Wolves and Angels (8 page)

Koskinen turned the page. But the peace negotiations in the Middle East didn’t interest him, and his thoughts were still tied up with the case. If they didn’t start getting some tips soon, the amount of work ahead of them would be agonizing.

His phone started ringing under the paper. Koskinen groped for it, and, once he got it into his hand, the caller ID told him who was calling.

“You
’re
at the office already?” he
blurted
without saying good morning.

“Niininen called at four thirty,” Pekki answered in a gruff voice. “We got another fun one.”

Koskinen’s blood went cold.
“The same or what?”

“Not exactly. And this one’s still breathing, but
just
barely.”

“Are there any other similarities?”

“Not really. He was walloped with something a little harder than a pillow—skull
’
s smashed to bits.”

Even though Koskinen couldn’t see it, he knew how Pekki was leafing through his notebook.

“Seventy-year-old
male.
Found
in
his
own
yard
in Ikuri.”

“Who found him?”

“Paperboy.”

“Any leads on a suspect?”

“None at all,” Pekki grunted. “Riipinen just called from the scene. The man lived alone and even the nearest neighbors didn’t hear or see anything.”

“Of course,” Koskinen sighed. “Get Forensics to work. I’ll be there soon—”

“That’s not all,” Pekki interrupted. “We got our first break on that
mess
from the other night.”

“Really?” Koskinen was excited. “From where?”

“Some home for invalids.”

“But we called all of them yesterday afternoon.”

“Yeah, we did, but it was a different person on the
phone. She claimed the description
in the paper
fits one of their patients.”

“Send someone over to check.”

“That’s just the shitty thing about it. I have to go over to Ikuri and relieve Riipinen so he can go home and sleep.”

“And what about Kaatio and Eskola?”

“They’re not here yet, and Ulla is out today.”

“Where?”

“At the doctor,” Pekki said
irately.
“You gave her permission yourself.”

“Oh, yeah,” Koskinen said, his concern for his co
-
worker being revived. “You don’t happen to know why Ulla went to the doctor?”

“She wouldn’t say, but it’s probably just women’s troubles.”

For some reason Pekki’s response irritated Koskinen.

“I’ll go over the
re then.
Just tell me the address,” he said curtly.

Apparently Pekki didn’t notice Koskinen’s sudden aggravation.

“
The name of the home is Wolf House.
It’s on Susi Street in Kissanmaa.
M
ake sure
you’re
up on
your
rabies vaccine
s,
”
Pekki laughed.

Koskinen didn’t feel like joining in Pekki’s merriment
, and hung up
. He folded up the newspaper and rinsed his dishes. Patches of mold had appeared on the potato bread overnight. He shoved it into a trash bag with the rancid margarine and headed out with it.

Wednesday was turning out to be dry and warm, more beautiful than average for the last week of September. And his bicycle hadn’t even been stolen from the wall of the building
over
night.

In a good mood, Koskinen set off pedaling, and started to plan out his day. Before retriev
ing
a car from the police garage for his trip to
the Wolf House
, he
would
need to advise Taru’s new stand-in about her tasks for the day.

That thought immediately darkened his mood.

He coasted the couple of miles down the bike path before realizing that the only reason he needed to
go to
the station was for the picture of the corpse.
But
Forensics had
already
distributed a touched-up picture of the victim’s face to everyone involved in the investigation. He stopped, took his backpack off, and whistled in satisfaction. He had put the picture in his notebook the night before, and he always kept the notebook on him.

He jumped back on his bike and didn’t turn, as he usually did,
toward
the station, instead continuing on the bike path
toward
Kissanmaa. He cut through the ice rink parking lot and turned onto
Susi Street
at five minutes to eight.

Wolf House was easy to find. It was an elongated wooden building reminiscent of an old village school. The grounds weren’t anything like a school’s, though—no children, basketball hoops
,
or playground equipment. The left wing of the building was one level, and the right wing, built on a gradual slope, was two storied. In the middle was a covered entrance with
double
glass doors.

Koskinen dismounted and walked his bicycle into the yard. Two men were sitting by the door smoking. They
looked at the visitor curiously, but sat motionless even though he nodded a friendly good morning to them. Finally, each backed up his wheelchair a little to the side and continued
their silent puffing
.

The door, which lacked a threshold, opened onto a spacious lobby with long hallways leading off in both directions. In the corner on the right was a wide elevator door, and next to it stairs led down to the lower level. The walls were painted in lifeless colors, and the bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling added to the institutional feeling of the building.

The wall opposite the entrance was broken by another wide,
double
glass door. A woman dressed in a light green scrub dress stepped through the doors into the lobby looking like she was expecting someone to arrive. However, her steps slowed, and she looked at Koskinen and his windbreaker suit skeptically.

Koskinen removed his baseball cap and wiped his palm on it.

“Lieutenant Koskinen, Violent Crimes Unit.”

The woman extended her hand hesitantly. “Lea Kalenius.”

Kalenius’ timid expression did not go unnoticed. She sized him up, from his tennis shoes all the way up to his sweaty hairline. He didn’t have to wonder why.

He didn’t start digging for his badge, instead getting straight down to business.

“Was it you who called the police this morning?”

Her chestnut eyes grew even more skittish. “Yes.”

Koskinen
took
his
backpack
off.
“Where
can
we talk?”

“Let’s go into the dayroom.”

Kalenius turned and opened the same double doors she had just walked through. They led into a large, open room. The sun was shining in through tall windows, making it a cheerful space. A serving counter stood on the other side of the room, and behind it two women wearing hairnets. The room contained about a dozen tables
,
and there were people in wheelchairs grouped around all of them. Most of them seemed to manage on their own, but there were also a few who needed assistance. A woman with brisk movements was feeding one
who seemed
like a helpless young bird
,
and three more
were
waiting their turns.

“Let’s sit here off to the side,” Kalenius said and offered Koskinen a chair at a corner table. “We won’t be bothered here, and no one can listen in.”

Koskinen dug the photograph out of his backpack and set it on the table in front of her. Her expression immediately revealed that he was in the right place. The skin over her cheekbones tightened, her eyes widened, and her chest began heaving intensely. Koskinen dug a pen out of his backpack and let the woman collect her feelings in peace.

On the table was a smoke-blue vase with an arrangement of white chamomile and heather. Kalenius lifted her eyes from the photograph to the flowers. It took a long time before she was able to speak.

“It’s Raymond.”

“Raymond?”

“Raimo
Timonen
. Everyone here called him Raymond.”

Koskinen wrote the name down.

“When did you see him last?”

Apparently she had already thought about it earlier, because she answered immediately. “The day before yesterday. On Monday. He was sitting in his wheelchair in the yard and motored all the way down to the curb when I left work at three thirty.”

“How did he seem then?”

Kalenius pursed her full lips in thought.

“Normal...yelled something funny.”

“Funny?”

Apparently she hadn’t expected the follow-up, because her face flushed up to her high cheek bones.

“He shouted something about not wearing out my rear end,” she said self-consciously and added a quick explanation: “I ride my bike to work.”

Koskinen held back a smile.

“Why didn’t you report this Raimo
Timonen
missing?” he asked sternly.

“We didn’t know he was missing,” Kalenius answered just as brusquely. “Even though this institution is maintained by the city, people live here just like anyone else in their own home. Everyone has their own rental apartment with a room and a kitchen. They can come and go as they please and be away as long as they like.”

“Was he away often?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head, which
made her thick copper-tinted hair swing loosely. “Sometimes he would go visit his sister in Lempäälä.”

She guessed Koskinen’s next question and continued quickly: “He didn’t have any other family as far as I know.”

“Aren’t residents supposed to give notice when they leave?” Koskinen asked, his brow furrowed. “For example, for head counts for dinner, et cetera.”

“Yes, they are supposed to, but many of them forget. And besides...”

Kalenius stopped, thinking about what she had to say, and Koskinen hurried her along impatiently.

“Yes, besides what?”

“As I remember, someone said that Laine had picked Raymond up late Monday night.”

“Who
’
s Laine?”

“He drives a handicap taxi.”

Koskinen noted the name and then looked at Kalenius sternly
.
“Yesterday we called every institution like
yours
in
the
Tampere a
rea
to check if all of their patients were accounted for. Why didn’t you look into Raymond’s whereabouts then?”

Kalenius cocked her head and, emphasizing each word, said, “First, we don’t have any patients or charges here. They are residents. And secondly, that call obviously came after three o’clock. Had I been here myself, I certainly would have investigated the matter thoroughly.”

“Who was working then?”

In reply Koskinen received an angry shake of her
head.
“Kaarina Kauppila. She’s completely useless…
S
he’d forget to tell you if the other half of the building was on fire.”

“Is that so?” Koskinen said, deep in thought, adding the new name to his list. Suddenly he looked up. “Are you the director of this place?”

He saw Kalenius smile for the first time
.

“No, of course not. I’m just a regular nurse.”

“But you could tell me what really goes on here.”

“Sure,” she said, laughing mirthlessly. “Where should I start?”

“Maybe with the staff.”

“There are seven women working here, half of whom are full time. The rest are more or less temp
s
. Three nurses, two in the kitchen, and two cleaners. Us nurses work in two shifts from 7 A.M. to 9 P.M.”

“Do you have a night shift?”

“
We haven’t had
money for that in years.”

Koskinen tapped his notebook with his pen. “Does that mean that if someone wants to leave at night, no one
is here
monitoring
that
?”

“Yes. The ones who can get around on their own can come and go as they wish.”

“Could
Timonen
?”

“Sort of. He had trouble going out at night, though.”

“Why?”

“He had difficulties dressing by himself.”