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Suhonen was ready to make a joke about the last rites of a man on death row, but changed his mind when he saw the serious look on Salmela’s face. He sat down.

  “I couldn’t tell you this before, because it would’ve revealed the source, and things could’ve ended badly for the guy.”

  “Yeah?” Suhonen said, with interest.

  “Well, the guy got run over by a train a couple of weeks ago. Could’ve been suicide, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead either way. I don’t know if you can use this, but he used to have a cell mate in prison by the name of Nortti…”

  CHAPTER 10

  THURSDAY, 12:45 P.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  Nea Lind’s gray pants were impeccably pressed. She wore a matching gray jacket, a white blouse, and a new pair of shoes she’d bought in Rome. A dark overcoat was folded across her arm.

  She wanted to appear professional to her client and the police. Her goal was to make the top of the list of recommended attorneys in the Violent Crimes Unit, which would ensure a steady flow of clients. The only thing better was the Narcotics Unit; they often had as many as ten suspects per case, whereas the VCU only had one or two. Drug-related court hearings were also more complicated, which meant more billable hours. Her income was guaranteed because the state would pay if the criminals couldn’t afford it.

  The atrium of the temporary police headquarters reached up to the top floor. The building used to be a courthouse, and the architectural style created a lofty feeling of openness. Of course the police headquarters didn’t need that; rather it could’ve used something that depicted strength and wisdom, like a bronze statue of a police officer helping a child across the street. As it happened, an artist, who once had to wait too long in line for his passport, had already designed a statue called “Waiting.” The piece would depict a man sitting in a chair, frozen in time, holding a number slip in his hand. The electronic number on his slip would advance to the next one each time a person was called up, and he’d be stuck waiting forever. This statue could be replicated and placed in all the police stations in the country.

  A dozen people sat in the blue chairs in the first floor waiting room. On one side of the room were counters for passports and permits. On the other side, a glass wall with a locked door that led to the confines of the police department.

  During her career at the large law firm, Lind never set foot in a courtroom. Squabbles were solved by negotiation, and tax issues in the office of the Administrative Court. Companies didn’t want bad publicity, and agreements always included confidentiality clauses. The courthouse was for people’s small claims and debt collecting—and for criminal cases, of course. Now, Lind was particularly interested in the latter.

  Lind glanced at the wall to the number being served; it was 346. She’d waited for ten minutes and the number had gone up by two. The efficiency level at the police station was about the same as a hardware store, but better than the cable companies’ customer service.

  When she saw a brunette woman approaching in a black sweater, Lind picked up the computer case she had set at her feet. The ID badge around the woman’s neck confirmed she was a police officer. “Lind?” the officer asked, with a serious expression.

  “Yes,” Lind replied, and the officer introduced herself as Anna Joutsamo from the Violent Crimes Unit. As was customary, the attorney introduced herself, though the officer already knew her name. Lind thought Joutsamo’s firm handshake fit her persona.

  “Guess we haven’t met?” Joutsamo asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you handled criminal cases before?”

  Lind found the tone of the question a little condescending, but figured it was part of the process; straight to business, no beating around the bush.

  “Yes, for a little over a year.”

  “Is this your first homicide?”

  “Yes,” Lind said.

  “Welcome to our world. Contrary to common belief, it’s no glitz and glamour—quite the opposite actually. It’s not for everyone, but some of us are fascinated by it. I hope you like it,” Joutsamo said, and Lind thought she detected a faint smile on the woman’s lips.

  Joutsamo pointed to the front doors.

  “Your client is being held in the other building. You can chat with him there.”

  “Can you tell me about the case?” Lind asked as they stepped outside. Cars lined the street, accentuating the curve in the road. It was snowing, but this year’s snow hadn’t measured up to the past several winters.

  A few months ago Lind had asked an experienced colleague for advice, in case she ever got a homicide case. The main rule was that if the police talked freely, it meant the case was clear-cut, and the client was guilty. If, however, the police were closed-mouthed, establishing guilt and innocence would be more complicated.

  The women walked side by side briskly.

  “A twenty-six-year-old woman named Laura Vatanen was found dead in her North Haaga apartment yesterday morning. The victim had a relationship with your client, and we have reason to believe he killed her. At the moment we’re investigating it as a murder.”

  “Murder?”

  “Yes, at the moment. If we find out it wasn’t premeditated, or if there were mitigating circumstances, the charge could be changed to voluntary manslaughter. In Finnish law, the punishment for murder is life in prison, with a possibility of pardon after 12-14 years, and for voluntary manslaughter it’s 4-10 years,” Joutsamo explained and grew quiet.

  “I see,” Lind said, intrigued. The police were obviously holding back some details, so her job could prove to be quite interesting.

  “Your client’s fingerprints were in the apartment and he has no alibi. He and the victim had a sexual relationship, and we have other evidence as well. And your client knew how she was killed.”

  Now Lind thought the case might not be as intriguing as she’d assumed just a bit earlier.

  “Have you interrogated him?” she asked.

  “Once. He says he can’t remember anything about it, but that it’s possible he killed her. And like I said, he was able to tell us how she was killed, even though that information hasn’t been released.”

  “What was the method?”

  “The woman’s throat was slashed from ear to ear. The weapon hasn’t been found.”

  They reached the steps of the other building that was still under remodeling. Joutsamo flashed her ID card at the reader and let Lind in first.

  “What do you guys think the motive was?”

  Joutsamo shrugged and said, “No idea. Only the killer knows. Might’ve been an argument; it often is.”

  The officer led the attorney farther ahead through locked doors. The fluorescent lights cast a pale yellow hue on the wall, despite the bright paint.

  “By the way, what’s my client’s name?”

  “Jorma Korpivaara.”

  Lind jumped. “Korpivaara?”

  “Yeah. You know him?” Joutsamo asked, studying the attorney.

  Lind could tell the officer would see right through her and thought it best to be honest.

  “I used to know someone named Korpivaara, but I haven’t heard from him in twenty years. I wonder if it’s the same guy.”

  “You’ll soon find out,” Joutsamo said and paused. “I wondered why he picked you from the list of attorneys. Maybe because he knows you. Usually they’ll stop at a name they’ve heard on the news, or they don’t care and just ask for our recommendation.”

  “Yeah,” Lind said.

  “How did you know him?” Joutsamo asked as she opened the last door leading to the jail hallway.

  Lind didn’t answer.

  Joutsamo led the attorney into a small interrogation room and said the guard would bring Korpivaara in momentarily. Lind waited for two minutes before she heard a knock on the door.

  “Your client is here,” the hulky guard grunted as he let Korpivaara in. He asked if Lind wanted him to stay for safety reasons. Lind shook her head. The guard po
inted at a button by the door and said, “Push the emergency button if you need help.”

  Lind recognized Korpivaara immediately, despite the twenty-one years since their last meeting. She had calculated the years while she waited in the room.

  “Hi,” Korpivaara said from the door, with a hint of warmth in his voice.

  “Hello,” Lind said, in a cool, surprised tone.

  Korpivaara walked around to the far side of the table, looking like he’d done it many times before. The attorney stayed near the door.

  “You still remember me?” Korpivaara asked.

  “Of course I remember you,” Lind replied.

  “You’re looking pretty classy. Life must’ve been good to you. Mine’s not been so great.”

  Lind didn’t quite know what to say. She didn’t want to talk about the past. She was here as Jorma Korpivaara’s attorney. But she had to ask, “Why did you pick me?”

  “I dunno. I went through the list of names and saw yours. I just kinda said it.”

  “Yeah,” Lind said in a neutral tone. Good enough. Korpivaara could’ve called her over the years, if he had something to say to her; he didn’t need to pick her as his attorney for that.

  “Let’s get to the case. What’s your take on it?”

  “Take? What do you mean?”

  Lind was confused, “Well, what happened there?”

  Korpivaara looked miserable.

  “I can’t take these questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “The never-ending hashing and re-hashing of what happened.”

  “So what happened? I have to know what you think or I can’t defend you.”

  Korpivaara looked agonized.

  “What do I think? I’ve thought and thought about what might’ve happened, and there’s only one possible scenario. I think I went into the apartment, made some coffee, and talked with Laura about sex. Then she must’ve snapped somehow, and I must’ve grabbed a knife and for some odd reason slashed her throat.”

  “Do you know it—or just think so?”

  “I get a headache from just thinkin’ about it and other things as well. Hell, I do know it. That’s how it went. Get the woman cop in here, and we can be done with this shit. I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lind said. “It’s in your best interest to get to the bottom of this. You might get a lesser sentence if you cooperate. Besides, if that’s how it happened, you’d be charged with manslaughter, not murder.”

  “It’s all the same to me.”

  “Five years is not the same as fifteen.”

  Korpivaara looked solemn and stern, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “I wanna confess right now. Get the broad in here.”

  “But if…”

  “Nothing’s gonna change. I’ve thought about this. It needs to be this way; there’s no other option,” Korpivaara said.

  Lind was dumbfounded. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this, a man accused of a serious crime confessing as soon as his attorney shows up. The suspect was supposed to tell his version, plead innocent, and be given a chance to build a defense.

  “I…”

  “Now!” Korpivaara demanded. “I read in a pamphlet that the attorney has to obey the client’s wishes. And I want you to get the cop in here to interrogate me.”

  Lind shrugged and knocked on the door. She didn’t get it. Was Korpivaara trying to humiliate her? This wasn’t the best way to do it. After the confession, Lind would walk out of the front door and maybe head to the nearest bar for a cider, but Korpivaara would sit in prison for years.

  The guard came quickly.

  “Is Joutsamo still here?” Lind asked him.

  “She’s having coffee with us.”

  “Ask her to come in here.”

  Joutsamo showed up a minute later. “Well?” she asked.

  “My client wants to be interrogated now.”

  “Does he have something new to say?” Joutsamo asked.

  “Yes,” Lind replied.

  Joutsamo asked Lind and Korpivaara to follow her into the other interrogation room, where the microphones were set up. Joutsamo stated the date, the time of day, and the names of those present into the recorder.

  Lind watched the calm officer, who began by saying, “Jorma Korpivaara, you want to tell us something about the death of Laura Vatanen and your involvement in it?”

  Korpivaara looked calm.

  “Yeah, I killed her. I was at my place and then went to Laura’s apartment that morning and got in with my key. I was there for sex, and we were headed in that direction. I made some coffee and we talked about this and that. Then I suggested sex, and Laura lost it completely. She screamed and called me names and maybe tried to hit me. My mind went blank and I got a knife from the kitchen. Then I slashed her throat and left.”

  “Where is the knife now?”

  “I can’t remember. I had some sort of a blackout. I must’ve taken it somewhere.”

  Joutsamo turned to Lind.

  “Does the defense want to ask anything?”

  “Why do you want to tell us this now and in this way?’

  Korpivaara’s voice was quiet as he said, “I’ve been thinkin’… I can’t take it anymore. I just don’t have it. Can I go back to my cell now?”

  “Yes,” Joutsamo said and stopped the recording.

  The guard came in and took Korpivaara away.

  “That was quick,” Joutsamo said to Lind.

  The attorney didn’t reply.

  CHAPTER 11

  THURSDAY, 4:10 P.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  Joutsamo sat at her desk. Kulta and Kohonen were out, as was Suhonen. The four shared an office.

  She had headphones on as she typed up interrogations from the last few days.

  Joutsamo felt a tap on her shoulder and noticed Takamäki.

  “You got time to take a look at this?” the detective asked and handed her a sheet of paper.

  Joutsamo took it and read: “Police bulletin. In the late morning on Wednesday, a twenty-six-year-old woman was killed in an apartment located on Nӓyttelijӓ Street in North Haaga, Helsinki. Based on their investigation, the police detained several people. A forty-year-old man was arrested on Thursday as a suspect for manslaughter. He has confessed to the crime. The killing was preceded by an argument. Other suspects have been released.”

  “There’s the work of five people for two days, condensed into six sentences,” Joutsamo said with a snicker.

  “Sound okay to you?”

  “Yup,” Joutsamo said and put the headphones back on. There’d still be a lot to do, but she was glad the case had been solved quickly. She and Takamäki had talked about the charge and, based on Korpivaara’s confession, they decided on voluntary manslaughter. In the current judicial system even the most brutal acts of killing were considered manslaughter as long as they were not premeditated. If the man who executed three people in the McDonald’s drive-through in Porvoo last year was only sentenced for manslaughter, then this was no murder either.

  Niskala, Rautalampi, and Lahtela would be free to go by seven o’clock—before the twenty-four hour limit was up—since there were no grounds to arrest them. There was no reason to believe they were involved in the killing—on the contrary.

  “I think I’ll go for a run tonight,” Takamäki said.

  Joutsamo said she was going to bed early.

  * * *

  Nea Lind lay on her taupe sofa with her feet on the coffee table. She was comfortable in her gray sweatpants. Her forty-inch flat-screen TV was tuned to CNN news, but she wasn’t paying attention. In her hand she held a tall-stemmed glass filled with wine she had brought back from Rome.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Jorma Korpivaara. It wasn’t the past that bothered her, but the fact that he had picked her as his attorney and then acted the way he did. Of course she’d heard the stories of how oppressive prison walls can be

&nb
sp; Nea’s gaze wandered around the living room until her eyes focused on a picture on the light-blue wall. The colors in the picture were calm, maybe even dull. It revealed an organized chaos, just like the apartment, she thought, as her gaze shifted to the plates scattered on the walnut coffee table.

  Her packed suitcase still waited in the entry hall. She had taken a taxi from the airport to her office and then gone to the police station before coming home. She had piles of laundry to do.

  Lind lived alone. She’d dated and lived with an engineer for a while, but she didn’t like the way he wanted her to act as his doting mother and she left him.

  Thinking about Korpivaara, she wondered how his memory could come and go like that. It was possible, she thought, but she couldn’t dismiss the fact that he might have faked the initial memory loss. Something seemed amiss. Didn’t Korpivaara understand that she was on his side, trying to help him?

  Lind took a sip of the smooth wine and thought about their meeting in the interrogation room. She was waiting there when Korpivaara was brought in. They greeted each other, and Korpivaara recognized her immediately. Then he said life had treated them differently. It was true.

  This was perfectly normal, she thought, but suddenly realized that she had no idea of what normal was for a murder suspect.

  When Lind asked Korpivaara why he had picked her, he said his finger simply landed on her name. Was it as simple as that? Perhaps. Lind couldn’t say. She knew he’d been drunk, so it was probably just a quick thought. Picking someone he knew was a safe choice. That’s probably all it was.

  “What’s your take on it?” she had asked. Somehow the question cut him to the core, and Lind tried to figure out why.

  “What’s your take on it?”

  To Lind it seemed like a neutral question that addressed the suspect’s angle on the case.

  “Shit,” she said when it dawned on her. The question was neutral from the interrogator’s point of view, but not the suspect’s. The police had probably pressured Korpivaara, as was their custom, and now the attorney, who was supposed to be the guardian angel, showed up with the same attitude.

  Lind cursed again. It made sense that Korpivaara, who was suffering from memory problems, would’ve believed Joutsamo’s account. He perceived that his attorney was only asking for his version of it, as if she assumed the suspect was lying, just like the police did.