Wolves and Angels

by Jokinen, Seppo

  But even so! A shrink? No way anything would come of it.

  Ulla cut off Koskinen’s train of thought. “Give it a try! You don’t need to go out more than once…then you’ll see. Go get some pizza and a few beers.”

  “Well…”

  Ulla seemed to take that as agreement, because she placed her hand on Koskinen’s wrist again. “You might have a good time.”

  Koskinen didn’t even have time to think about what Ulla meant by a “good time” before someone pushed the door buzzer in the hall.

  The buttons for the signal lights outside the door were lost somewhere under the piles of paper, so Koskinen just yelled.

  “Come!”

  The door opened and a spry young woman bounced into the room. Ulla slowly pulled her hand away from Koskinen’s, and they both sat looking at the newcomer. She was a little below average in height, round-faced, and had large eyes. On her head was an odd stocking cap, with a thin, tightly knitted tip projecting toward the ceiling like an antenna.

  Her voice was high-pitched in a girlish way. “Hi, I’m Milla.”

  Koskinen and Ulla still just stared at the woman in astonishment, unable to do anything but nod in greeting. Milla swung her arms to the side and patted her hips.

  “Tauno Niiranen told me to come see Lieutenant Koskinen. I’m starting an internship today as Taru Eskola’s maternity leave replacement. Niiranen said that Koskinen would teach me the ropes.”

  She finally took a breath and then continued: “So, here I am.”

  Ulla slid off the edge of the desk. She smiled at Koskinen

  “I think I’ll go. Looks like you have more important things to do now,” she whispered before disappearing into the hallway before Koskinen had any time to respond.

  He stood up and offered the new acquaintance his hand. “Well, I’m Koskinen, but you can just call me Sakari.”

  “Milla.”

  Her hand was small, but its grip was reassuringly firm. Milla sat down in one of the guest chairs, looked around for a moment, and then said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “Just to be clear right up front, I won’t put up with any kind of sexual harassment. I read in the paper that it’s really common here in the police department.”

  Koskinen looked at Milla, bemused, and wondered what she might mean by sexual harassment. But she didn’t dwell on the topic. Instead, she pointed at the door.

  “Was that your ex?”

  “Who? My ex?”

  “The one who was sitting on the corner of your desk. Was she your ex-secretary?”

  Koskinen started laughing. “No. That’s Detective Ulla Lundelin.”

  Milla raised her hands to her plump cheeks and sighed. “Dang, it’d be sweet to be a female detective!”

  Koskinen smiled to himself: just like her predecessor—Taru had always dreamed about becoming a police officer too. She had even taken an investigative assistant course and been assigned some routine police work. But that still hadn’t been enough to fulfill her dreams. So far, the closest she had ever gotten was marrying a policeman.

  Suddenly Koskinen’s thoughts took a more sour turn. “Taru Eskola has been on maternity leave for a while now. Her first replacement got a permanent position at City Hall. So in a way, you’re already the second crown princess,” he said in a somewhat overly official tone.

  Koskinen’s wisecrack didn’t seem to amuse Milla. She squirmed impatiently in her chair.

  “So… Tell me what all I’m supposed to do.”

  Koskinen didn’t even have a chance to start before Milla pointed at his desk. “First off, I could clean that desk. It looks like all the guests left without helping to clean up after the party.”

  “I’d rather do that myself.”

  “And this office is in need of some organizing too.” Milla swung her hand in a wide arc and then pointed at Koskinen’s computer.

  “And your computer is in entirely the wrong place. It can’t be right in front of the window like that. Let’s move it there closer to the corner.”

  Koskinen was starting to become agitated. “We’re not rearranging anything. And besides, you’re going to be working in Taru’s office. It’s over there closer to the elevator. I’ll show you in a minute.”

  “And that fish painting on the wall is crooked.”

  Koskinen wasn’t sure whether Milla was listening at all. He looked at her antenna hat and began fearing the worst.

  “And I have a computer driver’s license—I passed all three tests.”

  Oh, great, Koskinen thought, growing impatient.

  “I’m in a hurry… I have a lot of work to do,” he said, with more irritation in his voice than he intended. “Let’s cut the rigmarole and get to the point.”

  “Okay, okay, I just wanna help.”

  Koskinen began teaching Milla what her new duties would include. He outlined the pre-trial investigation process and described all of the bureaucracy, reporting, and red tape that go into it. He told her which files are sent to the prosecutor and which ones are archived. He particularly impressed upon her the importance of the interrogation transcripts that go to the defense lawyers, who will immediately seize upon any typos in them. Lastly he reminded her that informant tips and other confidential information included in the files could not under any circumstances be passed along to anyone else.

  That took up the whole morning. It was already 12:30 when Koskinen began to stretch his numb back in his chair. He was in a good mood. He would finally be able to tackle his own work.

  “I think it’s about time for me to go get some lunch.”

  Milla’s antenna hat bobbed. “Sure, let’s go. I’m as hungry as a horse.”

  Koskinen sighed. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to shake her. No point even trying. She followed him out into the hall, and they took the elevator down to the first floor. The lunch special was frankfurters in gravy, and Koskinen’s irritation was mitigated by a malicious thought: this was Pekki’s favorite food, and he wouldn’t get any of it.

  He stood with a tray in his hands by the counter and swept his gaze around the cafeteria—none of the larger tables had two free chairs. His nightmare scenario was playing out: they would have to sit at a two-person table near the door.

  Milla eagerly began chomping down pieces of her hot dogs, contrary to Koskinen’s expectations. A moment ago he would have been ready to bet she was a vegetarian—her behavior had been eccentric enough.

  Milla pointed at Koskinen’s left hand with her fork. “So you’re not married?”

  “No.”

  “Bachelor, widower, or divorced?”

  Koskinen forked mashed potatoes from his plate as he answered uncomfortably. “Divorced.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather not explain,” Koskinen said, and then wondered if he even could. Sometimes it felt like the reasons were still obscure even to him.

  “Do you have any children?”

  “One son.”

  “Really?” Milla lifted her head, interested. “How old?”

  “A little over twenty.”

  “Is that so? Is he in college?”

  “No.”

  “What does he do? Is he in the army?”

  Koskinen was feeling even more uncomfortable now. He was planning to clear out of the cafeteria as soon as he could get his plate emptied. Why did he have to lay out his genealogy for anyone? Especially a yappy dog in an antenna hat he had only met a few hours ago!

  But he still answered Milla’s question. “He’s doing civilian service instead.”

  “A civvy! Awesome! My brother went to the army even though I tried to enlighten him. Now he works for the post office. My dad was at the post office too, but he retired in January. But my mom is still working as an office clerk for Soraseula Concrete.”

  Koskinen wondered whether it was his turn now to listen to her family history. He glanced at his watch and attempted a diversion. “It’s already almost one.”

  Milla had taken a pi
ece of crisp bread with her meal. The antenna jittered as she chewed it.

  “My boyfriend was a civvy, too.”

  “Is that so?”

  “He studies process engineering. Do you know what that is?”

  “More or less,” Koskinen muttered, calculating that after five more forkfuls he would be able to escape. He would have to skip dessert today.

  “Howdy, Kossu!”

  Koskinen felt a slap on his shoulder and turned to look. Next to the table stood Harri Kangas, a thirty-year-old patrol officer. He bent over to Koskinen.

  “I heard from Kaatio this morning that you were challenging folks to the Pirkka Trail Run,” he said in a projecting voice.

  Kangas smoothed the pant legs of his coveralls and then smirked.

  “Aatos Havakainen and I accept the challenge.”

  Koskinen quickly glanced around. The people at the neighboring tables were looking at them curiously. Kangas’ deep bass carried all around the room. “How ’bout we say that whoever finishes last buys drinks for the others for the whole night.”

  The handle of his fork bent when Koskinen squeezed his hand into a fist. That windbag Kaatio was going to catch hell for this.

  But Koskinen couldn’t come up with any reason to decline the bet, and Kangas slapped him on the shoulder again. “See ya on Sunday morning.”

  Milla waited long enough for the officer to get out of earshot and then tilted her head. “Can I call you Kossu?”

  “What?” Koskinen snapped.

  Milla pointed over her shoulder with her fork. “Like that guy did. It’s a fab nickname. Almost as good as having your parents name you Jack Daniels.”

  “No!”

  A ringtone cut off their conversation. Koskinen set his fork down on his plate and dug his phone out of his breast pocket.

  It was Pekki.

  “They’ve opened up the body.”

  “Ah,” Koskinen said, pushing his plate aside. A dab of mashed potatoes was still left. Luckily he had already eaten all the hot dog slices.

  Pekki continued in an excited, raspy voice: “You were right about the cause of death. The victim suffocated.”

  Koskinen remembered that he had been the only proponent of the asphyxiation theory. But he didn’t interrupt and let Pekki continue.

  “He was killed with a pillow.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “The ME found some fuzz in his mouth and airway that’s apparently from some sort of cotton fabric.”

  “So we have a homicide on our hands,” Koskinen said thoughtfully, immediately starting to build an investigation plan in his head. First they had to figure out the victim’s identity and through that his most recent place of residence. There they might find the pillow used in the slaying and—

  Pekki interrupted his train of thought: “That wasn’t all we learned. Guess why this guy didn’t struggle or run away.”

  Pekki waited in silence for an answer. When one didn’t come, he explained himself.

  “He said the guy hasn’t moved his legs in at least ten years.”

  5.

  The bike path to Hervanta was a good place to test his conditioning. The last two miles were all uphill, and Koskinen had a habit of trying to see how long he could pedal at full speed without his thighs and lungs exploding. Nowadays he could make it all the way to the top of the hill his apartment was on.

  This time Koskinen took it easier, not because he couldn’t have done it, but because today’s events were endlessly rolling around his brain. It was like they gave his pedaling an even, monotonous rhythm. The autopsy of the body found in the parking lot in Peltolammi revealed that he was a paraplegic, creating quite a stir at the station.

  They had called every institution that housed disabled people. A completely new bulletin had been given to the media, and every would-be tipster had been given a chance to talk. But none of that had led anywhere. The identity of the suffocated paraplegic was still shrouded in mystery.

  At five o’clock they had held a brief meeting and came to the conclusion that for the time being there was no need to put in overtime. Especially since it’d be unpaid, and the opportunities to use the built-up comp time arrived rarely.

  Riipinen, an experienced detective, was coming in for the night shift. He would wait for whatever the forensics team could get out of the few clues that had been found at the crime scene. At times Jalonen and his team were able to conjure the smallest shreds of evidence into distinguishing features that were almost as good as business cards.

  Koskinen suddenly noticed that he needed to speed up a bit. Tomi was coming over soon, and before that he needed to make it to the store. He crouched down and started pedaling over the last hump, and then coasted down to the doors of the Tapsantori grocery store. In Hervanta every other person walked around in a tracksuit, so Koskinen wasn’t embarrassed to go shopping in his biking outfit.

  Rustling up a frozen lasagna and a quart of milk didn’t take long, but there was congestion at the registers from all the after-work shoppers. Koskinen was left at the end of the line wiping sweat from his brow. He noticed a new issue of Boating on the magazine rack, which he impulsively snagged into his cart. He could drool and dream tonight as he waited to fall asleep.

  At a few minutes past six he set off with a plastic bag hanging from his handlebars. He cut through the walkway between the library and the health club and wondered if Emilia was working the evening shift. He hadn’t been inside the library since the divorce. He was being stupid and obstinate. And he knew it.

  The traffic on the walking path along the lake was normal for a weekday evening. Dog owners were walking their pets who had been holding it all day, tired mothers were carting home their children from daycare, and teenage boys were searching for inspiration for their homework at the skate park. Cruising on his bike, Koskinen had quite the job dodging them all. Not until a block from his apartment did the path open up, and he was able to sprint the rest of the way. He recklessly left his Kuwahara in the yard, instead of locking it up in the basement, and took the elevator to the fifth floor.

  Tomi was already sitting on the landing waiting.

  “I guess I’m a little late,” Koskinen said apologetically. “We got a difficult case this morning, and we’re still at a dead end.”

  Tomi didn’t even ask what had happened. He had learned since childhood that no answer would come anyway. He stood up and shook his head. “Forget it. I just got here too. I stopped to say hi to Mom at the library.”

  “Really?” Koskinen dug his key out of his pocket. “How is she doing?”

  “She’s fine,” Tomi said, shrugging and then walking into the apartment after his father.

  Koskinen put the lasagna in the oven and went to shower. Work didn’t leave him alone there either. He lathered shampoo into his hair, and as he squeezed his eyes shut he saw a black-and-white picture—a man lying on the ground in an unnatural position with his limbs sticking out every which way. The position seemed more understandable now. Something else was bothering Koskinen. There was something out of place in the picture—or something missing—and he had a strange hunch that whatever it was would be crucial to the case.

  It was still bothering him at the dinner table as he chewed his lasagna apathetically. He had taken it out of the oven too soon, and it tasted like old chewing gum. The potato bread he had bought on Saturday was already dry, and the margarine was starting to smell rancid. A single male’s household was bound to have problems keeping food fresh.

  But Tomi was enjoying the meal—Koskinen watched with pleasure as his son shoveled lasagna into his mouth. It had always been his favorite food, and the whole quart of milk Koskinen had just bought also went down his gullet.

  “How’s work?” Koskinen asked, trying to start up a conversation.

  “Fine.”

  “You haven’t gotten tired of the tiny tots yet?”

  “Oh, I do okay with the kids,” Tomi said with a laugh, wiping a drop of milk from his downy
mustache. “If only I could get along with the old ladies.”

  “Old ladies?”

  “There are a couple of middle-aged madams there who just can’t comprehend civilian service. They just can’t understand that not everyone wants to play with guns. Every day they preach about how their moms were nurses in the Lotta Svärd on the front lines during the war protecting their country with their own blood.”

  It looked like Tomi’s appetite had disappeared, and Koskinen was sorry he had even asked. He tried to play it down.

  “No reason to get bent out of shape over something like that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Tomi admitted and started shoveling down the lasagna again. “It just gets at me because they’re always making us do the crappiest jobs.”

  “Like washing baby bottoms?”

  “As if…they don’t trust us civvies that much…they probably think we’re a bunch of pedophiles anyway.”

  “What, then?”

  “Cleaning muddy overalls and boots and stuff like that.”

  Tomi slammed his glass of milk, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then burped unselfconsciously to top it off.

  “It probably would have been easier at the library.”

  Koskinen smiled. Emilia had arranged a civilian service job for Tomi at the library, but Tomi hadn’t wanted to be bossed around by his mother, so he applied to a daycare in a small town about half-way between Tampere and Nokia. Initially he had wanted to work at the police station, but they didn’t take civvies.

  Koskinen thought about the temps who subbed for investigative assistants during maternity leave. Tomi surely could have handled the job as well as Milla. At least he wouldn’t have been so tizzy. She had been coming by at regular intervals asking for instructions about the most trivial things. To Koskinen it was of utterly no consequence whether the computer backup discs were kept in her desk drawer or in the fire vault in the basement.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Nothing,” Koskinen said, waving his fork and quickly moving on to a new subject: “Have you ever thought about childcare as a career?”