Darling (12 page)

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

“A
nyone 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 k
eep 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 show
er. 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 monitor
ing 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 ha
d 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. M
oved to Berlin last winter and is studying something 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 c
ourse,” 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.”

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 pe
ople 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 b
eing 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.