“I came home from school on Tuesday at the normal time and was surprised to find the kids home alone. Marko usually watches them. They said Dad had said he was going somewhere important that morning and that he would be home after six. When he finally did come home, he was beaten and bloody and frantic. He told me not to ask why and said everything would be fine, if he could just get ahold of someone. But he couldn’t. Whoever it was wouldn’t answer the phone. He left again at nine.”
“You said Marko had blood on him. What was he wearing?” Koivu asked.
“Motorcycle gear.”
“Which means?”
“Helmet, black leather jacket and pants, boots. Why do you ask? What’s going on here? What do you think Marko did?”
“We must have forgotten to mention,” I said, genuinely confused. “Last Tuesday a man named Petri Ilveskivi was beaten to death. A person riding a motorcycle and wearing black leathers was spotted at the scene.”
“Oh, yeah, the fag,” Suvi said. “Why would Marko do something like that? He didn’t care about fags just so long as they weren’t trying to get in his ass.”
Then the cigarette stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Oh, fuck, are you telling me he took a hit job? He always said he was going to show everybody he wasn’t just a small-time punk, but—”
“Where are Marko’s leathers now?” Koivu asked, interrupting Suvi’s raving. Suvi had started to cry again, and she shook her head.
“Murder . . . oh my God! That would be eight years at least! I’m done talking. You can’t make me talk, and if you harass my kids, I’ll send Social Services after you. It can’t be good for my kids to have cops interrogating them . . .”
I stood up, grabbed a packet of tissues off a shelf, and handed it to Suvi. She blew her nose long and hard, leaving streaks of mascara on the tissue.
“So you got the impression that something went wrong with Marko’s job?” I asked, ignoring Suvi’s threat not to speak. Apparently the threat wasn’t serious, because Suvi nodded and then blew her nose again.
“He’d really screwed up. He wouldn’t tell me who he was meeting or where he was going, and he hasn’t called in a week. He’s never gone this long without calling. Even when he was in prison he called every other day. And none of his friends know where he is. I’ve talked to all of them.”
“We have an APB out on Marko. We’ll find him. You said he had blood on him when he came home. Was he injured?”
“There were scrapes on his face, and he was limping on his left leg. His ankle was swollen. Someone must have kicked him really hard to have gotten through his boots.”
“So the blood wasn’t his own?”
“His scrapes weren’t that deep. Oh God, if he stabbed that fag . . .” Suvi lit another cigarette.
“Did he leave wearing the same clothes?”
“Yes. He always wears them when he’s riding. He didn’t even change his shirt.”
“Did he clean up at all?” I asked hopefully. Maybe they still had a bloody towel somewhere in the house. But no, Suvi claimed that she hadn’t found anything like that: if Marko used a towel when he cleaned his face, he had taken it with him.
Who would have paid Marko Seppälä to attack Ilveskivi? Could it have been Jani Väinölä? Had the heroin hidden in Väinölä’s bathroom been meant to get money to pay Seppälä? Was Väinölä hiding Seppälä or had he gotten rid of him?
“Did you receive any phone calls from someone you didn’t recognize before all this happened?”
“No! I don’t know who Marko talked to when I was at school. Why didn’t that idiot tell me? I never would have let him kill anyone!”
I tried to drag more information out of Suvi, but apparently she’d decided that Marko had attacked Ilveskivi and that was that.
“We’ll file a missing-person report along with the APB.”
Wang had recorded the conversation on the computer. If we didn’t find any signs of Seppälä by Friday, we would put his picture in the paper and on TV. We would also need to shake Europol’s tree—Marko Seppälä could have covered a lot of ground in a week.
Suvi Seppälä stood but hesitated at the door. Her nose was red, and she blew it again before opening the door. I decided now was the time to take the risk.
“Oh, and Suvi? If it turns out that Marko did receive an advance and didn’t tell you about it, so it would be a surprise, and if you happen to find some bills, could you bring one in to us? I’m going to get a search warrant, which we’ll probably execute tomorrow. You have a right to be present, and I can notify you before we come.”
“I have to be at school. I’m going to be in enough trouble over this as it is.”
“You can come when you’re done. Four o’clock?”
Suvi nodded and then disappeared, the door banging behind her. For a moment it was quiet, and then my colleagues exploded.
“Goddamn it, Maria!” Koivu bellowed.
“You warned her!” Wang said in shock.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Seppälä wouldn’t have taken a job like this without an advance. Hopefully he left a little for his family.”
“How do you know she isn’t in on the plot?” Koivu asked angrily.
“A lifetime of experience,” I said with a laugh. “Of course I can’t be sure. You go search the house tomorrow. Bring back a toothbrush or something that might have Marko’s DNA. All these tests are expensive, but it can’t be helped. Didn’t the lab promise the DNA results from the crime scene by today? Koivu, can you check if they’re in? And Wang, you get in touch with Europol.”
After my subordinates had left, I considered whether I had acted correctly with Suvi Seppälä. I probably should have pressed her harder. She was no angel, even though her criminal record was clean. I submitted the paperwork for the search warrant. Koivu stuck his head through the door and said the DNA results would be ready by afternoon. Wang popped in too.
“Laura Laevuo called. She confirmed that Kim Kajanus was with her when Ilveskivi was attacked. Her boyfriend can back her up, since he was with her for moral support. Laevuo said she hates cameras.”
I had recently reinstated our unit’s case partner system, because it seemed to work better than anything else we’d tried over the years. Wang and Koivu had been working together since before they’d started dating. They rarely showed their feelings publicly, so I didn’t have any problem pairing them up. But what if they moved in together? We would have to talk about it, since I didn’t think it would be good for their relationship if they were together all the time. On the other hand, Koivu and Wang were a good team. I usually assigned them to rapes and domestic violence cases because most rape victims preferred to talk to a female detective, and in domestic violence cases, the presence of a female cop usually helped calm down the wife and children. However, there were also people who were uncomfortable with Wang but more because of her ethnic background than her sex. She was still the only immigrant cop in the country. We were used to white Finns wearing police uniforms. In Finland we had the same clothing brands and furniture stores as everywhere else in the world because we didn’t harbor any prejudices about the free movement of goods. Only of people.
I would have to talk to Wang and Koivu. Maybe Puustjärvi’s calm, methodical personality would be a good fit for Wang. He preferred to keep quiet and let other people ask the questions. Puupponen and Koivu could be troublemakers at times, but they were basically good guys. Wang and I had trained most of the chauvinism out of Koivu.
After putting some last-minute final touches on my presentation, I went to the weight room for the one hour of PT a week my contract allowed. I kept my workout clothes in the closet in my office. At first the smell of sweat that clung to them was unpleasant, but the police station’s basement weight room smelled just the same. I left my phone on, since Koivu would be calling about the DNA results any minute.
I spent fifteen minutes on a stationary bike to warm up, even though riding indoors had always struck me as rid
iculous. If only there were a radio or a TV to turn on to keep my mind off of work. Instead, the weight room was quiet. A couple of guys from Patrol had been there doing their cooldown stretching when I arrived, but they were gone now. I moved on to leg press, loading something close to my body weight and then getting down to work. During the second set I remembered that I didn’t have a clean shirt ready for the seminar the next day. I would have to do laundry that night.
I wasn’t training systematically, and after working my legs I switched to abs. The punching bag was calling to me too, but I didn’t have my gloves with me, and despite my requests, the only loaners were in men’s sizes. So I did bench presses instead. I had to settle for small weights because I didn’t have a spotter.
Then the door banged, and a short man entered—Ilkka Laine, the unit commander from Organized Crime. He was wearing the latest style of fitness attire. I looked down at my faded tights and holey Ramones T-shirt. Good running shoes and a proper bike helmet were about the only fitness equipment I was ever willing to spend money on.
“Hi, Kallio. Do I have the pleasure of being alone with you in here?” Laine feigned a flirty smile and started warming up.
“The underlings are working while the bosses are sweating in the gym,” I answered lightly. Laine was in impeccable good shape, with muscles that showed he worked out regularly. His tight shirt revealed washboard abs, and his short black hair was spiked like a professional model.
“Not much weight on that bar. Are you afraid of bulking up? Those biceps are so big that I’d think you were doing ’roids if I didn’t know what your job was,” Laine said and moved behind me. “Women do tend to sag pretty quickly if they stop working out. What’s your body fat percentage?”
“I haven’t measured it.” I banged the bar down on the rack. Suddenly exercising wasn’t so fun.
“Let’s put a little more on. I can spot you. Eighty kilos good?”
I hate people interfering with my workouts unless I’ve asked them for help. A few reps at eighty kilograms was about my limit, but I didn’t bother saying so. I let him spot me and lifted the bar with ease.
“I hear you decided not to arrest a refugee who was waving a knife around yesterday,” Laine said suddenly as I was pushing the bar up the second time.
“What do you mean?” I said, panting and dropping the bar to my chest a little too quickly.
“My neighbor was at the same bus stop. He told me that a short chick in a leather jacket showed up, claiming she was a cop. Based on the description, it couldn’t have been anyone but you.”
Laine kept a careful eye on my reps as they slowed, his face wearing simultaneous expressions of amusement and concentration.
“Are you sure that wasn’t misconduct? Did you at least take the knife away from the nigger?”
I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to rack the bar anymore. My pecs and shoulders were burning, full of lactic acid. If Laine decided not to spot me now after all . . .
Somehow I found the strength to rack the bar, every muscle in my arms shaking.
“Of course I took the knife away,” I said, standing up a little too quickly. “Didn’t this neighbor of yours inform you that two skinheads started it? And he slunk away, even though it was two grown men against a child.”
I picked up my towel and dried my face.
“Do you really expect a civilian to intervene in a fight? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”
“It depends on the situation. I don’t like the idea of children being threatened and adults just walking away. How would your neighbor have felt if someone got stabbed to death and he hadn’t even tried to stop it?”
“Well, you certainly jumped in fast enough,” Laine said mockingly and then grabbed a rope and started jumping. To my relief the door opened and a trainee from Patrol walked in. I spent a little more time on my abs, then my back and glutes. Laine, who didn’t seem to have broken a sweat jumping rope, moved to the kickboxing bag. He obviously had some skill, his jabs and kicks quick and strong. I heard the puffs of air from the bag as each shoe or glove impacted it. When I started stretching out, I noticed Laine looking at me instead of the bag.
Sometimes when I was boxing I imagined the bag was someone I was angry at, and I could see blood and hear bones cracking. The target of my aggression had never been present, though.
Why did Laine wish that punching bag was me? I forced myself to take my time, and I exchanged a few words with the woman from the passport office when she came in. Then I left and took a quick shower. Today was my turn to pick up Iida, so I couldn’t stay later than four thirty. Helvi, who operated the day-care center out of her home, started work at six fifteen when the first child arrived. The hourly wage for a private childcare worker like her wasn’t great. Public day-care employees had strict instructions to call Child Protective Services if parents didn’t show up on time, but private facilities were usually flexible. Once, when Antti was away on business, I had been forced to call Helvi and tell her that I wouldn’t be able to make it before six, and then when the day got even longer, my mother-in-law had had to bail us out.
Koivu hadn’t left me any information about the DNA test results, and I couldn’t find them on the computer either. I knocked on his and Puupponen’s office door, but only the latter was around, engrossed in something on his computer screen.
“Hey, have you seen Koivu?”
Puupponen jumped, and his face turned red. Was he looking at porn?
“He went with Wang to check on a stolen motorcycle in Helsinki. It might belong to the Ilveskivi killer,” Puupponen replied, quickly clicking the mouse. He clearly wanted to close something before I saw what he had been looking at. Because I was not only curious but mischievous, I walked behind him, but he had managed to close the window in time.
“You caught the skateboard muggers, right? How is Mrs. Grönberg doing?”
“She got out of the hospital today. At most it’s going to be a simple assault. Virtanen had a good tip on the perps, and Robbery is questioning them,” Puupponen replied. “Have you ever heard of a drink called a ‘bloody idiot’?”
“No. What is it?”
“Fernet Branca, tomato juice, and garlic.”
“Ugh! When did you start drinking stuff like that?”
“I didn’t . . . I was just thinking. A few nights ago me and the guys were trying to come up with the worst possible drinks,” Puupponen replied. “So you don’t think anyone has thought of that before?”
“It would take a pretty perverse imagination,” I said dryly, and Puupponen smiled in satisfaction.
“I’ll make you one when we catch that Seppälä guy,” he said. “Doesn’t all the evidence point to him?”
“Almost all of it,” I said.
Because there was no sign of Koivu, I headed home. Spring’s progress seemed to have stalled. The delicate stage where all the greenery was just emerging seemed to be going on for weeks. Buds were opening slowly, and the leaves were only growing half a millimeter a day. The wood anemone just kept coming, even though in most springs they were done blooming by Mother’s Day. I didn’t have anything against a long spring, just so long as it was followed by a real summer, not six months of generic Finnish rain and sleet and fifty-degree days and nights. Back when I was a kid, there had been one May Day that I had swum in a lake that still had ice chunks in it. I’d made fun of my older cousin because he didn’t dare get in the water.
When I got to Iida’s day care, the children were playing in the yard Helvi shared with her neighbors. One little guy in denim overalls sat in the middle of the sandbox, beating the ground happily with his shovel and yelling “bap, bap, baa!” which, in my experience, could mean almost anything. Iida’s go-to word had been “kaa,” and last Christmas she had explained that Santa Claus brought “bobettis.” I was sad when she gave up her own words and started speaking the same language as the rest of us.
I spent a minute watching Iida play. She chatted with the wooden play horse
and stroked its rope mane. Then she climbed on its back and took off at a gallop that I thought would separate the horse from its concrete base. Finally she noticed me and emergency braking ensued. Her face filled with joy and she rushed into my arms.
“Iida took a long nap today, like maybe she’s coming down with something. The Sormunen children have both been sick,” Helvi said.
Antti was going to be away all of Thursday and Friday on an important EU-funded research seminar. If Iida got sick, I would have to ask my mother-in-law for help. If we had two children, the situation would be twice as difficult, I thought as I prepared one of my classic dinners that evening, creamy carrot-cheese soup. Iida slurped down almost as much of it as Antti and I did. Just as I was considering a third bowl, Koivu called.
“The stolen motorcycle was a blind alley. It didn’t have Metzelers, and the wheel size was wrong anyway. Did you get my message that the DNA on the cigarette butt and the hair on Ilveskivi’s clothes was the same?”
10
The Safe City 2000 seminar was held at the Espoo Cultural Center.
I would never have predicted that nearly all of the auditorium’s eight hundred seats would be full, and I had a moment of terror as I looked out over the audience in their dark suits and freshly shined shoes. Apparently almost all of them had come in their own cars, because Taskinen and I had to leave our car in the garage at a nearby shopping center. Luckily we had come early.
Koivu and Wang had gone with Forensics to the Seppälä house to execute the search warrant, which had been moved to the morning for scheduling reasons. Suvi hadn’t been pleased about not being there, but Koivu was still muttering as he left about my intentional slip, which had given Suvi plenty of time to hide anything that might implicate Marko Seppälä. Koivu usually didn’t criticize my methods, but in this instance he probably had good reason.
“Text me when you’re done. I have to be at this damn seminar until lunch,” I’d said to Koivu. I would have preferred to be at the search, but there was no way. Back when I was in the field, I never could have guessed just how much talking and schmoozing was required of a unit commander. I tried to get motivated by telling myself that words mattered, but when I looked out at the crowded auditorium, I wasn’t so sure. These people were more interested in the security of commercial property than preventing street violence, and it was likely that most of them had never taken public transportation.
Before I Go Page 12
