Free Nights of Awe by Harri Nykänen

papers, we won’t have a moment’s peace. And of course if we’re really lucky, the story will get picked up by the international media.”
    “It already has,” Huovinen noted. “ Aftonbladet called a couple of hours ago and Expressen right after, and at that point there were only two bodies. Both of them asked if there were any terrorist links in the case. I don’t get where they got that from.”
    Deputy Police Chief Leivo still looked peeved. He was probably wishing he could have seen his name, preferably with an accompanying photograph, in the pages of the Swedish papers.
    “In any case, we need to agree on the specific communications tactics, down to turns of phrase, that we will all use. And no one slides from them.”
    “We won’t be commenting on the case other than to state we are following the investigation, as always occurs in cases like these,” Sillanpää said. “Public mention of terrorism in particular inevitably points at certain states. We can’t prevent the media from speculating. If police command wants to explain matters at the diplomatic level, then go right ahead, but don’t get us mixed up in it.”
    Deputy Chief Leivo’s expression grew more concerned. He clearly didn’t want a diplomatic incident, even a minor one.
    “If SUPO knows more about this than we do and doesn’t want us fouling things up, they’d better spit out everything they have.”
    “I’d tell you if I knew anything,” Sillanpää said. “I was just offering my opinion. I assume that’s the reason I’m here.”
    Huovinen turned back to me.
    “I propose Lieutenant Kafka decides. He’s got the best sense of the case.”
    I eyed Sillanpää, who stared back stonily.
    “I agree to some extent with Inspector Sillanpää. We’re going to continue trying to figure out the identity of the unidentified victim with our own resources. If that doesn’t work, then we can reconsider releasing the photograph.”
    Sillanpää gave a near-imperceptible nod.
    On the way to my office, I remembered that my colleague who sat a few rooms away, Lieutenant Kari Takamäki, had just wrapped up an investigation of the murder of a young Arab man.
    I figured I would be at least partially retracing some of the same paths as him, and I wanted all of the advice he could offer. I showed him the photos of the deceased, but he didn’t recognize any of them. We chatted for a minute and Takamäki suggested that I have a word with the communications officer or imam from the Islamic Society, and gave me a name and number for both. I thanked him for the good advice.

6
     
    Imam Omar Nader was evidently a tolerant man. At least he didn’t give the slightest indication that Stenman and I were unwelcome guests, although it was unlikely that a Jew and a policewoman were everyday sights at the offices of the Islamic Society.
    I had called the imam at home, and he had suggested that we meet at the society’s offices. Stenman and I had agreed that I would handle most of the talking, just to be sure.
    The imam was a gentle-looking man with thick-framed glasses. It was difficult to say how old he was, but I estimated around fifty. I deduced this based on the fact that the beard, which didn’t really suit his round face, was going grey. In a slight contradiction to his role, he was wearing a youthful sweater.
    “You said that you needed my help. How can I be of assistance?”
    The imam spoke almost perfect Finnish. I had seen him on a television programme once and knew that he had already lived here some twenty-odd years.
    “To start with, I’m hoping you can identify someone.”
    I handed the imam the photo of the body that had been found on the tracks. The photo had been retouched so that the bruising from the collision wouldn’t be visible. The imam raised his glasses and stared at the picture for a long time.
    “I’ve seen him at the mosque once, but I don’t know his name. I got the impression that he was French, that’s why I remember