. “He got along with everyone, at least here in Tammisalo. Belonged to the neighbourhood association, may have even been on the board. Who would want to threaten him?”
“Someone killed him,” Simolin pointed out.
“Yes, that’s true,” the man said thoughtfully. “You don’t kill someone for no reason, so the murderer must have had one.”
“Do you have any idea what it might have been?”
“No, unless it has to do with him being a Jew — maybe one of those Nazis or terrorists or what have you that hates their kind…” The man glanced at me and must have put together my name, my appearance and my ethnic background. “It’s just that it’s been happening lately. They beat up that foreign professor, too. Can’t think of anything else.”
“And you never saw anyone suspicious snooping around the house?”
“Nothing but apple thieves. This time of year the kids go around raiding orchards — not as much as they used to, though. You almost wish they would, with the apples rotting on the ground and all…”
“What kind of people live around here?”
“Good people. Over on the other side of the Jacobsons’, there’s a hockey player who spends most of the year abroad, in the US. Their house has been empty for over a month. No one lives up across the street. An older couple used to live there. He died five years ago, and then she passed two years later. The heirs plan to sell the land, and I guess the house will be torn down, because it’s in pretty bad shape. Back in the day, it was the pride of the neighbourhood: huge rosebushes and flowerbeds, cherries, apples, plums and pears. The man had quite the green thumb. Now the yard is so overgrown you can’t even see the house from here any more.”
I had noticed the home on the hill when we drove up. Its former beauty was still evident, as was that of the yard, even though the grounds were overgrown and the house was falling apart. There was no doubt that the plot, over twenty-thousand square feet, was worth a bundle.
“Do all the neighbours know each other?”
“Everyone except the hockey player are old Tammisalo locals, have lived here as long as we have… It’s a shame. Jacobson and I exchanged a couple of words a few weeks back, and he said he intended to retire at the end of the year and leave the company to his children. Sad. Didn’t have a chance to enjoy a single day of his retirement. One thing’s for sure: death comes like a thief in the night. You never know whether you have an hour left, or ten years.”