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  “I dunno if it was good or bad, it’s just the way it was. And she did enjoy the sex.”

  “With all of you?”

  “One at a time. We’re gentlemen, after all.”

  Gentlemen my ass, Joutsamo thought. “What was the relationship between Korpivaara and Vatanen?”

  “The same as it was between me and Darling.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed her?” Joutsamo asked, keeping a cool face.

  “I dunno. I do know it wasn’t me.”

  “Oh really? Your fingerprints were found at the crime scene. What do you say to that?”

  “What?” Niskala wondered. “They must be old… that’s all I can think of.”

  “When was the last time you were in her apartment?”

  Niskala thought for a minute. “Maybe a week ago, I’m not sure. All my days blur together.”

  “Where were you yesterday morning?”

  Niskala smiled. “I’m glad you asked. I have an alibi.”

  “What alibi?” Joutsamo wondered why it had taken him so long to mention it.

  “I was painting this guy’s apartment in Hertsikka.”

  “By yourself?”

  “No, with Mika.”

  “Who is Mika?”

  Niskala told her the guy’s last name and said the number was in his cell phone.

  “He called me the night before and asked me to give him a hand. I said I’d do it, and Mika picked me up from Haaga around ten. We were there painting the apartment until about three.”

  Joutsamo felt stupid. Was Niskala playing her the whole time, not bringing up his alibi right away? It seemed the guy pretended to be tougher than he was, and got scared when he realized the officer meant business.

  CHAPTER 8

  THURSDAY, 12:00 NOON

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  The whiteboard showed a timeline beginning the day before the murder. Below it were several lines, the top one listing Laura Vatanen’s comings and goings and then the names of Korpivaara, Niskala, two other suspects, and the mother. Everyone’s photos were attached to one side.

  Takamäki, in a gray cardigan over a white dress shirt, glanced at his watch. The meeting was scheduled for noon.

  “Let’s get started,” the detective lieutenant suggested.

  “Suhonen isn’t here,” Kulta remarked. Kirsi Kohonen sat beside Kulta, yawning. They’d had a long night and she’d slept lousy. The stench from the garbage lingered in her nose.

  “He won’t be here,” Takamäki said.

  “Why not?”

  “He went to the hospital,” Takamäki said with a somber face.

  “What for?” Joutsamo asked.

  “No idea, to be honest. He just told me he was going to Meilahti Hospital.”

  “Oh. Hope he’s okay,” Joutsamo thought out loud. It wasn’t uncommon for the police to stop by the hospital to question assault victims, but then they usually knew why their colleagues were there.

  “Back to the case,” Takamäki said. “Anna, give us an update.”

  The sergeant nodded. It was just the four of them since Nyberg wasn’t there either. A while back Leif had reserved a spa weekend in Turku for his wife and him. The case was in relatively good shape so Nyberg got to have his weekend off. That meant at least one well-rested investigator on Monday.

  Everyone present knew the basic facts, so, instead of starting from square one, Joutsamo began with the crime scene.

  “The Forensics team is done. The door had the fingerprints of seven individuals. One set was Vatanen’s and two belonged to the patrol officers. The fourth set is the mother’s and the other two are from Korpivaara and Niskala. The last set of prints is from Mikael Aarnio, a man who lives in the complex.”

  “Aarnio, the 3 A.M. garbage bag guy?” Kulta pondered out loud.

  “Yeah, but we’ll get back to him in a minute,” Joutsamo said. “The prints inside the apartment belong to Vatanen, Niskala, Korpivaara, and the mother.”

  “Course it’s possible that the killer wore gloves and their prints are neither on the door nor in the apartment,” Takamäki pitched in.

  “Of course,” Joutsamo agreed. “In any case, the prints on the coffeemaker are the strongest evidence we have. Korpivaara’s prints were also found on the coffee pot. Forensics will see if we can determine based on the consistency of coffee how long the machine had been on.”

  “The smell of coffee in the apartment should tell us something, anyway,” Kulta said.

  “We’ll find out later. We have numerous DNA samples from the apartment, but we won’t get the results for a couple of days. Otherwise the apartment was nearly spotless, since the mother had cleaned it that morning.”

  “Can we rule out the mother?” Takamäki asked.

  Joutsamo shook her head.

  “Yes and no. She told us about the arguments she and her daughter had, and that presents a motive. According to the medical examiner the time of death falls between nine and eleven, and the mother was in the apartment during that time frame. So she had the opportunity. On the other hand, she was cleaning and would probably have switched off the coffeemaker had it been on from the night before. She did the dishes there, too,” Joutsamo recounted.

  “Unless she’s the one who forgot to turn it off,” Kulta inserted.

  “Marjaana Vatanen didn’t drink coffee,” Joutsamo said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “She said so. And I checked her kitchen—she doesn’t have a coffeemaker.”

  “Maybe she drinks instant,” Kulta tried. “Oh well…”

  Joutsamo went over other details. The blood on the rug in the entryway matched Laura Vatanen’s blood type. The victim had not been moved, which means that the killer had transported the blood onto the rug. Vatanen was not raped, and no drugs or alcohol were detected. The information from the phone company confirmed that Laura Vatanen had called Korpivaara the night before and the next call was from her mother. The call after that was from Iina Ridanpӓӓ, around 11 A.M. During all those calls Laura Vatanen’s phone had been connected to a cell tower near Nӓyttelijӓ Street, so Vatanen probably stayed at home the night before her murder.

  They’d ask Korpivaara about Laura’s call and about his calls to the Alamo gang that morning. The stains found in Korpivaara’s bathroom sink turned out to be semen, and as soon as the DNA results were in they’d know whose it was.

  Joutsamo went on. “The main suspect is definitely Jorma Korpivaara, the apartment complex custodian, who unlocked the door for the police yesterday morning. His fingerprints on the door and the coffeemaker prove that he was in the apartment. Right off the bat, the man lied about his whereabouts that morning, and he has no alibi. He has some sort of a sick infatuation for Laura. But the most incriminating factors are his partial confession during the interrogation and the fact that he knew how Laura was killed. Also, we found a bloody towel at his place—the same brand as the ones in Vatanen’s apartment.”

  “Whose blood was on it?” Takamäki asked.

  “We don’t know yet for sure. The man could’ve cut his finger during the killing. As you know, Korpivaara had a sexual relationship with Vatanen and we found photos of her in his apartment.”

  “Along with a bunch of other porn,” Kulta added.

  “The motive could have to do with sex—or more likely the lack of it—because the men said she was unpredictable.”

  Takamäki nodded. “It definitely looks like we have the killer in custody.”

  Ignoring Takamäki’s comment, Joutsamo said, “A plastic bag containing blood-stained scraps of fabric was found in the nearby woods last night. We also found another plastic bag with bloody paper towels in one of the trash containers. We’re still investigating those. They might not have anything to do with the case; we’re still waiting on the results.”

  “Yup,” Kohonen said. “I went to the thicket this morning. Forensics is over there now. They found some footprints, but most of them are from Aarn
io, the guy who found the bag. The snow is making a mess out there, and it’s supposed to snow more this afternoon.”

  “Who’s this Aarnio?” Takamäki asked.

  Joutsamo looked at her papers and said, “He lives in the building. His prints were on Vatanen’s door.”

  “He said he was a construction worker,” Kohonen added. “He’s got an angry Rottweiler. We got his prints when we did the rounds in the apartments.”

  “The man’s record only shows a couple of traffic violations,” Kulta said.

  “Okay,” Takamäki said. “Tell us more about Korpivaara’s interrogation. What do you mean by a partial confession?”

  “In the interview last night, Korpivaara denied everything. But now he claimed he suffered from memory lapses, and suddenly admitted that it was possible he could have been in the apartment. The most notable part is that he knew how Vatanen was killed.”

  “Did Korpivaara go inside the apartment when he unlocked the door for the police?” Takamäki asked.

  “No. I checked with Partio. They didn’t let him in.”

  “Anyone talk about the slashing in the stairwell?”

  Joutsamo shook her head.

  “Not while we were there. The officers said they didn’t, either. Of course we have no tapes to go by.”

  “Okay,” Takamäki said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a killer.”

  “Korpivaara had the opportunity and the motive to do it.”

  “What about the means?” Kulta asked.

  “I think he had that too,” Joutsamo said as her phone rang. She answered it and listened for a minute before saying she’d be in the lobby shortly. The others gave her a quizzical look.

  “Korpivaara’s attorney is downstairs and she wants to meet her client.”

  “Alright,” Takamäki said. “We’ll arrest Korpivaara and evaluate the other three later this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, we’ll need to keep going… Still a lot to uncover,” Joutsamo said, handing a check list to Kulta and Kohonen.

  “We’ll get help from other teams,” Takamäki said and ended the meeting.

  CHAPTER 9

  THURSDAY, 12:40 P.M.

  MEILAHTI HOSPITAL, HELSINKI

  Suhonen parked his car in the underground garage. The hospital parking lot had reserved spaces for police cars, but this visit wasn’t work related. Suhonen didn’t mind paying a euro or two.

  He had visited the large hospital several times and was familiar with all the buildings and wards. This time he was going to the new triangle-shaped structure adjacent to the main hospital.

  Suhonen passed the information desk in the large atrium, heading straight to the sunlit lobby. He walked by the lockers but decided to leave his leather jacket on. His Glock was tucked in the shoulder holster as usual; he could’ve left it in the car, but that wasn’t his style.

  He climbed the steps from the lobby’s white tile onto dark granite flooring, and got into the elevator.

  His mind was blank. He had called his old buddy, Eero Salmela, who had told him he’d suffered a severe heart attack and was hospitalized. It had been a close call.

  At first Suhonen didn’t know what to say. But since Salmela seemed calm, Suhonen asked if he could visit. He asked Salmela why he hadn’t called; Salmela said he just hadn’t felt up to it.

  The elevator took Suhonen to one of the top floors. He and Eero had been friends since their childhood in Lahti, a town about sixty miles north of Helsinki. Despite the fact that one of them became a criminal and the other a cop, they remained fast friends. Salmela had given the police good leads over the years, and Suhonen had gotten his friend off the hook now and then.

  Suhonen stepped out of the elevator and followed the sign to the left. He opened the door into a large lobby. A nurse sat behind a small window on the side, minding her own business. He was surprised no one had asked him anything. He squirted some hand sanitizer from the dispenser, rubbed his hands together, and walked halfway down the long corridor.

  The taupe and wood tones lent a stylish feel to the place, reminding him of a large hotel. He thought to himself that paying taxes was worthwhile if it made public health care look like this.

  Suhonen found Salmela’s room and knocked. He heard a faint answer and opened the door. The shower was running, and a blonde nurse was making the bed. Behind the curtain was another bed. Salmela was standing in front of the large window, looking out at the hospital’s front yard and the medevac pad.

  “What’s up?” Suhonen asked.

  “More like down,” Salmela said as he turned. The forty-year-old had a slight twinkle in his eye, but he looked worn out. “No need to shake hands—I’m not going anywhere quite yet.”

  “Well, you’re still alive and kicking anyway,” Suhonen said.

  Five years ago Salmela was a mid-level criminal, hustling stolen goods in Helsinki. Now he looked like only a shadow of the man he had been in his trademark lambskin coat.

  “My roommate’s in the shower. He’s here for the same thing. But let’s go to the cafeteria.”

  “They’re having a worship service in there at one,” the nurse remarked.

  Suhonen walked into the hall and Salmela followed, taking short steps.

  “I’ve been looking into the numbers,” Salmela began. “Every year twenty-five thousand people in Finland suffer heart attacks. Seven thousand of them die before reaching a hospital and six thousand die in a hospital.”

  “In other words, half of them make it, like you did,” Suhonen said, trying for a cheerful tone.

  “That’s the same percentage as junkies in debt,” Salmela said with a chuckle. “And their odds are getting tougher. A guy I know called me yesterday and said a dealer is out there collecting all his debts. I’m sure you guys will get some work out of it, too.”

  Suhonen let out a small laugh. Naturally, even in the hospital, Salmela got wind of the underworld rumors.

  “Who is it?”

  “I didn’t ask… You understand, right. I’d tell you if I knew. Ain’t got too much left to hide. They say heart attacks tend to recur.”

  A few nurses and robed patients walked by.

  “What were you doing here in Helsinki?” Suhonen asked. Salmela had been living up north in Oulu for a couple of years now.

  “I came to see a buddy of mine; we had some drinks, and I stayed over in his apartment. The next morning when I went to get bread from the corner store, I was tired as hell and suddenly got a terrible pain in my chest. Next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital. Someone happened to walk by and called an ambulance.”

  “Good thing they did.”

  The men sat down in a small area behind a glass wall where there were half a dozen tables and a sofa.

  “They’re takin’ good care of me here. I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t paid any taxes in years.”

  “No need to worry about that,” Suhonen said with a smirk.

  Salmela told him about the pain killers, examinations, and equipment monitoring his condition. He said he was supposed to make some lifestyle changes, too.

  “I always thought this sort of thing only happened to people over seventy. I’m still young.”

  Salmela’s life had been a roller coaster. He’d been a hardened criminal, but his downward slide began when his son was shot in a drug deal gone bad in 2005. Salmela had been swindled in another drug deal by the notorious motorcycle gang Skulls. He had helped the police with an operation, which resulted in head injuries from being attacked with an iron pipe while in prison. It took him a couple of years to recover, and his life returned to normalcy when he rekindled an old flame and found out he had a twenty-year-old daughter.

  Everything was finally going well, and then the heart attack. But Salmela was tough—he’d get through this, Suhonen mused.

  “How’s Salla?” Suhonen asked. The girl had given Salmela some heartaches over the past few years.

  “She’s doing well. Moved to Berlin last winter and is studying somethi
ng media-related. I’m not sure exactly what. She can afford to live over there. I haven’t told her about this yet.”

  “You should. She’d come see you right away.”

  “Yeah,” Salmela said quietly. A tear blurred his vision. “You know, Marita and I decided to get married, come January. Nothing big, just at the courthouse. We were gonna invite you. We were gonna honeymoon in Berlin and see our daughter. But now, thinking about the close call, I’m a little scared of what’s next. I’m not afraid of dying, but things are looking up for once, and I’m actually enjoying life.”

  “You’ll change your lifestyle, take the meds, and it’s all going to be alright.”

  The men sat in silence for a moment.

  “One thing I gotta tell you,” Salmela said after a while. “In case I end up having another episode. Remember that night in Lahti?”

  “Of course,” Suhonen replied. They had both been in a youth gang involved in attic break-ins. One night Suhonen stayed home with a fever, and that’s when the others were nabbed by the police, sending Salmela down the career track of a criminal.

  “I never told you this, but that night when the cops questioned me, I snitched on you. I told them you’d been in on the other gigs.”

  Suhonen was confused. Over the years everybody, including Salmela, had insisted they never told the cops about his involvement, and that’s why he’d stayed scot-free.

  “They pressured me and threatened to throw me in jail, and I was so green I believed them. So I spilled it about you.”

  “They never came after me.”

  “I know, and I’ve always wondered why.”

  “Maybe they just got busy with something else.”

  “Yeah, hard to say.”

  A female pastor came into the room, cloaked in a purple robe.

  “Excuse me, we’re about to start a service here. You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

  “No, thank you,” Salmela said, getting up gingerly.

  He headed out, sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the hallway and said, “Let’s talk some more. I don’t feel like watching TV… I got somethin’ else I need to tell you.”