He hung a left westward towards the Sports Center. Suhonen made another call to report the car’s direction, then turned right.
* * *
“Okay, he’s coming this way,” Officer Tero Partio said. The forty-something Partio was sitting behind the wheel. His younger partner, Esa Nieminen, was riding shotgun. Their cruiser was parked on the western end of Helsinki Avenue near the Linnanmäki amusement park.
“Let’s do it here,” Partio said, flicking on the cherries. He was wearing the standard yellow safety vest over his blue uniform. The sturdy Partio and skinny Nieminen both got out of the car.
The Mazda came toward them. Partio held up his right hand, and the car slowed to a stop. In his other hand, he held a Breathalyzer and some straws.
The officer peered in at the driver and noticed that he matched the description.
“Good evening. Driver’s license and registration,” Partio said.
The man dug his wallet out of his back pocket and displayed his license. Partio looked at the name: Ilari Lydman. He memorized Lydman’s birth date.
Lydman rifled through his glove box, found his rumpled registration form, and warily handed it to Partio.
Partio looked at it briefly. The car had been due for inspection last summer. “You’re a bit past due for an inspection. Get it done,” he scolded.
Lydman shrugged.
Ordinarily, Partio would have taken the car off the road, but this time he had other orders. Once they had the ID, they were to let him continue.
“Now I just need you to blow in here.”
Lydman blew into the straw.
“Says zero. Drive safely.” Partio said, waving him onward.
Nieminen was already up the road waving down another car. Partio heard him asking for the driver’s license and registration. Hell, they were only supposed to stop the Mazda. At least he’d make them blow in the Breathalyzer too, so the Mazda driver wouldn’t suspect anything.
Partio took his phone and called Suhonen.
“Hey,” Partio said.
“Well?”
“The driver was Ilari Petteri Lydman.” He recited the birth date.
“Nice work. Where was he heading?”
“West toward Mannerheim Street.”
“Thanks.”
Partio turned to Nieminen, who had just finished checking the second car. “Sooo, this driver’s name was Jukka Wallander.”
“Super,” Partio remarked. “Now get back in the car.”
Nieminen peered up the street. “Hey, here comes another car. Looks like a taxi.”
“Get in the car!” Partio barked.
THURSDAY NOVEMBER 27
CHAPTER 15
DEPARTMENT OF FORENSIC MEDICINE
THURSDAY, 9:05 A.M.
Takamäki left his vehicle next to the red-brick building of the Department of Forensic Medicine, in a spot reserved for the police, though he was driving his own Toyota station wagon. Well, it was the driver of the vehicle that mattered, he thought.
He hurried toward the entrance. Two inches of fresh, wet snow lay on the ground. The temperature was barely freezing.
The lieutenant signed in. The receptionist, in her forties, smiled and told him that Dr. Nyman would be down in a few minutes. Tuija Nyman, a coroner in the department, had called him the previous evening and promised the results of Eriksson’s autopsy by morning. The Department of Forensic Medicine was part of the University of Helsinki, but its medical examiners handled all law-enforcement related medical investigations, from DUIs to autopsies.
A few minutes later, Takamäki and Nyman sat in her crowded office with cups of coffee. Takamäki had always thought that the thin, fifty-something woman looked Greek somehow. Her hair was a shimmering black, and she had a slender, attractive face. Only her hard eyes, which had seen it all, betrayed her profession.
“How’s jogging?” Nyman asked with a smile. For Takamäki, that smile was reason enough to be there in person, Nyman could have given him the information over the phone, too.
“Jog-you’ll die healthier… Lately I’ve been doing four, five miles.”
“Could I talk you into a marathon?”
“Not even you…” Takamäki smiled.
Nyman took several papers out of a plastic file folder.
“I opened up Eriksson yesterday… The cause of death was pretty clear. A bullet in the head, and here it is in Latin. Interested?”
“Well, I could’ve figured out the Finnish version from the crime scene photos, and I’ve heard the Latin version a few times.”
Nyman smiled again. “The weapon was a.22 caliber, and the bullet was somewhat flattened. I’m guessing it’s in good enough shape to run comparisons. You’re probably interested in the time of death?”
Takamäki nodded.
“Judging from the combination of air and body temperatures, and other signs in the corpse, I would estimate that he was shot sometime between Monday evening and Tuesday morning. As you know, that’s only an estimate.”
Takamäki wrote the information on his notepad, though he already had a better estimate based on the taxi receipts.
“I extracted the DNA and sent it along with hair samples to the lab for analysis. Eriksson’s blood alcohol level was.07. We didn’t find any unusual medical conditions, but the corpse wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape. His lifestyle was beginning to show. No surprise, then, that his stomach contained the remains of pepper steak, fries, and red wine. He probably ate a few hours earlier.”
“Sounds like a death-row inmate’s last meal,” Takamäki said. Though he hadn’t learned anything particularly new, he didn’t mind. It was always nice to visit the coroner.
* * *
Joutsamo stood in front of a timeline she had drawn on the whiteboard and filled in the information with a black marker. This particular conference room had been reserved for the Eriksson case.
The time was listed above, and below that were known activities with about ten items on the timeline. At the end of the line was the medical examiner’s estimated time of death, which Takamäki had called in. The timeline for Monday went like this:
6:53 P.M.-Taxi to Kallio
Dinner. Where?
9:33 P.M.-Hailed a taxi in front of Tenkka
9:46 P.M.-Gets out at Pirjo’s Tavern
Time of murder? By Tue Morning.
The next item was from Wednesday around 3:00 A.M.-Suhonen finds body.
Takamäki and Joutsamo studied the diagram.
“Based on what the M.E. found in his stomach, their working assumption was that Eriksson was killed fairly soon after his taxi ride to Oulunkylä. That would put the time of death sometime between ten and eleven o’clock.”
“Unless he had the steak at Pirjo’s Tavern or somewhere else later on,” Takamäki speculated.
“We should find out if Eriksson went straight from Pirjo’s Tavern to the garage, or if he stopped somewhere in between. It would help if we could get a more specific time of death.” Joutsamo said.
Joutsamo had also started a diagram for Saarnikangas. At this point, it only had one item: “Tuesday 8:30 P.M.-Meets Suhonen on Boulevard.”
“We’ll get Saarnikangas’ phone records around noon. That should shed some more light on his whereabouts.”
“Assuming he had the phone with him,” Takamäki said. They had been involved in numerous cases where criminals had changed phones to throw them off or to create an alibi for themselves.
“What about the phone records for the Pakila cell tower?”
“That’ll come around noon as well. Apparently, between Monday evening and Tuesday morning, about five thousand calls were logged.”
“A hell of a lot,” Takamäki remarked.
“That’s because all the cellphone traffic from Beltway One gets routed through that tower.”
“Hmm,” said the lieutenant before changing the subject. “Did Kohonen find anything on Eriksson’s handgun?”
“It was reported stolen from a Turku gun sh
op in the spring of ’01. Doesn’t help us much… It didn’t show up in any other database.”
“So that doesn’t get us anywhere,” Takamäki said. “What about his activities between Pirjo’s Tavern and the garage? Did you get a chance to find out if there were any security cameras?”
“No. But as they say, I’m working on it.”
Takamäki nodded. The team had to prioritize. Only a few years ago, the Violent Crimes Unit had almost eighty officers, but because of budget cuts, that number had been reduced to sixty. Police work had become like any other business: the goal being to optimize results with existing resources. They had no time for finer strokes. Arrests had to be made as quickly and as efficiently as possible, so they could move on to the next case, which also meant that they had to focus only on the most serious ones.
“What about phone taps?”
Joutsamo shook her head. “We were all over it last night when Suhonen was trailing Saarnikangas, but he didn’t call anyone. We recorded the line overnight, but still nothing.”
“And Suhonen?”
“He saw Saarnikangas talking with some bouncer. Up until about ten, Suhonen was shadowing the bouncer, but then I went home. I haven’t talked with him this morning.”
Takamäki thought for a moment. “So, same status… Pretty much the same info as yesterday, but we have a little better idea on the time of death.”
“The case is at a standstill,” Joutsamo said. “Saarnikangas is our only real suspect.”
Her phone rang. “It’s the front desk,” Joutsamo said, puzzled.
“VCU, Joutsamo,” she answered in a crisp voice.
“Hi, this is Kyrölä from downstairs,” a man drawled. The front desk of the Pasila Police Headquarters was on the ground floor, and Joutsamo recalled the attendant, a fifty-something man with whom she had occasionally shared a table in the cafeteria.
In his time, Vesku Kyrölä had been one of Helsinki’s toughest K-9 cops. That was before a junkie had flayed his German Shepherd “Miska” with an axe. The incident landed Kyrölä on sick leave, and then behind the front desk.
“What’s up?” Joutsamo asked.
“Glad you picked up. We just got in a report of a missing person.”
“Listen, we’re working on another case here, I don’t have time. Could you call the main number to the VCU and someone will help you?”
“Really?” Kyrölä asked.
“Yup,” Joutsamo answered curtly, shrugging at Takamäki.
Kyrölä didn’t seem bothered on the other end. “Okay. Just thought I should give you a call since the computer says any information or inquiries about this person should go to you.”
Joutsamo raised her eyebrows. “Who’s missing?”
“I would think you’d know,” Kyrölä said, more seriously now. “Jerry Eriksson.”
“Hold on,” Joutsamo perked up. “So someone is there reporting Eriksson as a missing person?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Are they with you right now, or…”
“Of course not. I’m calling you from the back room. She’s sitting at the front desk.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know her name. A young woman. Very pretty.”
“So she’s there?”
Kyrölä paused for a while, before continuing, “Did someone smack you on the head with a baseball bat, or why are you so slow?”
“Be right there. Tell her the VCU is handling all missing persons reports, and I’m on my way.”
Kyrölä laughed. “That’s how it always works.”
“Of course, but don’t give her the impression there’s anything out of the ordinary.”
“So there’s something out of the ordinary,” Kyrölä concluded. “Come on down. I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”
* * *
The elevator clunked to a stop on the fourth floor, and Joutsamo gestured for the girl to proceed. From the elevator, a door on the left took them into the hallway. The walls were light gray, the floor a darker shade. The building had been used heavily since the eighties, and it showed. A major renovation had been due for some years now, but budget cuts had pushed it back.
“And another left here,” Joutsamo directed.
The detective had immediately recognized her as the girl from the photo in Eriksson’s apartment. Joutsamo had asked the young woman to follow her upstairs. Both had on jeans, but the younger one wore a tighter fit.
Fear showed in her eyes when she saw the white sign on the glass door: Violent Crimes Unit. “What’s happened?”
Joutsamo tried to smile. “Probably nothing. All reports of missing persons go through the VCU. We get dozens of these cases every year and the vast majority have a happy ending.”
The pair stopped at the door of a small interview room. Joutsamo peeked inside to make sure it was empty, then escorted the woman inside. The room was just large enough to accommodate a table, computer, and three old office chairs. A large map of Helsinki hung on the wall.
“Have a seat there,” Joutsamo directed. She took her own seat behind the computer, but didn’t turn it on.
The blond girl’s face was thin, and her eyes red from crying.
“Tell me what happened,” Joutsamo began. She wanted to hear the story as candidly as possible before even checking the woman’s ID.
“Well, I haven’t heard anything from Jerry for a couple of days. He hasn’t called or answered any of my calls. I’m afraid that something happened.”
“What could have happened?” Joutsamo asked calmly.
“I really don’t know, but he hung out with some strange guys sometimes…” she left the thought hanging.
“And what?”
“I really don’t know. Some of them are just weird, like, you know,” she said and swept her hair back.
“And Jerry Eriksson is your boyfriend?” Joutsamo asked.
“Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. He’s never done anything like this.”
“When did you see each other last?”
“On Monday night we went out to eat at Tenkka Bar, and Jerry got a call around nine. He left pretty soon after that to meet someone…”
“Who?” Joutsamo interrupted.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about that stuff.”
“Was it just the two of you at the restaurant?”
“Of course there were other customers, but we sat by ourselves. One of his friends had recommended it, and Jerry wanted to try the place.”
“Did he seem worried when he left?”
“Not that I could tell. More like excited, somehow. He said it would probably take a couple hours, and he’d call me afterwards, but he never did,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“There was nothing unusual about that?”
“Well, no. Every now and then he takes off somewhere, but he always calls. Later that night, we were supposed to go to another bar with some of his friends, but I got tired of waiting and went home at about midnight.”
“What friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you live with Jerry?” Joutsamo asked, intentionally using the present tense. She knew the girl didn’t live in the Kannelmäki apartment.
“Not really. Jerry has an apartment in Kannelmäki next to the mall. I stay there sometimes, but he’s never given me a key.”
“How well do you know Jerry’s friends?”
“Not very well. I know who they are, but they’re not my friends.”
To Joutsamo, the young woman didn’t seem like a criminal, just genuinely distressed. And for good reason, but the detective wasn’t about to tell her that.
Joutsamo switched on the computer. “Do you have any ID so I can take down your information?” Joutsamo entered her password and searched for the missing persons form.
At least Eriksson’s activities were taking shape and the police would get his phone number from her. He probably had several phones, but even one was valuable, since the warr
ant for the phone records enabled them to search for any other numbers he could have used.
The blonde pulled a driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to Joutsamo. Her name was indeed Kristiina Nyholm, as she had announced downstairs.
CHAPTER 16
BOARD OF CUSTOMS, EROTTAJA
THURSDAY, 9:15 A.M.
Jouko Nyholm sat in his Erottaja office, cursing the fact that he hadn’t bought the Thailand vacation package advertised in the travel agent’s window across the street. A couple weeks in the sun would do him good. It would probably help his headache too, or at least there he could treat it first thing in the morning by hitting the bottle.
Nyholm knew his irritation was pointless. He could walk over there right now if he wanted, but he knew he wouldn’t.
Still, it was a good day: last night when he got home, his wife had already been asleep, and this morning she had left for work before he woke up.
His desk phone crackled and Snellman’s voice came over the speakerphone, “Get over here.”
Nyholm swore again and got up.
The boss was sitting behind his desk, and Nyholm took a chair opposite him. The legs on Nyholm’s chair were short so he had to look up in order to make eye contact.
“Did you find anything on this Jerry Eriksson that we can tell the police?”
Nyholm shook his head. “No. I made some calls, but nobody’s heard of him.”
“So we’re telling him we got nothing.”
“That’s right,” Nyholm answered calmly.
“Do we have anything else going on?”
Nyholm shook his head again. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some phone taps and normal undercover ops on a few drug cases, but otherwise no.”
* * *
The digital speedometer read 54 miles per hour. It was over the limit, but not by much.
The landscape along Route Six between Kotka and Kouvola was numbingly gray. There was no traffic to speak of.
That morning Markus Markkanen had received confirmation from the Kotka harbor that the containers had been unloaded and transferred onto semi-trucks.
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