The Nightingale Murder (The Maria Kallio Series Book 9)

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “How did your date go?” I asked Ursula once we’d merged onto the Ring I beltway. As usual, we ran into traffic. I was grateful that we had extra time.

  “According to plan.” Ursula gave a wry smile. I didn’t pump her for information, since it seemed as though she wanted to be mysterious about her private life.

  “We had dinner at the Kämp Hotel,” Ursula went on. “One-hundred-euro champagne . . . And so what, if he’s buying? By the way, where are we going to take Länsimies for questioning? The airport concourse?”

  “We can take him back to the police station if he doesn’t want to talk in a public place.” I’d thought of the same issue and was relying on the airport staff to provide us with assistance and a place to interrogate our suspect if necessary.

  The flight from Kuopio was a little early, but we still managed to reserve the airport press room. We waited for Länsimies in the arrivals terminal. Before long he appeared, surrounded by men in dark suits, pulling a leather roller bag. Länsimies attracted stares, and one person even abandoned her luggage to rush after him and ask for an autograph. Länsimies gave the girl a broad smile as he scribbled his name in her notebook. He looked relaxed and happy and unaware of our presence, so I stepped in front of him.

  “Hello, Mr. Länsimies. Officer Honkanen has been trying to reach you for quite some time. We have business to discuss with you.”

  Länsimies’s expression turned sour. “What could be so serious that you had to come all the way to the airport?”

  “I’m sure you know. Shall we talk here, or would you prefer to come to the police station?”

  Länsimies’s companions moved out of the way. Anyone who had read the newspaper knew what was going on.

  “I have time right now,” Länsimies said. On the collar of his camel-hair coat was a hair, which he brushed off. When he turned to follow Ursula, I bent down, ostensibly to retrieve the gloves I’d just dropped, but I also gently picked up the hair and placed it in a plastic bag.

  An airport official unlocked the press room for us. Ursula fetched coffee for herself and Länsimies and a Diet Coke for me. Länsimies said he understood that we wanted to talk about Riitta Saarnio’s death but, unfortunately, he didn’t have anything more to tell us.

  “As I said, Riitta stayed at the studio after I left. We arranged to talk Monday since Riitta knew I’d be in Kuopio at this seminar all day Friday.”

  “Was there anything out of the ordinary in her behavior?”

  “She was extremely agitated. We all were. What happened last week affected everyone. Thankfully Nuppu was there this time so Riitta didn’t have to fetch the guests from their dressing rooms. That would have been too much for her. I was very satisfied with our whole team, which was why I was so enthusiastic Friday morning when you called. I think we performed admirably during the broadcast, despite the nightmare of the previous week. But now . . . we’ll have to rethink everything. Riitta’s death is a terrible loss. Did she kill herself?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Länsimies didn’t immediately answer my question, instead taking a moment to think carefully. When he continued, he whispered as if telling a great secret.

  “She’s suffered from depression for a long time. During her good times she’s an amazing colleague, but when things are bad her work just doesn’t get done. But I’ve tried to be understanding, and I should have seen what was coming . . .”

  I quickly drained my Coke, while the others’ coffee cups were still almost full. The airport was calm. It felt like a space between two realities, a place where we shouldn’t have been working, where we should have been waiting to fly off to a new life.

  “I value experience, and Riitta had it, and at the same time she could also approach new things with an open mind. I knew the ire directed at Arto was hard on her, even though she didn’t always approve of the hard line he often chose. A while back we talked about it, when we were debating whether we could invite him on the show for a discussion about changes in the labor market brought on by globalization. Riitta didn’t want to, and I thought it would be unethical since Arto owns stock in West Man Productions—not because he was Riitta’s husband. God, I need to call Arto too. Or at least send flowers. Riitta used to handle things like that.”

  Länsimies seemed to be gradually returning to the relaxed state he’d been in upon arrival. He leaned back in his chair and slowly sipped his coffee. His gaze shifted from me to Ursula, who smiled.

  “Do you intend to continue with Surprise Guests?” Ursula asked. She and Länsimies hadn’t met before, but I sensed a mutual curiosity. Ursula was attracted to men with power and money, and Länsimies, like most men, was drawn to beautiful blonds like Ursula. Maybe, I thought, I should allow her to do some more questioning.

  “The guests for the next couple of shows are already booked. The network wants to keep it running. On our next show, we’re going to have some sort of tribute to Riitta. Hopefully you’ll have figured out who’s behind all of this by then. You don’t think Riitta’s suicide has anything to do with the . . . rest of it, other than that it depressed her even more?”

  “Why do you assume she committed suicide?” Ursula asked quickly. We hadn’t yet released any information about Riitta Saarnio’s suicide note or her cause of death to the press.

  “Didn’t she?” Länsimies responded. Gradually his expression began to change. If it was an act, Länsimies was a very good actor. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “We aren’t trying to tell you anything.” Then I decided to take a risk, even though the police didn’t usually reveal their evidence. “Riitta Saarnio left behind a suicide note. We’re examining its authenticity, since her death is connected to a series of unexplained homicides or attempted homicides. I don’t believe that you or the other employees of West Man Productions are in any danger. That being said, a certain amount of street sense is in order. And I hope you’ll stay available for any follow-up questions.”

  “I had to keep my phone off because the reporters have been hounding me,” Länsimies said in his defense. “How is Lulu’s bodyguard doing anyway?”

  “His condition is unchanged. He’ll probably live, but we don’t have any idea if or when we’ll be able to interview him.” I watched Länsimies carefully: Did he react? If he was the criminal we were hunting, Sulonen’s recovery would be extremely dangerous for him. We’d instructed the Jorvi Hospital staff to not allow anyone to be left alone with him, and that we’d need a list of all visitors. So far, the only visitor had been his friend Pate Mustajärvi.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t offer any more help,” Länsimies said and swirled his spoon in his empty coffee cup. “Is there anything else? I haven’t really had time to process Riitta’s death. This seminar was booked solid. You know how they can be: even while drinking beer in the sauna we talked shop. Getting over losing Riitta isn’t going to be easy. It’s such a terrible tragedy. I should have seen that something was wrong.”

  “The worst thing about suicide is that everyone left behind blames themselves,” Ursula said kindly, gazing empathetically into Länsimies’s eyes. She received a heartsick smile in return.

  “How am I supposed to go on? I know Riitta would have wanted me to keep the show alive. Maybe the topic for our final show this spring could be depression . . .” Länsimies seemed to be talking more to himself than to us, but it also seemed deliberate.

  “What about last Thursday?” Ursula asked.

  “I went home between the morning meeting and the taping.”

  “Anyone who could corroborate that?”

  “I . . . I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. Riitta said she went somewhere too,” he reported. “But no, she didn’t say that she went to the Big Apple!” Länsimies shook his head. “I still can’t believe . . . How could we not have seen it coming? I’m sorry, I need to be alone,” Länsimies said, his voice cracking. “This is too much.”

  We left him there in the press room, hi
s head buried in his hands. The domestic terminal was a beehive of activity, with people leaving early for Easter ski vacations in Lapland. I couldn’t shake a feeling of doubt as we navigated the crowd.

  “That guy would be a strong candidate for our murderer, if he had a motive,” Ursula said once we were in the car. “He had access to the studio, and he chose the guests. Maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence that so many of them had a connection to Lulu. Länsimies might have done that on purpose. But what the hell would have been the point? Did Lulu threaten to tell the whole country on live TV that Länsimies had a tiny dick and was terrible in bed?”

  I wondered whether I could trust Ursula but decided to stay silent. I asked, “Do you want to come to the station to see the security footage Puustjärvi found? I could drop you off at home after. Two sets of eyes are always better than one.”

  “I’d be happy to come. But really, Maria, I’m serious. Think about it. Länsimies was the only one who had the opportunity to forge Riitta Saarnio’s suicide note. Maybe he used Saarnio’s signature from another document, or maybe Länsimies tricked her into writing her name . . .”

  “Yes, and the cyanide in Lulu’s car—we know that Länsimies met with Lulu outside of the studio. He could have hidden the bottle then, if he’d planned far enough ahead. Maybe the whole program was arranged just so Länsimies could get rid of Lulu.”

  “The picture!” Ursula exclaimed. “Lulu and the president. Lulu intended to reveal that it was a fake and that Länsimies was behind it. Lulu was probably blackmailing Länsimies. He doesn’t show up in her client records, but this might be about something other than sex. OK, come on, Grandma,” Ursula said with a sigh as I stopped the car at a crosswalk to let an elderly woman cross. A police officer was supposed to be polite.

  Our unit’s hallway was empty, and the conference room coffee pot was half-full and cold. I grabbed the tapes from my office and found that Puustjärvi had rewound them to the right spots. The figure in the black coat and wide-brimmed hat who stepped through the doors of the shopping center had attempted to conceal his face. A black scarf covered the area around his mouth, and his hat was pulled down low. He also wore sunglasses. All we could see was his nose. He was carrying a flat plastic bag, which could have contained the mask. I paused the tape to examine the image more closely: it was a regular K-Market plastic bag, and the contents did indeed seem relatively light.

  “If that’s our guy, then why didn’t any of the witnesses say anything about a scarf covering his mouth?”

  “Because he must have taken it off once inside. Maybe he thought it would attract too much attention. But wait. Next to the theater there’s a restroom. Maybe he went in there to put on the mask. Of course, there aren’t any cameras in the bathroom. Let’s have a look at that other tape.”

  The man leaving the mall looked similar in terms of clothing, but now he didn’t have the plastic bag in his hand. The sunglasses and scarf were there, but the scarf was down lower than in the first image, and the man’s profile looked different.

  “Now he’s wearing the mask. But it’s the same guy. He moves in the same way.”

  “Yes, he does. But one thing . . . even though cameras make people look heavier, this person is significantly larger than Länsimies.”

  We looked at each other in disappointment for a moment, but then Ursula spoke. “If he was thinner than Länsimies, then we’d be in trouble. Or if he was two inches taller. But you can look fatter just by adding a couple of layers of clothing and some padding. Länsimies works in TV, so he must know some tricks.”

  This observation was so obvious that I started to laugh. “OK, now we need to show these tapes to the people who saw the shooter. Let’s see what they say. Then we’ll compare this man’s gait to Länsimies’s. Coming up with a reason to request old tapes of his show from the network archives won’t be hard.”

  “I already have the shows from the night of the murder and last night,” Ursula said. “I thought they might be useful.” She blushed a little. “I watched the prostitution episode purely out of professional curiosity, because of Oksana. Will we ever find out what happened to her?”

  “Hopefully. But for now we’ll have to go through the trash in that restroom to see if that K-Market bag turns up. I’ve got to go. You still want a ride?”

  “No, I’m going to stick around and finish up a couple of things. I don’t have a date tonight, so I might as well.”

  I was in a better mood than I’d been in a long time as I drove home, even though it was still sleeting. Tomorrow we were going to look at houses, the murder investigation was progressing, Antti wasn’t in love with someone else, and I was getting along with Ursula. Now all I could do was wait for more information about Länsimies’s possible motives, then it would be time to share my suspicions with my unit.

  Back at home I prepared crepes for after our sauna. I couldn’t wait until the kids went to sleep and Antti and I could be alone. My desire for him hadn’t ever really left me, and it began to flow in the sauna when our hot, bare skin touched. But the kids were in the sauna too, so I had to wait. Of course, that only increased my eagerness.

  Taneli was already asleep and Antti was reading to Iida when my phone rang. I saw that it was Ursula, so I answered. Ursula wasn’t in the habit of calling without a good reason.

  “Hi, Maria. I have Lulu and Sulonen’s shared phone logs. The Dearlulu number.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There are a bunch of calls here to Sulonen and a few to customers we already know about, but one is interesting. It’s a call to Lulu’s cell phone on Wednesday, March 9, the same day Oksana Petrenko disappeared from the hospital.” Ursula paused. I bit my lip to avoid rushing her.

  “When I looked up the caller’s number, I found that it belonged to a woman named Mari Asikkala. Asikkala is a nurse at Jorvi Hospital, in the same department where Oksana was. I checked her schedule: she was on shift when Oksana disappeared. She told me that she’d stashed her phone in a drawer at the front desk—this is against protocol, but her son was sick and she was waiting to hear from the day care. When she finally got the call, Oksana came into the hall.”

  “So Oksana borrowed her phone?”

  “Exactly! Oksana must have called Lulu, and Lulu must have called her back on her room phone when she was ready to pick her up. It just so happened that someone turned on Lulu’s spare phone for a few seconds. It’s somewhere in West Newland—Barösund, I think. I have the coordinates here.”

  Barösund was in Inkoo, and someone had just mentioned it . . . Pastor Pihlaja! She’d remembered that Lulu had been irritated at graduation, when her parents were talking up the summer cabin they’d bought in Barösund. What if Oksana was alive and staying at Lulu’s parents’ summer house?

  “Ursula, call Lulu’s parents! They should have a cabin in Barösund, near Inkoo. Get the address, then check to see if the coordinates for Lulu’s phone match its location. If they do, we’re going there. But don’t tell Lulu’s parents why we need to know!”

  I put my phone on speaker and took off my robe and nightshirt. A few seconds later Antti entered the bedroom and looked at me in surprise.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Inkoo. It might be an emergency.” Had Oksana been in Inkoo for a week and a half, all alone? I’d just managed to get my jeans and sweater on when I heard Ursula’s voice on the speaker.

  “Maria, it matches.”

  “OK. Pick me up in ten minutes in your personal car. Let’s go see what we can find in Barösund.”

  18

  “The call isn’t going through,” I said in frustration once we were about halfway to Barösund. There wasn’t any other traffic, so Ursula put the pedal to the metal. On this road speeding seemed to be the norm. “Hopefully it’s not a bad signal. Of course, we should have called the Mäkinens to ask for a key, but let’s not complicate things. I have a lock pick. We met in the hospital, so Oksana knows me. We should say upfront that we’re police but t
hat we aren’t a threat to her. We don’t have any reason to arrest her—we just want to know who cut her.” Oksana may have been in the country illegally, but immigration enforcement wasn’t our job.

  We stopped at a gas station to buy some food, because we worried Oksana would be hungry. And maybe that’d give her a reason to open the door.

  After the turnoff to the village of Siuntio there were no more streetlights. The little remaining snow didn’t help to illuminate the landscape and the sky was clouded over, so we were now driving in almost perfect darkness. Now and then a truck passed, and the traffic signals at the intersections near Degerby and Inkoo flashed like beacons. I squinted hard at the map, trying to read it in the dark. I’d sailed the Barösund Channel several times, but I’d only set foot on land there once, so I didn’t know the roads.

  Fortunately, the Mäkinens’ cabin was on the mainland, so we didn’t have to wait for the ferry. I’d brought my Russian dictionary with me. Arto Saarnio had said that Oksana’s English was wanting. How had customers explained what they wanted, or weren’t words necessary in that kind of work? Maybe Oksana’s service offerings weren’t as extensive as Lulu Nightingale’s.

  The summer cabin sat a quarter of a mile from the seashore. There were a lot of other cabins in the area too, and according to the land register they all shared access to the water. There were no lights as far as I could see, not even in the Mäkinens’ cabin. Had Oksana spent more than a week sitting in the dark, too afraid to turn on the lights?

  Ursula parked the car one cabin away. I couldn’t see a thing right after she cut the headlights, but gradually I began to make out the trees in the darkness. The Mäkinens’ cabin was small, about four hundred square feet. It had two doors, one to the living area and another to the sauna. No smoke rose from the chimney. Farther off a shed loomed in the darkness, a tiny building likely used for storing the wood and as an outhouse.