Wolves and Angels (21 page)

Koskinen and Pekki looked on silently as
the thirty-year-old beanpole
spread ferric oxide over the metal parts of the wheelchair with a brush that looked like it should be used with face powder. The reddish dust Mäkitalo was applying made any fingerprints stand out, even to the naked eye.

Koskinen noticed how their presence interfered with Mäkitalo’s concentration and knew that in a similar situation, Palo and Sweetpea Jalonen would have shooed them farther away. But Mäkitalo was shy. He pressed a thin strip of plastic over the powder he had brushed on. The ferric oxide and prints recorded in it were transferred onto the plastic film. Mäkitalo attached the strips one after another to a sheet of cardboard, noting next to each its location on the chair.

Koskinen glanced at Pekki, guessing that they were
both thinking the same thing. Pekki said it out loud first.

“Most of the prints were left by those little brats.”

“Should we get their prints for comparison?”

“You’re not suggesting that we march down to the school and order the kids to put their mitts up on the counter. Can you imagine the stink that would cause? The boys might look like heroes to all their pals, but their parents would haul us into court for disturbing the emotional development of their children.”

Mäkitalo had heard their whispering. He took out a magnifying glass and for a moment inspected the fingerprints he had recorded on the cardboard.

“It’s obvious just looking at them which ones are kids’ paw prints. No need to worry—there are grown-up ones here too.”

Koskinen looked at the chair, brow furrowed. “By the way, are you sure this is the right one?”

Pekki looked at Koskinen open-mouthed and adjusted the position of his glasses as if he wanted to see into his boss’s brain. “What do you mean ‘right’?”

“Are you sure this is Raimo
Timonen
’s wheelchair?”

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Well, anyone else’s.”

“Are you trying to say that disabled people lose their wheelchairs often? Like they come home and whack themsel
ves on the forehead saying, ‘Damn
it, where did I leave it this time?’”

Koskinen’s expression told Pekki that it would be best to simply answer. “Yes, it’s the right one. If you look closely, the backrest has
Timonen
’s name, address,
and blood type written on it, just like on a rally car.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Koskinen grunted. He didn’t want to disturb Mäkitalo’s work, but he was also impatient. “When do you think the results will be ready?”

“You’ll have a preliminary report by tonight,” Mäkitalo said with self-assurance. “Uniforms already got comparison prints from the nurses at Wolf House.”

Obviously the nurses’ prints would show up on the chair. Their only hope was that one of the fingerprints on the chair would find a match in the National Bureau of Investigation database.

Then Koskinen remembered his visit to Peltolammi—they would
also
have to get prints from Pike. If her prints were on the chair, she would have some explaining to do. It had been a while now since she was fired from Wolf House, and she said herself that she hadn’t seen her friend Raymond since then.

Koskinen and Pekki left Mäkitalo to continue his dusting. It was work that demanded skill and extreme precision; there was no point having extra people standing there bothering him.

“How has the other case been going?” Koskinen asked in the hallway.

Pekki shook his head sullenly. “We’re still completely in the dark on the Ikuri case. Adolf Kantola still doesn’t remember anything about that night. According to the doctors, the cancer has progressed so far that his brain isn’t functioning normally anymore. The blow to his head wasn’t actually all that hard. If the old man had been healthy, he wouldn’t have even lost consciousness.”

“Do you still think we’re dealing with the same guy as in
Timonen
’s case?

“Nothing has turned up that would rule it out,” Pekki said and then looked at Koskinen inquiringly.

“What have you been up to yourself? That new little assistant of yours was as wound up as an elf who had just lost Santa Claus.”

Koskinen told about his idea of investigating the role in
Timonen
’s death of the boy on the motorcycle. He described his visit to the hospital, the boy’s critical condition and the mother’s mourning vigil.

That sobered Pekki up too. He brushed his black, stiff hair back with both hands. It was a wasted effort, because even a comb could not have made it neat. However, the gesture revealed how even Pekki’s emotions could sometimes well up.

“Bad deal.”He grimaced as if to use that to check his emotions.
“But crying won’t get you anywhere in this market. We have to interview her in case she knows something about what tricks her son’s been up to lately.”

“That we will not do,” Koskinen snapped, already regretting that he had brought up the subject at all. He poked himself in the chest with his forefinger. “The only person who is going to have anything to do with her is me. Is that clear?”

Pekki looked at Koskinen, stupefied, but then nodded assent anyhow. Koskinen quickly moved on to another topic. He told about his meeting with Pike and recounted her frank words about the weak-nerved nurses at Wolf House and the lovelorn residents. He also mentioned the tidbit about the handicap taxi driver Ilmari Laine.

“So the boys had chicks coming in all the way from
the capital,” Pekki said, chortling. “That broad is a regular master of orgies!”

But then he grew serious and pointed at Koskinen. “Issue an arrest warrant for that cabbie. There’s too much evidence against him. We know he visited Wolf House on the night of the murder. When you add this taxi voucher scam and the death threats against
Timonen
, isn’t that enough for probable cause?”

Pekki’s emphatic tone irritated Koskinen. “No, it isn’t!”

“Of course not,” Pekki said, getting hot under the collar. “I should have guessed! Our dear boss: Koskinen the Merciful, patron saint of Hervanta!”

Pekki strode off angrily
toward
the lobby, shouting over his shoulder, “I don’t have time to stand around here dickering all day. I’ve got better things to do.”

Pekki disappeared into the stairwell; Koskinen stayed to wait for the elevator. He went up to three, but didn’t make it to his office undisturbed this time either. Milla attacked him from her cubicle with a yellow sticky note in her hand.

“Another call request came for you, and this time I remembered to write down the caller’s name.”

Milla emphasized the word “remembered” with a sly twinkle in her eye. Koskinen took the note from her hand. Under the number was the name Taru Eskola, and Koskinen felt a pleasant tickle in
the
pit
of his stomach. What could his old secretary want to talk about?

He thanked Milla and then flipped the antenna on her hat with his forefinger. “Doing!”

There was no way that could be counted as sexual
harassment. But still the small, perky secretary stared after the cheerful lieutenant with eyes wide in astonishment. Koskinen disappeared into his office and straightened his posture as if he owned a videophone. He dialed the number written on the paper. The call was answered immediately.

“Hello, this is Taru.”

“Hi, Sakari here! You called.”

“Yes, I did,” Taru replied, and Koskinen could tell from her voice that whatever she had to say, it wasn’t good news.

Taru confirmed this right away. “I almost didn’t dare
to
call.”

“Why not?” Koskinen said, surprised. “You should know you can call me any time about anything.”

“I know...but this is so hard...”

“Go ahead,” Koskinen said, trying to sound supportive.

A deep sigh came from the receiver. “You’re so nice. That’s why I did dare to call in the end. I always enjoyed working with you, and we both liked each other.”

Taru’s words rang with contradiction in Koskinen’s ears—on one hand they warmed his heart, but on the other hand they stung. Once there had been something small,
a tiny spark between them, and
Koskinen
would’ve
had
a chance. Despite a ten-
year age difference, Taru
had shown open interest toward
him and made it clear that it could lead to something more. However, Koskinen hadn’t taken the opportunity, and when a young new officer had shown up in the department, Taru had stopped waiting.

Taru and Antti Eskola had quickly fallen in love, and it seemed like their relationship was thriving, at least to the outside. Had cracks started to form in their marital bliss? Was Taru’s phone call about that? Koskinen’s thoughts were running wild. The situation would be so different now—Emilia had left him, and he didn’t have anyone.

“Well, okay, I’ll just say it,” came from the handset after a long silence.

Koskinen encouraged her. “Go ahead, say it then!”

“I’m worried about Antti.”

“Really?” Koskinen’s posture slumped. “Why?”

“It seems like he’s being picked on at work.”

“Picked on? Here?”

“Not by you,” Taru corrected quickly. “Antti said that he gets along fine with you, but the others…”

Koskinen h
ad to admit that she was right—
Antti Eskola was always being teased. Sometimes Koskinen got caught up in the taunting too, even though Taru had just said otherwise.

Obviously Taru interpreted Koskinen’s silence incorrectly.

She
sighed.
“Oh
great.
Now
I’ve
gone
and
done it...”

“No, no, not at all,” Koskinen said. “I’m glad you called, but what can I do? Should I talk to the guys?”

“Under no circumstances!” Taru exclaimed into the phone.
“If
Antti
finds
out
that
I
called,
he’ll
be
so
angry.”

Koskinen understood. Some things you just didn’t talk about…at least not at a police station.

“Has Eskola…Antti said anything about the teasing?”

“No, not directly, but I can read between the lines. Sometimes he’s so miserable when he comes home from work. He says he always gets the least important and most unpleasant jobs. A little while ago he called home and said that Pekki had just ordered him to go to some bar to do interviews.”

Koskinen squeezed his eyes shut. In fact it was he who had ordered Eskola there.

“Antti can’t even sleep anymore,” Taru continued. “He’s always so tired, and then that affects everything else, you know?”

“I know,” Koskinen said, grimacing at the phone like an angry dog. “I know.”

“And now on top of it all there’s been all the talk about outsourcing,” Taru said in an even more frantic tone of voice. “Antti’s afraid that he’ll be the first one to go.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. It’ll never affect the Violent Crimes Unit.”

Koskinen’s words were a clumsy attempt at solace. Taru just kept unloading her distress. “It would just be so
horrible
for
him
because
he
had
to
leave
the
army too.”

“Had to?”

“Yes,” Taru sobbed. “He got bullied there too.”

Koskinen heard a quiet, choked crying on the other end of the line. He remembered a number of times when Taru had cried against his chest over something that had been so small in retrospect. He still remembered the saltiness of her tears. He made a quick decision.

“I promise you that the bullying will stop. I won’t mention this phone call to anyone, but I’ll handle it somehow. Delicately.”

He heard a relieved sniffle. “Thank you, Sakari! I knew I could
trust
you.”

Koskinen hung up the phone, but he wasn’t at all sure of his own trustworthiness. To the contrary, he felt overwhelmingly helpless. How could he do anything about
it?
In
any
case,
it certainly
wasn’t
going
to
be easy.

Although, after the promise he had made to Taru, he couldn’t back out.

Uncharacteristically, he began biting his nails. These were exactly the kinds of situations in which he used to ask his wife for help. Emilia had
always been able to
come up with the right answers to things, almost without exception
.
He missed her so much sometimes
.

Luckily he thought of someone else he could ask for advice. Koskinen stood up from behind his desk and walked out into the hall. After about thirty feet, he saw two names on the second-to-last door, one above the other: Officer Kaatio and Officer Lundelin.