Free Nights of Awe by Harri Nykänen Page A

him. Is he dead?”
    “Do you know whose guest he was?”
    “No. Not necessarily anyone’s. Perhaps he just wanted to pray and meet fellow Muslims during a trip to Finland. That happens often.”
    “How did you come to the conclusion that he was French?”
    “I think that someone mentioned it, I don’t remember who. That’s the impression I was left with, however.”
    I gave the imam three more photos.
    “What about them?”
    This time a concerned and at the same time mournful expression flashed across the imam’s face.
    “Does this have something to do with what was on the news?”
    I answered in the affirmative.
    “Are they all dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is a day of sorrow for me, in many ways. May Allah be merciful to them.”
    “Do you recognize any of these others?”
    The imam hesitated for a moment, but then pointed at Ali Hamid’s photo.
    “He was a good Muslim, he came to the mosque often to pray. The whole family did. They’re all good people, good Finns.”
    The imam pulled a checked handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow.
    “I’m afraid that this is going to bring us a lot of trouble. People have many misplaced prejudices against us Muslims. Finland has treated us well, and we don’t want to repay good with evil. This is why you can be sure that the majority of Finnish Muslims condemn all forms of violence, as does the Koran. It will be sad and unfortunate if we are linked to these violent deeds. I always say that violence begets more violence.”
    “According to Ali Hamid’s wife, her husband attended the mosque the night before last with his cousin. Did you see him?”
    Once again, the imam hesitated.
    “We greeted each other, but we didn’t speak.”
    “Did you know his cousin, Tagi Hamid?”
    “I’ve seen him a couple of times, nothing more.”
    “Did Ali Hamid speak with anyone other than his cousin?”
    “Of course. He’s doesn’t go around not speaking when he’s in the company of friends… But I know what you mean. I didn’t notice anything like that.”
    For the first time, the imam sounded a little impatient.
    “Could you please tell me what this is about now?”
    I looked at the imam and believed he was sincere.
    “We don’t know yet. The murders occurred in two different places, but we know that they are related. Do you know, did these four men have anything to do with each other?”
    “I don’t know the other two at all, but apparently they’re Arabs. There aren’t very many Arabs living in Helsinki. Maybe they know each other, maybe not, I can’t say.”
    Stenman had had enough of keeping quiet.
    “Do you have any idea what might be the motivation for the killings?”
    “There are some people and some parties that do not like us. I don’t know what else to say. You know these parties as well as we do.”
    “Could it be a matter of a disagreement between two militant Arab groups?”
    “There might be, and are, differences of opinion, but almost everyone is in agreement about the main issues. I don’t understand why Arabs would kill each other, especially here in Finland.”
    I didn’t know how the imam would react to the request I was about to present, but I presented it anyway.
    “I was hoping you could show these photos to the members of your congregation as soon as possible. We’d be grateful for any information we can get about them.”
    “Do you suspect them of something?”
    “We don’t, but naturally we want to know why they were killed. The investigation isn’t going to go anywhere until we discover the motive. We don’t believe that this was a hate crime. We’re particularly interested in the unidentified man you guess was French and Ali and Tagi Hamid. The fourth one is Hamid’s employee. We believe he was killed simply because he was in the body shop when Hamid was killed.”
    The imam gazed at the images of the deceased and, without looking up, said: “I’ll do what I can.”
     
    I drove Stenman home and returned to HQ