We had been instructed to go to the front of the auditorium to the places reserved for the speakers. Eila Honkavuori’s black coiffure and purple velvet dress were visible a few rows back. She flinched when she saw me and didn’t return my smile. I took my seat just as the mayor began his welcome speech.
The last time I had been in this auditorium was to hear the Tapiola Sinfonietta with Jorma Hynninen as Topi in Sallinen’s The Red Line. As the mayor spoke, I remembered Hynninen’s baritone. In the opera, Topi, a tenant farmer, worries that the pen required for marking his ballot during the first-ever election in Finland won’t stay in his hand, deformed by hard labor as it is. Nowadays there were still people like Topi who doubted that there was any point dragging themselves to the voting booth, who had hands made useless by unemployment or fingers exhausted by twelve-hour days. And they had much more data than Topi did about what influence their vote had—which was exactly none.
The people sitting in this auditorium clapping sedately were sure to vote. For themselves or for the party that best represented their personal interests. The ideological fervor that drove people to participate in that first free election in Finland was in short supply these days. We still had plenty of small ideas like Jani Väinölä’s neo-Nazism, but nothing as big as the original Green movement.
After the mayor, the traffic-planning manager spoke, and then it was Taskinen’s turn. I admired his presentation style, through which he exuded the expertise and assertiveness that people expected from the police. His listeners seemed to agree about the importance of preventing drug crime, but in reality, these same decision makers were cutting funding for addiction treatment, and it wasn’t like local businesses would step up to sponsor the rehab programs. Even though breaking the grip of addiction was hellishly difficult, every junkie who recovered saved society money because of all the crimes they didn’t commit. That was something that the people who took their red pens to the budget rarely remembered. They thought it was more important to pass out free Viagra.
Taskinen also touched on security for commercial property, but his cynicism occasionally revealed itself as he ruminated on the sorts of background checks businesses should run on their job applicants. People had once doubted Taskinen’s chances for advancing to the position he now held as head of the Criminal Division because of his membership to the Finland–Soviet Union Friendship Society in the seventies.
The only official police uniform that I had ever felt at home in had been the blue coveralls field officers wore. Taskinen looked good in his dress uniform, but mine was half drenched in sweat before I even got to the podium. I wanted my speech and the lunch to follow to be over as soon as possible. To me, the Seppälä search and Eriikka Rahnasto’s interview were much more interesting.
My legs trembled as I stepped up to the podium. From the stage the audience looked very uniform. The men were well dressed and clean shaven, and the fifth of the audience that were women were all wearing suits, except for Eila Honkavuori and a couple of other outliers.
Given its population, Espoo was a peaceful city. I talked about the street violence the city did have, its causes and how to prevent it, and then about domestic violence. That made some of the audience stir restlessly: maybe they were getting hungry, or maybe the subject struck too close to home.
“Of course none of us wants to be a victim of crime, and in most cases the wisest course of action is to step away from a fight and call in the professionals. However, in one case I would make an exception. If a child is the target of violence, adults must intervene whether the perpetrators are other children or adults.”
I related my experience from two nights before, just giving the facts, without commentary. When I ended, I stared at the audience for fifteen seconds like a stern schoolmistress before they realized that it was time to clap. Just as I was leaving the stage, a hand rose in the third row.
“May I ask a question?” I recognized the voice from the phone. It belonged to the chairman of the City Planning Commission, Reijo Rahnasto.
“I imagine we have time for one,” the deputy major in charge of organizing the seminar said from the front row.
“Last week an elected official was beaten to death while he was on his way to a city meeting. How is the investigation going?”
Rahnasto didn’t bother to introduce himself, apparently assuming that everyone knew who he was. He seemed younger than I had imagined from his voice, maybe forty, slim but broad-shouldered, with a strangely unremarkable face.
“The investigation is ongoing,” I said. “As soon as there’s anything new to report, you can be sure we’ll hold a press conference. Any other questions?”
I saw Eila Honkavuori cover her face, and the man sitting next to her wrapped an arm around her. Rahnasto looked shocked. Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he hadn’t called me to pressure me. Maybe he was simply mourning the death of a colleague and wanted the killer found. I didn’t want to reveal the DNA results yet because we still didn’t know the sex of the individual who had left hair on Ilveskivi’s clothes and dropped the cigarette butt. I had asked the crime lab to continue testing, even though it cost more. I had hoped I could eliminate Eriikka Rahnasto from our list of suspects based on the DNA results, but unfortunately that hadn’t happened yet.
No one else wanted to ask a question. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get to the buffet being served in the lobby. The throng was dense. Taskinen and I were happy to hang back and wait our turn, even though my stomach was complaining louder than the five-year-olds at Iida’s day care.
“You did well,” Taskinen whispered in my ear as he pulled me by the arm closer to the wall and himself. I pulled out my cell phone, but there weren’t any messages from Koivu. Worst-case scenario, that meant the search hadn’t turned up anything.
The crowd drove Eila Honkavuori over to us. The same man who had comforted her in the auditorium was holding her hand. They radiated togetherness. Turo Honkavuori had dark hair, a mustache, and black-rimmed glasses. He appeared delicate next to his buxom wife. In his corduroy trousers and dark-blue Marimekko striped shirt, he was one of the few men present who wasn’t wearing a suit.
A man I didn’t recognize came to talk to Taskinen, and Eila Honkavuori suddenly pulled her husband over to me.
“Thank you for your speech,” Eila said and forced a smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re making progress solving Petri’s murder. He should have been here, not lying in the morgue.”
I nodded. Turo Honkavuori and I introduced ourselves and shook hands. He smiled too, but only out of politeness. His handshake was brief and firm.
“Tommi said you were asking him again about them wanting to have a baby,” Eila said. “Hopefully the investigation will be over soon so you won’t have to keep harassing people who are still in mourning!”
I looked at her in surprise because when we last met, she had claimed that Turo hadn’t known about her and Ilveskivi’s plan to have a child together.
“Eila told me a couple of days ago,” Turo Honkavuori rushed to explain. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.” He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and looked at her adoringly.
“This isn’t the right place for it, but I’d still like to talk to you about Petri’s death,” I said to Eila. “One of my detectives will be in touch later in the week.”
Taskinen turned back to us. The food line had shortened, so we went to eat. Could I question Eila Honkavuori myself? I wanted to know two things. First, whether Petri had told her about Kim Kajanus. After all, Eila had been Petri’s best friend. The second question would be easier to ask: If Seppälä had been paid to attack Petri Ilveskivi, who could be responsible for funding it?
The buffet table had lines on both sides, and Eila Honkavuori ended up across from me. I’d noticed that usually larger people, especially women, limited what they ate in public, as if they didn’t have the right to indulge in the offerings like skinny people did. But Eila Honkavuori piled her plate just as high
as I did. The fish was especially tempting.
“This definitely beats cafeteria food,” I said to Taskinen, whose plate was mostly pasta salad.
“I’ve got a twenty-five K on my training plan for today. Have to carb up,” he replied.
Taskinen had begun preparing for the Helsinki City Marathon as soon as the snow melted. He had joked about needing some kind of goal in his personal life now that he had advanced as far as he could in his career. Taskinen had already run a good twenty marathons and tried to lure me into it too, but I didn’t have the nerve to commit. I could squeeze in a couple of hours of jogging every week, but that wasn’t enough preparation for a marathon. During the summer when it was light at night I could go running, but somewhere at the back of my mind I was still afraid of empty paths where it would be easy for someone to surprise me and where no one would be around to help.
We found an empty table near a window. Outside, ducks swam in the pond, which was surrounded by grass that was tentatively greening. Wineglasses clinked all around us, but we drank mineral water. I was just about to ask Taskinen his opinion about Koivu and Wang being partners after they moved in together when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I dropped my knife in surprise.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” said a scratchy voice, and Reijo Rahnasto stepped into view. “Would you like me to get you a new knife?”
“Thank you, but I’ll manage.”
“Would you mind if I joined you? I’m Reijo Rahnasto, here representing the City Planning Commission and City Council. Thank you both for your speeches.”
Rahnasto’s handshake was firm and a touch too long.
“This business about Petri is horrible. I’m sorry I pressed you about it back there, but I’m just so upset about the whole thing. I’m glad to hear the investigation is progressing.”
“Did you know Ilveskivi well?”
“Well, I’ve been on the City Council and the Planning Commission with him for almost an entire election cycle now. Hard not to get to know someone when you work together that much. Petri had a lot of enthusiasm and took our work seriously. Of course we had different opinions about some things. Petri didn’t always understand the principles of contemporary urban planning, but our disagreements were only about ideas.”
According to Eila Honkavuori, Rahnasto had once told some off-color jokes when Petri was late for their meeting. Maybe Rahnasto was one of those people who told bigoted jokes and then thought that anyone who didn’t laugh was just uptight. Because of course they never meant anything by it.
“You called me a few days ago. Have you thought of anything since then that might help us find Petri Ilveskivi’s killer?” I asked directly, since Rahnasto didn’t seem to be here for small talk.
Rahnasto’s brow furrowed. The wrinkles didn’t make his face any older or more expressive. They were just furrows and then they were gone, like he was considering what my reaction would be before he said, “Maybe it had something to do with his sexual deviance.”
Rahnasto’s smile was cautious and not at all lewd. I tried not to show my irritation.
“What do you mean? As I understood it, Ilveskivi was in a healthy relationship.”
“That’s certainly what he wanted everyone to believe, but he was a man just like anyone.” Rahnasto looked to Taskinen for support but failed to draw him into his “boys will be boys” argument.
On a whim, I asked, “Is Eriikka Rahnasto related to you?”
“Yes, she’s my daughter from my first marriage. Why do you ask?”
“I just happened to run across her name. Your names are so unique that they stuck in my head,” I said evasively. Eriikka was twenty-five, so Reijo Rahnasto had to be about ten years older than he appeared. The idea that Rahnasto had killed Ilveskivi on behalf of his daughter seemed like a stretch. That was more likely in a Verdi opera than in real life. Eriikka Rahnasto’s plane would be landing in a couple of hours—I would need to make sure Koivu and Wang would be there to meet her. Or had the Seppälä search turned up something so definitive that we didn’t need to question Eriikka Rahnasto anymore?
Why was I trying to protect Tommi Laitinen, Kim Kajanus, and Eriikka Rahnasto from the truth? When I was younger I would have wanted to know everything, because I believed that keeping secrets only deepened wounds. Now things were different, though. I never would have wanted Antti to find out, for example, how much I had liked Mikke Sjöberg.
The mayor came to exchange a few obligatory words with me and Taskinen, and Reijo Rahnasto took the opportunity to excuse himself. We all recited the lines that a mayor and police leadership are supposed to say to each other. Then we headed back to do what the people paid us for.
Summer dresses and graduation caps had started to appear in shop windows. As we walked to the parking garage to retrieve the car, my phone beeped. Koivu’s text message said that the results of the search confirmed our suspicions about Marko Seppälä.
“So you think Seppälä killed Petri Ilveskivi?” Taskinen asked.
“Everything points that way, but we don’t have a motive yet. We can’t figure out if they even knew each other. But unless we find Seppälä, there isn’t anything more we can do except wait for the DNA results.”
“Things are going better for your unit than for Narcotics or Robbery. They only have time for their biggest cases right now. I wish we could get that Väinölä guy behind bars too, but apparently he’s too small time for us to waste a bed on. Your unit will have to handle the Ilveskivi case on its own because after the wave of car break-ins last weekend, Robbery has their hands full, and then we have May Day next weekend.” Taskinen sighed.
“May Day keeps us busy too, and if it turns out to be as cold as it looks like it’s going to, people will stay home to fight. We’ll have to see on Monday morning what the situation is. How is Silja’s ankle doing?”
“She got the brace off yesterday, but she still needs to watch her jumps. Next week she’s off to Canada again. We’ll miss her, even though we’re used to her being gone so much. But Silja seems to miss her Canadian boyfriend more than—whoa!”
Taskinen barely dodged the Volvo that had changed lanes without warning, its driver apparently forgetting to activate the turn signal. We were in Taskinen’s work car, an unmarked Saab. Out of habit I took down the license plate number. Traffic Enforcement could check to see if the driver had any priors.
When I got back to my office, I found that Koivu had left a report about the search on my desk. It had been quick, and Marko Seppälä’s toothbrush and some hairs from one of his shirts were on the way to the crime lab. No drugs had been found, but when they broke open Seppälä’s locked toolbox, they discovered a couple of expensive-looking diamond rings and a necklace, all of which Koivu confiscated. A quick call had confirmed that they were likely jewelry stolen during a home robbery that had taken place in March.
Koivu had also confiscated some rifle bullets and a knife from the toolbox. The knife didn’t have any obvious bloodstains, but it was on the way to the lab too. The team also collected a couple of unwashed shirts to give to the search dogs later if necessary. Seppälä’s little black book was waiting in the evidence room. Even though Suvi had said that she had called all of her husband’s friends, we would need to do the same.
In the report I also found a few photocopies. The first was of a photograph of Seppälä in his riding leathers, and then there was one with him working on his bike with a bald friend, who, despite the poor quality of the copy, was easy to recognize as Hannu Jarkola, one of the skinheads who had attacked Ilveskivi.
Here was the link between Seppälä and Väinölä! We hadn’t really grilled Jarkola, so now would be the time.
Under the copies, there was a plastic bag with an envelope addressed to me, but the handwriting wasn’t Koivu’s. The script was small and angular, and “lieutenant” was misspelled. Koivu had put a yellow sticky note on the bag: “Wear gloves when you open this. Maybe it’s what you were hoping for.”
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br /> I took a pair of disposable gloves out of my drawer and opened the plastic bag. Then I thought for a second and called in our unit administrative assistant, Eija Hirvonen, to witness me opening the envelope. Eija looked surprised, but she didn’t say anything. She had been at the station for twenty years, and although she was only in her forties, she acted like a kind of godmother to everyone who had been around a shorter time than she had.
Carefully I opened the envelope. Inside was a perfectly normal one-hundred-mark bill. Turning on my desk lamp, I examined the bill under the light. It looked genuine.
In the envelope there was also a note scribbled hastily on the back of a receipt: Marko gave this to me for grocery money if it’s any help. Suvi.
I leaned back in my chair. Apparently sometimes it payed to bend the rules. I asked Eija to make a copy of the note and the serial number on the bill and then send the bill in for fingerprint analysis.
“I know you’ve already got too much on your plate, but could you go through the database to see if this matches up with a serial number from any recent bank robbery?”
Eija said she would handle it.
Even though all the evidence pointed to Seppälä, I couldn’t dismiss the other possibilities. What if Reijo Rahnasto had borrowed his daughter’s motorcycle? I looked up Rahnasto’s information on the computer. He had been born in 1948 and he’d gone to engineering school, specializing in construction engineering. He had divorced Eriikka’s mother in ’86 and his second wife two years ago. Eriikka was his only child. Her plane was just now landing at the airport.
Before I Go Page 13
