“No,” Tomi replied curtly. “I’m going to apply to Kuru.”
“The forestry college?”
“Yeah. I want to be able to do something about the senseless raping of our forests that’s going on.”
Koskinen nodded approvingly and started clearing the dishes into the sink. He started setting out teacups. He found an unopened box of Domino sandwich cookies in the cupboard.
“How is...” Koskinen began, but then he realized he had forgotten her name. “How is your girlfriend doing?”
“Just fine,” Tomi said as he dipped a teabag in the water. “She has exams tomorrow.”
Work things had started running around in Koskinen’s head again. “Process engineering?” he asked, distracted.
Tomi looked at his father, surprised. “Silja studies literature.”
“Yes, of course,” Koskinen said with an embarrassed laugh. “Just like your mom did.”
Tomi took a chocolate cookie.
“She intends to do her thesis on Leo Tolstoy’s asceticism and use his novel Resurrection as the basis for it.”
Koskinen nodded thoughtfully. The word “resurrection” had woken an idea that had been lying dormant somewhere in the rear chambers of his brain. And then it dawned on him and he set his cup on the table.
“Hold on a sec while I make one phone call.”
He walked into the living room and dialed Pekki’s number.
“Yeah?” Pekki answered immediately.
“Do you know what we’ve completely forgotten?”
“If I knew then it probably wouldn’t be forgotten.”
Pekki’s ribbing didn’t dampen Koskinen’s enthusiasm.
“The wheelchair.”
“Huh?”
“Exactly! The victim was a paraplegic. Even if he was taken to Peltolammi by car or carried some other way, his wheelchair still has to be somewhere.”
He heard a hoarse groan from the telephone.
“Why didn’t we think of that during the day!”
“There was all sorts of shit going on.”
“I’m going to call Riipinen right now. He can start asking around—that chair will have to turn up somewhere.”
“Glad you called,” Koskinen heard just as he was ending the call.
Koskinen realized from Pekki’s relieved gratitude that he had been bearing just as much pressure from the stalled investigation as Koskinen.
Tomi had moved to the entryway and was tying the laces of his sneakers.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Koskinen said, surprised. “It’s not late yet.”
“I was just thinking that if you still have work...”
“No, I don’t have anything else. Just that one phone call.”
“I should still go. It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t have a light on my bike.”
“What does that matter?”
Tomi looked at his father, perplexed, and then stood up to his full height. Koskinen had to admit that his son had turned out taller than him, even though he had always teased him that it would never happen. His dense blond hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, and the beard projecting from his chin was pointed like on a young goat.
“Why didn’t you bring the Volvo?”
“The starter is acting up. The solenoid is probably busted.”
Koskinen nodded sympathetically, happy that he didn’t have to tackle all those repairs anymore. On the other hand, his conscience bothered him for having foisted his old beater off on his son. He dug something from the pockets of his jacket that was hanging on the rack.
“I could give you a key.”
“For what?”
“For this apartment.”
“What would I do with it?”
“I was thinking that you wouldn’t have to wait on the landing like today. I have a few of these extra keys anyways.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t use it. I’ll call when I’m coming by again,” Tomi said and threw his backpack on. “Later.”
“Bye.”
Koskinen stared at the closed door. He stood there in the hallway for a long time, squeezing the key in his fist.
He ended up going back into the kitchen. The cookies had been eaten, and the tea had already cooled. He sat down at the table, leaned his chin on his palm, and thought about whether he should go back to the station to help Riipinen. That felt ridiculous too. What would Riipinen need help for?
He stared out the window for a while. A gray layer of clouds hung above the rooftops, and the evening had started to darken. He thought about whether Tomi would make it home to Kaleva before dark. Would Silja be surprised that he was coming back so early?
Koskinen decided to go out for a run. He would have time to go around the shoreline trail three times before nine. That was when the old Hitchcock movie would be starting on TV. The one he had been thinking of watching with Tomi.
Five minutes later he was already running toward the lake so fast that passers-by must have thought he was being chased.
6.
The man was old and sick—he didn’t get much sleep anymore. The disease tore at his insides, never giving rest the opportunity to come.
The convulsive burning had forced him up out of his bed. He had shuffled into the kitchen and pressed his perspiring forehead against the cool window. Even with his eyes clouded in pain, he had noticed the movement in the dark yard. Someone was skulking behind the Raven. Anger gave him a moment of relief, shaking his frail body, and for a few seconds extinguishing the fire raging in his belly. With no time to waste, he took support from the door jamb and staggered out.
He had to protect the Raven.
The man knew he would soon escape his suffering. His last days would have been easier in the hospital, but he wanted to die at home with his Raven. It was always faithful. God took his wife, and his son hadn’t visited in years.
The Raven had spread its wings threateningly, but the human figure behind it did not seem afraid. The man struggled closer with the last of his strength. Fly away, he gasped, fly away to safety and take me with you. The man was thankful one last time as he saw the Raven stir.
Dear bird, always faithful, in you I trust.
The Raven pecked the man on the top of his head, and the agony that had shaken his body departed, along with his consciousness.
7.
Koskinen’s breakfast was, in all its simplicity, high in fiber. He mixed oat grits and lingonberries with nonfat milk, stirred them into one big, pink mess, and added a pinch of sugar on top. It would keep his hunger at bay until noon.
He spread the morning paper out in front of him, and found the article on page eight. It said that the body of an unidentified man had been found in a parking lot of a strip mall in Peltolammi. The police suspected it was a homicide and asked for the public’s assistance. The article rather superficially described the man’s features, and mentioned his disability—the most crucial identifying characteristic.
Koskinen turned the page. But the peace negotiations in the Middle East didn’t interest him, and his thoughts were still tied up with the case. If they didn’t start getting some tips soon, the amount of work ahead of them would be agonizing.
His phone started ringing under the paper. Koskinen groped for it, and, once he got it into his hand, the caller ID told him who was calling.
“You’re at the office already?” he blurted without saying good morning.
“Niininen called at four thirty,” Pekki answered in a gruff voice. “We got another fun one.”
Koskinen’s blood went cold. “The same or what?”
“Not exactly. And this one’s still breathing, but just barely.”
“Are there any other similarities?”
“Not really. He was walloped with something a little harder than a pillow—skull’s smashed to bits.”
Even though Koskinen couldn’t see it, he knew how Pekki was leafing through his notebook.
“Seventy-year-old male. Found in his own yard in Ikuri.”
“Who found him?”
“Paperboy.”
“Any leads on a suspect?”
“None at all,” Pekki grunted. “Riipinen just called from the scene. The man lived alone and even the nearest neighbors didn’t hear or see anything.”
“Of course,” Koskinen sighed. “Get Forensics to work. I’ll be there soon—”
“That’s not all,” Pekki interrupted. “We got our first break on that mess from the other night.”
“Really?” Koskinen was excited. “From where?”
“Some home for invalids.”
“But we called all of them yesterday afternoon.”
“Yeah, we did, but it was a different person on the phone. She claimed the description in the paper fits one of their patients.”
“Send someone over to check.”
“That’s just the shitty thing about it. I have to go over to Ikuri and relieve Riipinen so he can go home and sleep.”
“And what about Kaatio and Eskola?”
“They’re not here yet, and Ulla is out today.”
“Where?”
“At the doctor,” Pekki said irately. “You gave her permission yourself.”
“Oh, yeah,” Koskinen said, his concern for his co-worker being revived. “You don’t happen to know why Ulla went to the doctor?”
“She wouldn’t say, but it’s probably just women’s troubles.”
For some reason Pekki’s response irritated Koskinen.
“I’ll go over there then. Just tell me the address,” he said curtly.
Apparently Pekki didn’t notice Koskinen’s sudden aggravation.
“The name of the home is Wolf House. It’s on Susi Street in Kissanmaa. Make sure you’re up on your rabies vaccines,” Pekki laughed.
Koskinen didn’t feel like joining in Pekki’s merriment, and hung up. He folded up the newspaper and rinsed his dishes. Patches of mold had appeared on the potato bread overnight. He shoved it into a trash bag with the rancid margarine and headed out with it.
Wednesday was turning out to be dry and warm, more beautiful than average for the last week of September. And his bicycle hadn’t even been stolen from the wall of the building overnight.
In a good mood, Koskinen set off pedaling, and started to plan out his day. Before retrieving a car from the police garage for his trip to the Wolf House, he would need to advise Taru’s new stand-in about her tasks for the day.
That thought immediately darkened his mood.
He coasted the couple of miles down the bike path before realizing that the only reason he needed to go to the station was for the picture of the corpse. But Forensics had already distributed a touched-up picture of the victim’s face to everyone involved in the investigation. He stopped, took his backpack off, and whistled in satisfaction. He had put the picture in his notebook the night before, and he always kept the notebook on him.
He jumped back on his bike and didn’t turn, as he usually did, toward the station, instead continuing on the bike path toward Kissanmaa. He cut through the ice rink parking lot and turned onto Susi Street at five minutes to eight.
Wolf House was easy to find. It was an elongated wooden building reminiscent of an old village school. The grounds weren’t anything like a school’s, though—no children, basketball hoops, or playground equipment. The left wing of the building was one level, and the right wing, built on a gradual slope, was two storied. In the middle was a covered entrance with double glass doors.
Koskinen dismounted and walked his bicycle into the yard. Two men were sitting by the door smoking. They looked at the visitor curiously, but sat motionless even though he nodded a friendly good morning to them. Finally, each backed up his wheelchair a little to the side and continued their silent puffing.
The door, which lacked a threshold, opened onto a spacious lobby with long hallways leading off in both directions. In the corner on the right was a wide elevator door, and next to it stairs led down to the lower level. The walls were painted in lifeless colors, and the bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling added to the institutional feeling of the building.
The wall opposite the entrance was broken by another wide, double glass door. A woman dressed in a light green scrub dress stepped through the doors into the lobby looking like she was expecting someone to arrive. However, her steps slowed, and she looked at Koskinen and his windbreaker suit skeptically.
Koskinen removed his baseball cap and wiped his palm on it.
“Lieutenant Koskinen, Violent Crimes Unit.”
The woman extended her hand hesitantly. “Lea Kalenius.”
Kalenius’ timid expression did not go unnoticed. She sized him up, from his tennis shoes all the way up to his sweaty hairline. He didn’t have to wonder why.
He didn’t start digging for his badge, instead getting straight down to business.
“Was it you who called the police this morning?”
Her chestnut eyes grew even more skittish. “Yes.”
Koskinen took his backpack off. “Where can we talk?”
“Let’s go into the dayroom.”
Kalenius turned and opened the same double doors she had just walked through. They led into a large, open room. The sun was shining in through tall windows, making it a cheerful space. A serving counter stood on the other side of the room, and behind it two women wearing hairnets. The room contained about a dozen tables, and there were people in wheelchairs grouped around all of them. Most of them seemed to manage on their own, but there were also a few who needed assistance. A woman with brisk movements was feeding one who seemed like a helpless young bird, and three more were waiting their turns.
“Let’s sit here off to the side,” Kalenius said and offered Koskinen a chair at a corner table. “We won’t be bothered here, and no one can listen in.”
Koskinen dug the photograph out of his backpack and set it on the table in front of her. Her expression immediately revealed that he was in the right place. The skin over her cheekbones tightened, her eyes widened, and her chest began heaving intensely. Koskinen dug a pen out of his backpack and let the woman collect her feelings in peace.
On the table was a smoke-blue vase with an arrangement of white chamomile and heather. Kalenius lifted her eyes from the photograph to the flowers. It took a long time before she was able to speak.
“It’s Raymond.”
“Raymond?”
“Raimo Timonen. Everyone here called him Raymond.”
Koskinen wrote the name down.
“When did you see him last?”
Apparently she had already thought about it earlier, because she answered immediately. “The day before yesterday. On Monday. He was sitting in his wheelchair in the yard and motored all the way down to the curb when I left work at three thirty.”
“How did he seem then?”
Kalenius pursed her full lips in thought.
“Normal...yelled something funny.”
“Funny?”
Apparently she hadn’t expected the follow-up, because her face flushed up to her high cheek bones.
“He shouted something about not wearing out my rear end,” she said self-consciously and added a quick explanation: “I ride my bike to work.”
Koskinen held back a smile.
“Why didn’t you report this Raimo Timonen missing?” he asked sternly.
“We didn’t know he was missing,” Kalenius answered just as brusquely. “Even though this institution is maintained by the city, people live here just like anyone else in their own home. Everyone has their own rental apartment with a room and a kitchen. They can come and go as they please and be away as long as they like.”
“Was he away often?”
“Yes, sometimes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head, which made her thick copper-tinted hair swing loosely. “Sometimes he would go visit his sister in Lempäälä.”
She guessed Koskinen’s next question and continued quickly:
“He didn’t have any other family as far as I know.”
“Aren’t residents supposed to give notice when they leave?” Koskinen asked, his brow furrowed. “For example, for head counts for dinner, et cetera.”
“Yes, they are supposed to, but many of them forget. And besides...”
Kalenius stopped, thinking about what she had to say, and Koskinen hurried her along impatiently.
“Yes, besides what?”
“As I remember, someone said that Laine had picked Raymond up late Monday night.”
“Who’s Laine?”
“He drives a handicap taxi.”
Koskinen noted the name and then looked at Kalenius sternly. “Yesterday we called every institution like yours in the Tampere area to check if all of their patients were accounted for. Why didn’t you look into Raymond’s whereabouts then?”
Kalenius cocked her head and, emphasizing each word, said, “First, we don’t have any patients or charges here. They are residents. And secondly, that call obviously came after three o’clock. Had I been here myself, I certainly would have investigated the matter thoroughly.”
“Who was working then?”
In reply Koskinen received an angry shake of her head. “Kaarina Kauppila. She’s completely useless… She’d forget to tell you if the other half of the building was on fire.”
“Is that so?” Koskinen said, deep in thought, adding the new name to his list. Suddenly he looked up. “Are you the director of this place?”
He saw Kalenius smile for the first time.
“No, of course not. I’m just a regular nurse.”
“But you could tell me what really goes on here.”
“Sure,” she said, laughing mirthlessly. “Where should I start?”
“Maybe with the staff.”
“There are seven women working here, half of whom are full time. The rest are more or less temps. Three nurses, two in the kitchen, and two cleaners. Us nurses work in two shifts from 7 A.M. to 9 P.M.”
“Do you have a night shift?”
“We haven’t had money for that in years.”
Koskinen tapped his notebook with his pen. “Does that mean that if someone wants to leave at night, no one is here monitoring that?”
Wolves and Angels Page 5
