Darling (9 page)

Despite
Helsinki’s mandatory recycling rules, through the plastic he could feel milk and juice cartons, and coffee grinds that belonged in the compost bin. Maybe one day the city would hire someone to dig through people’s garbage and hand out fines for failure to separate the trash into the correct bins. Or they could outsource it to a private company like they did with parking tickets. Then finally, failure to recycle would become a crime and get handed over to the police, who would in turn ignore it. At least that’s what was happening with other new “crimes.”

Kulta op
ened the bags and emptied them in the other end of the dumpster—food and food containers, crumpled paper, receipts, cigarette butts, plastic wrap, pieces of glass, diapers, tampons, popcorn bags, and condoms. The whole rainbow assortment of apartment living.

Kulta knew that illnesses and drugs were part of that rainbow, and he was careful with each bag. Any of them could contain a syringe. In one
Alko liquor store bag, he found a wad of bloody paper towels, among other garbage. He pulled it out for further examination.

After
spending twenty minutes on the first container, they moved to the next.

Kohonen glanced at her watch and cursed.

“What is it?”

“It’s three in the morning and we’re digging
for garbage,” she huffed. But she knew if they waited, the trucks would come in the morning, and searching around the dump would be far worse.

“
What’s the difference between criminal investigators and patrol officers?” Kulta said with his head in the container.

“What do you mean?” Kohonen asked.

“We’re digging for scum at three in the morning while they’re hauling it to the station.”

“Not exactly politically correct,” Kohonen chuckled.

“Wasn’t meant to be. Besides, in my current state of mind I couldn’t care less about political correctness. I think we should be allowed to talk directly about things, instead of skirting the issue and always having to put a positive spin on everything. What good is it if we can’t say it like it is?”

“Yep, and speaking of which, dear, you could dig more an
d talk less so we can get outta here,” Kohonen smirked.

Suddenly someone yanked the door open.

“And who do we have here?” asked a fifty-something man in a parka. A Rottweiler growled next to him. “Riku, heel,” the man commanded, and the dog was quiet.

“
Detectives,” Kulta said, lifting his head out of the dumpster, while Kohonen shone the flashlight into the man’s face. He looked as unfriendly as the dog.

“Detecti
ves, you say,” the man repeated, his voice full of doubt, though seeing the paper overalls at least helped him believe they weren’t two-bit junkies.

“Yeah, and we’re in the middle of an investigation.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” the man said. “Must be important.”

“A murder case,” Kulta added.

“Huh. I’ll just toss this bag in here, if that’s alright.”

Kulta glanced at Kohonen, who still had the flashlight directed at the man.

“And who are you, bringing your trash out at three in the morning?” Kulta asked.

“Well, I’m leaving for work in a bit
, and I needed to walk Riku first. This bag was lying in the park and I thought I’d pick it up. Tryin’ to be ecofriendly, you know.”

Kohonen turned the flashlight on the yellow Alepa bag. It looked like there was a lump inside.

“So that’s not your bag?”

“No, it was in the park.”

Kulta took a better look at the man.

“Did we talk earlier today?”

“Hard to say, I can’t see you,” the man said, squinting.

Kulta remembered meeting the man while doing his rounds in the apartment building.

“Do you work for the Parks Department?”

“No,
construction.”

Kohonen stepped forward, but froze when the dog started growling.

“Riku, sit,” the man said, yanking the already tight leash.

“I’ll take a look at that,” Kohonen said.

The man stretched his arm out to hand Kohonen the bag, and she noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves. Kohonen stepped back and opened the bag with caution. She saw a couple of cloths with bloodstains on them.

She looked up at the man and asked, “Where was this?”

“I told you already, it was in the park.”

“
Show us,” Kohonen suggested and stepped outside behind the man.

It was still snowing. Not good, Kohonen thought. The fallen snow would cover tracks and destroy evidence.

* * *

Korpivaara
lay on the cot in his cell. He stared at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep. He thought of his father again in the Turku University Hospital, in his brown hospital gown and no pants, only a diaper.

The doctor had said his father wouldn’t make it to his next shift and told the family to just be strong.
Korpivaara had wondered how he would do that.

Jorma had gone to get something to eat at the hospital cafeteria, and when he returned the room was completely silent. Jorma couldn’t feel a pulse. He pressed the alarm and a nurse hurried in. She confirmed what Jorma already knew: his father was dead. There were no emergency teams, no efforts to revive him, only the nurse pronouncing him dead.

The nurse told him that if anyone wanted to see the body, they’d have two hours. Mom took a taxi there. She said that death was merciful—more merciful than the man himself.

THURSDAY,

DECEMBER
8, 2011

CHAPTER 7

THURSDAY
, 9:10 A.M.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE GULF OF FINLAND

Nea Lind sat in seat
17C. The Finnair morning flight from Rome was half empty, and she had the row to herself, which suited her just fine. Lind was reading a book on her iPad after she had first leafed through the two Finnish tabloids, both raving about the evening gowns at the President’s Independence Day Ball. The attorney was disappointed that she didn’t find an article about a murder. The press probably didn’t yet know about the case the police had called her about. Interesting, Lind thought. There must be something to hide.

Nea Lind was
pleased—it wasn’t often the police referred a case to her. She wasn’t sure why they had, as she didn’t have much reputation or visibility in legal circles yet, and her practice was too new to have made a name for itself.

The flight attendant reached for the cup Lind had placed on
her tray, and she then closed her tray. She’d had to wake up early for the morning flight. Last night she had had a few drinks at the hotel bar, where an American businessman tried to get her to go to Milan with him, but she had to return home.

Lind was from Lieto, a town about
ten miles northeast of Turku. Her Turku dialect faded while she was getting her Helsinki University law degree in the early ’90s. She specialized in tax law and was successful at a mid-sized law firm. In 2000 she was recruited to one of the top firms in the country, but her career hit a wall there—not right away, but during the early 2000s recession when the firm went through a restructuring and downsized.

She ended up on the team led by sixty-something-year-old
Oscar Francke, one of the senior partners. Lind became a pawn in all the discord about who would be let go. Francke wanted to keep someone else, but he was forced to take Lind as a compromise. She hoped to prove herself through hard work, but things only got worse. Her every report, plan, and brief was nitpicked, scrutinized, and modified. Her intelligence and acumen irritated Francke. It didn’t help that she always said exactly what she thought—a trait that should’ve been considered a plus in a law firm, but wasn’t.

Lind finally got fed up with the
constant aggravation when Francke blamed her for an oversight that ended up costing a client hundreds of thousands of euros. In reality, it had been Francke who forgot to file an appeal on time. Lind suspected that he did it on purpose. Fortunately, Francke didn’t demand that Lind repay the client from her own account, but the firm took care of it.

Lind’s patience had reached
its limit, and she quit. But it was difficult for her to find a new position in the small, incestuous world of Helsinki corporate lawyers. Despite a confidentiality agreement, Francke spread rumors that made it impossible for Lind to get hired. She considered starting a small accounting firm, but thought it was too boring. So she started a firm specializing in criminal law. She was on her own but planned to get a partner at some point, and hire an intern, maybe even a secretary.

The captain announced that the plane would be landing at Helsinki-Vantaa airport in about twenty minutes. The pilot said that a couple of inches of snow had fallen overnight and more would come during the day. The temperature was twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

So far Lind had only handled small cases like drug-related charges and domestic abuse cases. She had also defended a man charged of bankruptcy fraud. While she was fully qualified, she realized she didn’t like numbers anymore. She wanted to do something different.

Instead of being focused on numbers and money, a
criminal justice lawyer had to care about people and their bad luck, sob stories, and unfortunate fates; about stupid mistakes, hatred, and utter evil.

This was
her first murder case. She wondered what it would feel like to defend a person who had killed another. For the justice system to work, the suspect had to have a capable attorney. With the police and prosecutor working against the defendant, a solid defense had to be provided, since everyone was presumed innocent until the court decided otherwise. Up until now, all of Lind’s clients had been found guilty, but there was one case she believed she had won. A woman accused of grand larceny could have been sentenced to prison, but Lind was able to get her probation.

The murder case made her nervous. As soon as she hung up the phone in Rome, she regretted not getting more details from the police.

* * *

Korpivaara
lay on the cot. He felt like he hadn’t slept a wink, but drifted in and out of some sort of stupor. He had expected death, but it hadn’t come. The cell door clanged. His head pounding and eyes watering, Korpivaara clambered up to sit. He felt grungy.

The guard came in, and behind him a familiar-looking woman.
Korpivaara remembered that the brunette had talked to him the night before. That seemed like a lifetime ago and his memory was muddled. During the night he had time to think.

“How are you feeling?” the
detective asked. Korpivaara thought he detected a hint of empathy in her tone.

“Alright
, I guess, no complaints. And if I had any, it wouldn’t do any good, would it?” Korpivaara said. He figured that’s how a murder suspect was supposed to talk. Not show any weakness.

The stone-faced guard, who was as big as a hous
e, stared straight ahead, expressionless. Korpivaara thought the guard was probably dreaming of him making a sudden move just to get a chance to tackle him.

“I have a few questions,” said the woman in a gray
sweater and blue jeans.

“What’s your name?”
Korpivaara asked.

She didn’t laugh, but stated matter-of-factly, “Anna Joutsamo.”

“Okay. My memory is spotty.”

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

The woman’s tone was cooler than before. Korpivaara nodded.

“Because of Darling…
I mean Laura. Something happened to her…” Korpivaara tried to find the words, but couldn’t. Finally he said, “Like something bad.”

“She was found dead in her apartment,” the woman said.

“That’s pretty bad,” Korpivaara smirked, and ran his fingers through his messy hair. The sergeant wasn’t amused.

“Yeah, I have a few questions about that.”

Korpivaara shrugged. The movement sent a sharp pain through his head. Apparently he’d had quite a few beers.

“
Shoot,” he said.

“Not here,” she said. “Let’s go into the other room.”

“Fine with me.”

She turned to the guard and asked, “Did they bring
him breakfast yet?”

The guard shook his head.

“Alright, we’ll talk after you’ve had your oatmeal and coffee.”

“No fresh-squeezed juice and bacon omelet?”

“Doubt that’s on the menu,” the woman said, and Korpivaara sensed the empathy was back. “But you’ll get your oatmeal and coffee before the others.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later Joutsamo and Korpivaara were sitting in the drab interrogation room.

Joutsamo sat
near the door. She could smell the mixture of coffee and day-old booze on the man’s breath. The guard had administered a Breathalyzer test and Korpivaara’s blood alcohol content was now low enough so they could conduct the formal interrogation. The man’s hair was sticking up, his cheeks were flushed, and his green coveralls were a size too big.

“I take it you didn’t sleep very well,” Joutsamo began.

Korpivaara shrugged and said, “The mattress could be a bit thicker.”

“Alright
. Well, here’s the situation. Yesterday you asked for an attorney. She’ll be here this afternoon to see you, but we can start now, if you’d like. Is that okay?”

“Guess so.”

Joutsamo was pleased. She wanted to hold the first interrogation as soon as possible. This would also affect how the other suspects would be treated. Korpivaara would be arrested no matter what, but as for the rest of the Alamo gang, she wasn’t sure.