The secretary closed the door and explained. “Fatima’s religion makes it impossible for her to go swimming in public. The others are at the city aquatics center next door.”
We left the car in the school parking lot and walked to the swimming pool. The sun shone almost as weakly as if it were full winter. But it warmed me just enough and walking in my new boots was hard work, so I loosened the scarf around my neck.
“So Fatima doesn’t get to swim,” Koivu said contemplatively. “It must be hard not being able to do what all her classmates are doing.”
I nodded. I would have preferred to think about Jiri Merivaara and his father instead of the challenges ethnic minorities face, but Koivu continued.
“Now take Anu. I mean Officer Wang. Her parents weren’t exactly thrilled when she applied to the police academy. They didn’t think it was an appropriate job for a woman. They also didn’t like that Anu changed her name to fit in better. Before it was something like Din or Dan and you said it the other way around, Wang Din.”
I glanced at Koivu with interest. Anu Wang hadn’t told me much of anything about herself, but Koivu and Wang had worked together the whole previous winter.
I showed my badge to the aquatics-center manager, who let us into the humid swimming pool area. I like swimming, but I had never liked indoor swimming pools. It must have had something to do with the smell of chlorine and all the noise. Although there were only twenty or so teenagers and a few elderly folks, the screams penetrated my ears like arrows from a bow. In the 150-foot pool, some of the students were swimming laps and a group of boys was playing water polo. On the far side of the building, near the children’s pool, I caught a glimpse of Jiri’s green hair. Koivu stared at a nicely shaped teenage girl who walked out of the dressing room in a skimpy gold bikini. I turned my attention to the hairy-chested forty-year-old rampaging through the group of water-polo players. He must have been the boys’ PE teacher. Slipping and sliding my way along the edge of the pool toward the game, I ignored the mud my boots were leaving on the floor.
“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Maria Kallio from the Espoo Police. We’d like to speak with one of your students, Jiri Merivaara.”
“Jiri again? Why always during PE class?” the teacher asked irritably. “I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s just sitting over there. He refuses to swim indoors, and it isn’t like I can let him go outside in October.”
Sitting on the edge of the smaller pool, Jiri looked like a little kid, especially compared to his female classmates who nearly had the bodies of full-grown women. His spine and ribs were clearly visible above his swim trunks. His skin was shockingly pale, even though the previous summer had been the hottest and sunniest in the last hundred years.
“Hi, Jiri. It’s your lucky day. You get to leave the swimming pool,” I said, trying to sound chummy, but it didn’t work. The face that turned toward me was withdrawn and anything but childlike.
“Oh. Why?” he said.
“We have to talk to you about what happened the night of your father’s death. Get dressed and we’ll head over to the police station. We’ll bring you back to school when we’re done.”
Jiri’s classmates watched with poorly concealed curiosity as he trudged off to the dressing room with Koivu right behind him.
“Are you arresting Jiri?” asked a girl with thick white eyeliner, metallic-blue fingernails, and piercings in her belly button, tongue, and lower lip.
“No. We’re just going for a chat.”
“About his dad dying? Did someone kill him?”
I shook my head and walked toward the door, ignoring the wisecracks that followed me. I had to wait for Jiri and Koivu for about five minutes. Jiri marched out with his chin held high, trying to look cool and indifferent, but it just made him look silly, particularly so next to Koivu’s six-foot-three height and bearlike shoulders. We drove in silence as I tried to think of what to talk about with Jiri. At the police station we were going to have to belabor the same questions: How had Juha Merivaara been acting on Rödskär? Had Jiri heard anything strange during the night? Interrogating suspects and witnesses mostly involved repeating questions, then seeking weaknesses and incoherencies amid almost seamlessly constructed lies.
But if Jiri had killed his father, would he be able to conceal it?
Koivu switched the radio from channel to channel, looking for something tolerable to listen to. The classical station was playing something from a baritone that could have been Tapio Holma, and Koivu instantly switched to the next channel.
As we drove by the road where Merivaara Nautical was located, Jiri suddenly started to talk.
“I saw your husband yesterday at the protest. Why do you let him go to those when you’re a cop?”
“Why would I try to stop him? He’s an adult. I might have gone if I wasn’t working. Busy investigating your dad’s murder, among other things.”
Even though I was sitting in the front seat and Jiri was in the back, I heard him inhale sharply at the word “murder.” Hadn’t Anne Merivaara told her children that we suspected this was a homicide?
“Do you really mean somebody killed Dad? You haven’t . . . you haven’t arrested anybody, have you?”
I glanced back at Jiri. His face seemed to be reflecting the green of his hair.
“Who should we have arrested?”
Jiri didn’t reply; instead he turned away and clammed up completely. Even once we reached the station he remained silent. As we were heading to the interrogation room, I asked him if he wanted anything to eat or drink, and he just shook his head.
Koivu grabbed us coffee. It was even more bitter and tepid than normal, and I had to drink the whole cup down in one go and just hope that at least it contained some caffeine. Luckily I found a piece of gum in my pocket that I could chew to get rid of the horrible flavor.
There was yelling coming from Interrogation Room 4. Ström’s voice was easy to identify, even though I couldn’t make out the words. Apparently he was working over Ari Väätäinen, the wife beater. Jiri glanced at the door to Room 4 and his eyebrows went up.
“Sounds like the third degree,” he said, trying to sound tough.
“The guy in there’s the kind the other degrees don’t work on,” I said coldly and motioned Jiri into Room 2. “But we’ll start with the first degree on you.”
Without taking off his coat, Jiri collapsed onto the couch. Koivu was still sipping his coffee, and I started by asking Jiri about the previous weekend.
“We were supposed to have a protest in Turku against a new fur coat store. Everybody was going. Dad was happy I had to go to Rödskär, though. He said he was glad he wouldn’t have to pay any more fines.”
Jiri gave the impression that the only reason he went to the island was to please his mother. Although Jiri wanted to live on his own terms, his mother’s happiness seemed to be very important to him.
“Mom was really scared to be going back to Rödskär exactly a year after Harri died. She tried not to let it show to Riikka and me, as if we were little kids or something. And then that fucking Seija started talking about ghosts!”
According to Jiri, Seija Saarela believed that a person who died under tragic circumstances couldn’t rest and his spirit would wander the site of the accident. The presence would be particularly strong on the anniversary of his death.
“Mom believes Seija’s stories about crystals, but the ghost shit was a little much even for her. I think Mikke had a talk with Seija, and she stopped talking about it.”
The gluttony of the birthday party had disgusted Jiri, and he had waited for an opportunity to slip off to his room. At around eleven when Anne said she was going to sleep, Jiri considered his obligation complete and went outside. The night sky was moonless and cloudy, and Jiri walked for a little while on the rocks and then went to sleep around eleven forty-five.
“I slept like a log all night and didn’t have any idea what was going on until the morning when Riikka came in screaming that Dad was dead.”<
br />
In his interview, Mikke had said Jiri went outside once. I asked about this, although without mentioning Mikke’s name.
“Maybe I did go out for a piss. I was sleeping so deeply that I could have gone outside without remembering. There’s no point asking me what anyone else was doing or if I heard anything during the night. Once I’m asleep, three alarm clocks aren’t enough to wake me up. Sometimes Mom has to dump cold water on my face to get me up for school. Just ask her. And what’s this all about anyway? Dad slipped on the rocks like Harri did. It’s not like it’s any surprise. He was plastered!”
Just then Jiri’s stomach grumbled loudly. It must have been time for lunch at school. I wondered what a vegan like Jiri ate at public school. It wasn’t as if the city had money for much variety on the menu. Or did Jiri bring his own lunch to make sure the carrots were organic and the tomatoes hadn’t been flown in from Spain?
“Your father’s death was not an accident. It was a homicide. You want us to catch the killer, right?”
“Fuck no. I’d like to give him a medal!” Jiri shouted and then folded his arms, burying them deep in the sleeves of his green anorak. “Dad was a total shithead. All his eco-crap was a sham. All he ever thought about was money. Fucking hypocrite. I don’t know who killed him or why, but tell me when you figure it out and I’ll congratulate them.”
Jiri stared at me unflinchingly as if to gauge the effect of his words. I stared back. If the kid wanted to act tough, he would get tough questions.
“Why did you hate your father? Did he do something bad to you or your mother?”
Jiri glared at me and retreated deeper into his coat. It was as if he were cold, even though it was at least seventy-two degrees in the interrogation room.
“What kind of relationship did your parents have? Did they fight a lot?”
“None of your fucking business!” Jiri kicked the table. “You couldn’t turn my mom into a murderer if you tried. She wouldn’t hurt any living creature, not even a bastard like my dad! Ask Tapio what he was talking to Dad about in the sauna on Mom’s birthday. Ask him who threw the first punch!”
Then Jiri shut his mouth as if realizing he had said too much.
“In the sauna? When? At night?”
I had to repeat my question three times before Jiri acquiesced and said that the argument had happened in the afternoon. The women had gone to the sauna first, and then they started making dinner. Jiri and Mikke were the first to leave the sauna when it was the men’s turn, and when Juha and Tapio didn’t show up to eat, Katrina sent Jiri to hurry them along. When he arrived at the sauna, the commotion was in full swing.
“Dad was screaming at Tapio that he should leave Riikka alone. Tapio just said that Riikka was an adult and could do whatever she wanted. I’m not exactly sure what Tapio said next, but based on the sounds, somebody threw a piece of wood. All I could think of to do was go in and say it was time to eat. And it was good I did, because Tapio had already given Dad a bloody nose. I thought that stopped it, but what do I know? Maybe they started up again during the night. Dad got angry really easily when he was drunk.”
I was going to have to talk to Tapio Holma again, but first I wanted to interview Mikke. The object used to strike Juha Merivaara might be critical to investigating the murder. Maybe Mikke had seen it without realizing or maybe even moved it.
“Can I go now? We have an English test today. I don’t want to have to schedule to retake it.”
“One more thing, Jiri. What do you think about fur animals being let loose from their farms, even though it means they end up dying?”
Jiri looked a little surprised, but he answered quickly.
“If a few animals dying means saving hundreds more, if the farmers go bankrupt and have to stop murdering animals, that’s fine by me. Why do you ask? I wasn’t even in Turku over the weekend, and I don’t know who’s being doing strikes lately. And even if I did, don’t think I’d ever tell you. The fucking farmers have threatened to kill anyone who goes on their land. What do the police think about that, huh?”
“Death threats are always serious business,” I said, almost smiling because Jiri’s defiance was so serious and convincing. Then to top it all off, he refused a ride back to school in a police car—no need to pollute the Earth because of him. He could get back by bus, even though it meant changing three times.
I didn’t bother arguing with the kid’s principles, especially since I was hungry. I told Koivu I wanted to go back out to Rödskär Island. It would be dark by six, so we would have to get moving as quickly as possible. I wanted him, a couple of guys from Forensics, and Mikke Sjöberg.
“Try to get the boat. Don’t make that face. Just take some motion-sickness pills now so they can start working. But first, food. Let’s go down to the cafeteria.”
As we went out in the hall, my stomach growled almost as loudly as Jiri’s had. The noise from Interrogation Room 4 stopped us in our tracks, though. Shouting, a clatter, and a slapping sound.
“Ström, don’t!” There was distress in Puupponen’s voice. Koivu and I exchanged a glance and then rushed to the door. Koivu ripped it open and yelled.
Ström was giving Ari Väätäinen a right jab to the face, and Puupponen was trying in vain to pull him off. Väätäinen had raised his arms to protect his bleeding nose. Ström grabbed him by the right shoulder and slammed him against the table. Koivu and I jumped in to help Puupponen just as Ström was about to throw another punch. The men pulled him by the arms, and I got him by the waist.
“Ström, calm down!”
Ström turned toward me in a rage. He was dripping sweat, and his breath smelled of something sweet and alcoholic.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.
It was lucky I didn’t throw my own punch at Ström. Every cop knew what the consequences were of hitting a suspect during an interrogation. Ari Väätäinen’s face was a red mess. His nose was obviously broken, and blood ran onto the table and the old case files lying there.
“Koivu, get him to a doctor,” I said and handed Väätäinen a stack of tissues from the box on the table. Wiping his face, he whimpered in pain when Koivu took him by the shoulder and started leading him away. “Move the trip to Rödskär to tomorrow!” I yelled after him. Cleaning up this incident wasn’t going to be fast or easy.
“Interview interrupted at 12:04,” Puupponen said calmly into the recorder and then switched it off. Ström was still breathing hard, his chest and belly, which had expanded over his belt in the past few months, were heaving in a quick rhythm.
“What happened?” I asked Puupponen. He glanced at Ström a little hesitantly, which was surprising, because Puupponen detested Ström more than anyone else in our unit and was usually the first to gossip about his mistakes.
“I lost it with that fucking bastard’s disrespect,” Ström said himself. “Listen to the tape. I’m too tired to explain. I’m going for a smoke.”
“Come back when you’re done,” I said. Hopefully the nicotine would help him calm down.
I nodded to Puupponen, who started rewinding the tape. After a few seconds, Ari Väätäinen’s angry voice filled the room.
“The fucking whore said she just went to the store. She had two liters of milk in a bag, but it doesn’t take an hour to buy milk. She said she got stuck yakking with a neighbor lady, but I know she was lying. You can bet she was on her back somewhere.”
“So that’s why you hit your wife? Because she took too long at the grocery store?” Ström’s voice was angry in a different way than Väätäinen’s, carrying a threat that felt frightening even on a recording.
“Oh, I know all about your old lady too, Ström. Didn’t she leave you for some other guy a few years ago? All women are whores. Maybe they do it in the bedroom or maybe they’re like mine and they give it up in some back corner of the super—”
At that point a smack interrupted Väätäinen, followed by more sounds of the assault, exclamations of pain, and Puupponen’s fran
tic attempts to calm Ström down. “You bastard, I’m going to kill you,” were Ström’s final words on the tape before we rushed in.
Puupponen said that the interrogation had been very difficult. According to Väätäinen’s logic, beating his wife was completely justified because if he didn’t keep her under his fist, she would start lifting her skirt to every man that came along. Väätäinen even said outright that his wife didn’t dare divorce him because he had threatened to kill her and the children if she did. Those statements alone should have been enough for the prosecutor to finally put Väätäinen away for a few months, especially since he was already a repeat offender.
But even the obscenity of the things Väätäinen had said didn’t give Ström the right to hit a suspect.
“We all know this isn’t the first time Ström’s has lost his cool,” Puupponen said. Around the time of his divorce, Ström had been put on administrative leave for two weeks after hitting an offender in the eye with his handcuffs. Stories about minor incidents of violence were pretty much constant, but there had never been any consequences. Now there would be.
“There’s no way we can keep this quiet,” I said, more to myself than Puupponen. “Are you prepared to testify at the inquest?”
“Will it mean we finally get rid of Ström?” Puupponen asked, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of satisfaction in his voice.
“Lucky for me I don’t have to decide that. That’s a matter for the chief of police. First I’m going to talk to Taskinen, though.”
Ström returned, but didn’t look at either of us. He just stood by the door. The sweet stench of his breath was stronger, and to my horror I realized he had gone and drunk more booze.
“So the big boys haven’t showed up yet to gawk?” he said pretentiously, but I could see the fear in his eyes.
“Not yet, but you know this isn’t going to end here.”
Fatal Headwind Page 12
