Wolves and Angels

by Jokinen, Seppo

  “Yeah, lucid,” Kaatio huffed.

  “Well, Ulla, you tell me what sense there is in running through the forest from Valkeakoski to Tampere with a number on your chest. And even paying for the privilege! The bus would be cheaper,” Pekki said.

  Koskinen saw how their attempt at thrashing out their problems with the investigation was once again devolving into trivial repartee, and wondered if it was like this everywhere. Or had he just happened to be given the most eccentric group of subordinates in all of Finland?

  “No point sitting here bickering,” he said, raising his voice. “The only way we’re going to find out is by looking. The cabin is in Asuntila, near Teisko. I got driving directions from this Sundqvist. It isn’t far.”

  Koskinen waited for a new chorus of protest, but his detectives surprised him again. “Should we take our own cars?” Kaatio looked at the others inquiringly. “Or should we get wheels from the garage?”

  Riipinen rubbed the edges of his thick mustache thoughtfully. “Should we ask a couple of patrol cars along?”

  “Why?” Pekki asked. “We have five people and one woman here, all against one cripple.”

  Koskinen jumped in before the banter could turn into a fight again. “Four people is enough. I’ll go with Kaatio and Pekki can follow with Ulla.”

  He turned to Riipinen. “Kalevi, you go home to sleep. You’ve been up long enough.”

  Riipinen pulled his inhaler out of his pocket and fidgeted with it, unsure whether he should put it in his mouth or not. “I’m not going to sleep until later. Last night was my last graveyard shift, and I need to get back into a normal rhythm. I’ll probably go have a few beers so I can sleep better.”

  Koskinen snorted. “Lucky boy.” Then he turned to look at Eskola. “You stay here.”

  Eskola couldn’t conceal his disappointment, and Koskinen hurried to continue: “We need someone capable to stay here. What if we’re going on a wild goose chase, and the killer strikes again while we’re gone?”

  Despite their transparency, Koskinen’s words did the trick—Eskola drew himself up in his chair and raised his chin. “Understood!”

  Both Pekki and Kaatio’s cars were in the courtyard’s cramped parking lot. Koskinen could feel his legs getting progressively stiffer and struggled to keep up with the others. After the run he should have gone straight for a massage.

  Kaatio wasn’t in a talking mood. He stared sullenly at the road, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure Pekki was still behind him, and then hunching back over the steering wheel. It wasn’t until they were on the highway that he started unloading. “Any guesses about what’s eating me, Koskinen?”

  “What?”

  “Why the hell have you started mollycoddling Eskola?”

  “Have I?”

  “Come off it. You could even see it through cataracts. No matter what stupid crap he says, you’re right there defending him.”

  That was exactly what Koskinen had been doing for the last few days, so he didn’t deny it. “Let me tell you something. But this is strictly confidential.”

  “When have I ever run at the mouth?”

  Tuesday morning flashed through Koskinen’s mind, when Kaatio had told Kangas and Havakainen about his intention to enter the Pirkka Trail Run. That information hadn’t been intended for public consumption either. But so what? It didn’t bother him anymore. On the contrary.

  “Taru called me Thursday,” he began. “She made me swear not to tell anyone, but I’m making an exception with you because…”

  Koskinen paused and thought about how to continue, and a wary glance from Kaatio made him falter. “Because we…you and me…are in the same boat when it comes to Taru…or maybe it would be better to say that we were both left on the same dock.”

  Kaatio grumbled something and then stuck his nose almost against the windshield. Koskinen repeated, in detail, his phone conversation with Taru—how he’d been surprised about the charge of bullying, his feelings about the situation, and how he had decided to rectify it, at least for himself.

  He turned to look at Kaatio. “Eskola is never going to set the world on fire, but how about we try to put up with him anyway?”

  Kaatio sulked for another half mile, but then acquiesced. “Fine. But only because of Taru. And you gotta set some limits… You can’t start giving all the best jobs to him.”

  Koskinen sighed in relief. “Of course not!”

  They passed the Teisko Church, and Koskinen dug the driving directions out of his pocket. The road meandered through the fertile farming community. The sun was still high in the sky, emphasizing the color saturation of the autumn landscape. On the right side behind the fields and stands of trees Koskinen caught glimpses of the silvery, glimmering surface of a lake. This was Lake Kalentonjärvi, and their destination was located right at its easternmost corner.

  A decommissioned, gray-brick transformer station was the first landmark Sundqvist had given. A couple of hundred yards ahead Koskinen spotted a large red threshing barn on the left and told Kaatio to slow down.

  They turned right at the barn. The dirt road quickly narrowed and grew bumpy, with a slim strip of grass growing down the middle. A floppy-eared brown hare bolted off into a willow thicket. Shortly before the shore of the lake the road curved to the left, revealing summer cabins at irregular intervals. They were looking for the sixth cabin.

  Koskinen caught sight of the van from a distance, parked under a large silver birch. The leaves fallen from the tree had crocheted a mottled patchwork on the roof of the vehicle. Koskinen puffed up his cheeks and blew out in sheer relief. So he hadn’t sent them on a wild goose chase; at least someone was at the cabin.

  Yet still he felt growing tension. This was all still just based on guesswork.

  Kaatio parked on the other side of the birch tree. Corn chamomile was blooming white in the nearby meadow, and even a few multicolored butterflies defied the fall weather. Koskinen struggled over to the van and checked the license plate against his notes. He nodded—it matched the one from DMV. Pekki had left his Corolla a little farther off, and Koskinen motioned for him to follow. They walked quietly, trying not to make any noise.

  A six-foot wide grass path led to the cabin, winding through a thick spruce copse and ending at a small, idyllic yard. The moss-green cabin was right next to the lake. Farther up the slope the yard was demarcated by an oblong outbuilding, leaving a level grassy area in the middle with a swing, grill, and flower beds full of lupine. The abandoned doghouse had long since shaken off its last coat of paint.

  With a small hand motion, Koskinen asked the others to wait. He climbed onto the veranda of the cabin and knocked on the paneled door. No answer. He tried the doorknob—it was unlocked. He disregarded all the basic police safety procedures and stepped inside without any protection. He couldn’t imagine that anyone there would be carrying anything more dangerous than a pillow.

  No one was inside. The sun forced a narrow slice of light through the gap in the flowery curtains. Along the wall sat a wooden sofa bed and a narrow table in the middle of the room. On the table was a ceramic vase decorated with hearts of various colors and next to it was a sooty oil lamp that reeked of kerosene. On the right wall was a kitchen nook with a narrow counter and water bucket, saucepan, and gas burner.

  Some heather with tiny flowers had been put in the vase, along with a bunch of white chamomile. One lay on the table—its petals had been plucked, as if someone had been chanting: he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…

  A quick glance around revealed nothing that told of Hannu Ketterä having ever been there. Koskinen went back out on the veranda. At the end of it was another door leading into the sauna. He peered in there as well and got a nose full of the smells of birch twigs and burned leaves. He tested the side of the wood-fired water heater and quickly yanked his hand back—it was still hot.

  He turned back into the narrow dressing room. A towel rack had been made on the wall out of a split, debar
ked tree trunk. The branch stumps had been left as pegs. There were towels and clothing hanging from them. At a quick glance they all looked like they belonged to a woman. Koskinen was about to turn to leave, but something suddenly made him stop.

  A narrow counter had been attached to the wall at the end of the dressing room, and the cloth that covered it hung almost to the floor. But not quite. Through the narrow strip left between the tablecloth and the floor, Koskinen saw a piece of smooth black rubber. Koskinen raised the tablecloth and whistled. A lightweight folding wheelchair had been pushed under the counter.

  He made sure not to touch it. It would have to be moved to the car in a plastic bag. If Ketterä didn’t turn up soon and the case grew much more complicated, they would have to have Forensics do a thorough analysis of it, just like on Timonen’s chair a few days before.

  He went back outside and reported his find. Now Pekki sang his praises openly: “Holy hell, you were right! But where have Salonen and Ketterä disappeared to?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Koskinen said, looking around. “They’re not on the lake, at least.”

  A green fiberglass rowing boat holding an empty fish trap waited on the shore. The lake was narrow at that point, and nearby there was a river full of reeds that emptied into it. Probably a lot of fish, Koskinen thought, and as if in answer he spotted a canoe gliding through the reeds with a bearded man and a fifteen-year-old boy behind him. The man was paddling with long, leisurely strokes, and the boy was dragging a trolling line. A black-throated loon dove in front of the canoe to get out of the way and appeared a moment later on the other side of the little inlet.

  Ulla suddenly broke the silence. “Take a gander over there.”

  The men looked where Ulla was pointing—a woman was approaching from the woods behind the cabin carrying a bucket. Koskinen recognized her immediately as Anniina Salonen. She was dressed in form-fitting knit clothing. The outfit emphasized her powerful physique. Her shoulders were wide and the muscles in her arms were beefy. An image of a world champion javelin thrower from years back came to Koskinen’s mind.

  Salonen lengthened her steps after noticing the police standing in the yard. They had all been to Wolf House several times, and Salonen had met them all.

  “Have you found Hannu?” she asked when she was still twenty yards out. She reached them, and stopped, winded, and looked at Koskinen. “Just don’t tell me that something has happened to him!”

  “We don’t know where Ketterä is. We were actually just looking for him.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would he be doing here?”

  Koskinen looked at her probingly. She looked genuinely confused. But Koskinen thought he was sensing something—perhaps her last question had been presented just a little too eagerly.

  Salonen’s hair was covered by a red scarf. A few pine needles and some fuzzy gray moss were stuck in it.

  “What were you doing in the forest,” Koskinen asked confrontationally.

  Salonen showed her empty bucket. “Hunting for mushrooms. But I didn’t find any. It’s just too dry.”

  Koskinen felt like sitting down. His legs were aching—the pain was radiating all the way up into his hips. All of a sudden he had had enough small talk.

  “Cut the crap,” he snapped. “Are you saying that Hannu Ketterä hasn’t been here?”

  “Of course not,” Salonen answered, her eyes wide. “In the summer he was here pretty regularly. This is Hannu’s parents’ old cabin.”

  “How did you end up owning it?”

  “Hannu had heard that the cabin was for sale again. And I’d been looking for a summer place like this for a while already. I had twenty thousand euros stashed away, and the bank lent me the rest. I bought the place in July.”

  Koskinen pointed at the path that lead to the road.

  “And the van?”

  “It’s my dad’s. He retired from his painting job this summer, and said I could use the van until the end of August.”

  “We’re impounding it for forensic analysis.”

  “Why?”

  Koskinen noticed a slight uncertainty in her eyes, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Anyone would be caught off guard, having to give their car for a criminal investigation. He didn’t bother answering her question—it was too early to reveal their suspicion that the car had been used to transport Raimo Timonen the previous week. Either alive or dead.

  Pekki took a turn at the questioning: “When did Hannu Ketterä visit here last?”

  Salonen thought for a few seconds before answering. “Three weeks ago. We celebrated his birthday here, just the two of us. He just turned thirty-three.”

  “So how do you explain the wheelchair in the dressing room?”

  Salonen tossed her hair back. “Oh, that. That’s Hannu’s backup chair. I left it in my van last weekend. I had just taken him out to the Kaanaa Speedway races.”

  Pekki pulled his shoulders back in a position that said he didn’t believe a word of it. “What is it doing in the sauna dressing room?”

  “The wheels got dirty next to the racetrack. It was raining and there was mud everywhere,” she explained naturally, without batting an eyelash.

  This shut Pekki up, and neither Kaatio nor Ulla had anything to say. They all looked at Koskinen curiously, and he started to hesitate as well. Nothing in her statements supported his theory. There was nothing strange in Salonen buying herself a summer cabin and choosing it based on the recommendation of a friend.

  Even her explanation about the wheelchair sounded plausible. She had put Ketterä into another wheelchair and put the muddy one in her van. What better place for cleaning it than in a sauna?

  Koskinen could feel the exhaustion rising from his feet through his body in a sudden wave of despair. Had they just hit a dead end again, and was the investigation just as open as it had been that morning before the race?

  He looked at Salonen’s strongly-built face, the honey-blonde curls of hair on her brow, and the pine needles in the scarf covering her head. And then he realized where they would find Hannu Ketterä. And it couldn’t be far from where they were standing.

  28.

  Koskinen began walking with purposeful steps. He looked for the same path which Anniina Salonen had used just a moment earlier. The trail led to a gentle slope covered with pines, and immediately several bright yellow chanterelles jumped out at him. The mushrooms made him even more sure of himself. He forgot the aching in his thighs, and the attacks of the deer flies no longer bothered him.

  Koskinen could hear the snapping and rustling of twigs and branches behind him—Salonen had charged after him.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Oh, I’m just looking for mushrooms,” Koskinen answered good-naturedly. “Where’d you leave your bucket?”

  “There nothing here!” she shrieked in alarm. “You aren’t going to find anything!”

  Koskinen pushed on, ignoring Salonen’s sudden panic. He looked around carefully, taking note of every stump, juniper thicket, and tussock of moss.

  It was easy to find when you knew what to look for—otherwise you would walk right past it. The terrain rose gently but steadily, finally ending in a vertical wall. Ketterä had chosen the location cunningly. It was partially invisible behind a boulder a couple of yards wide and tall. All that betrayed it was a single stout log protruding from the brush. Many would have taken the log for any other pine tree blown down by the wind and stripped of its bark by rodents and beetles. However, Koskinen quickly recognized it as the top sill of the hideout. Otherwise the roof was completely covered by moss and heather. The door opening was also camouflaged behind dense fir branches, making it almost unnoticeable.

  Koskinen stopped and heard Salonen’s heavy breathing behind him. It wasn’t hard to hear the despair and anxiety in it. However, Koskinen had to check his nerves—he was just about to shout for Ketterä to walk out with his hands behind his head, but at the
last second managed to stop himself.

  He turned to Salonen and demanded, “We both know that Hannu is in there. Do I need to go in and get him, or do you want to do it yourself?”

  Salonen broke down completely. She shook her head back and forth, groaning in agony, “There’s nothing in there, nothing, nothing…”

  Koskinen started walking resolutely toward the entrance of the dugout. But he didn’t make it two steps before she had rushed past him, almost knocking him over.

  “Let me go!”

  One of the spruce trees covering the opening was loose. It had been moved there recently, as its needles were still green. Salonen threw the small tree aside, crawled into the dugout, and then Koskinen began hearing bits of a tearful conversation. He couldn’t make out individual words though.

  Ulla had come up beside Koskinen and their arms brushed each other. “How did you know?”

  “Ketterä’s dad told me all sorts of things about this place yesterday. For example that Hannu loved spending time at the cabin, and that when he was just fifteen he built this hideout.”

  “But how did that happen to come to you just now?”

  “From the pine needles in Salonen’s scarf.”

  Ulla poked Koskinen in the ribs and laughed. “You’re one hell of a wizard.”

  They watched as Anniina Salonen crawled butt first out of the dugout. She kneeled next to the opening and waited, in all her awkwardness looking more vulnerable than any cornered forest creature ever had.

  Hannu Ketterä appeared from the moss and branches, resembling a fairytale character—the red hair, mustache, and pointed beard made him look like an oversized gnome from a magical forest. He dragged himself out of the dugout using his elbows and then lay on the ground. A spider confused by the light scurried across the back of his blue tracksuit.

  Salonen turned Ketterä around, slipped her left arm under his shoulders, and grabbed his rear end with her right. She thrust upward from her squat, and Ketterä wrapped both of his arms tightly around her neck.