He stood up and offered the new acquaintance his hand.
“Well, I’m Koskinen, but you can just call me Sakari.”
“Milla.”
Her hand was small, but its grip was reassuringly firm. Milla sat down in one of the guest chairs, looked around for a moment, and then said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “Just to be clear right up
front, I won’t put up with any kind of sexual harassment. I read in the paper that it’s really common here in the police department.”
Koskinen looked at Milla, bemused, and wondered what she might mean by sexual harassment. But she didn’t dwell on the topic. Instead, she pointed at the door.
“Was that your ex?”
“Who? My ex?”
“The one who was sitting on the corner of your desk. Was she your ex-secretary?”
Koskinen started laughing. “No. That’s Detective Ulla Lundelin.”
Milla raised her hands to her plump che
eks and sighed. “Dang, it’
d be sweet to be a female detective!”
Koskinen smiled to himself: just like her predecessor—Taru had always dreamed about becoming a police officer too. She had even taken an investigative assistant course and been assigned some routine police work. But that still hadn’t been enough to fulfill her dreams. So far, the closest she had ever gotten was marrying a policeman.
Suddenly Koskinen’s thoughts took a more sour turn. “Taru Eskola has been on maternity leave for a while now. Her first replaceme
nt got a permanent position at C
ity
H
all. So in a way
,
you’re already the second crown princess,” he said in a somewhat overly official tone.
Koskinen’s wisecrack didn’t seem to amuse Milla. She squirmed impatiently in her chair.
“So
…
T
ell me what
all
I’m supposed to do.”
Koskinen didn’t even have a chance to start before Milla pointed at his desk. “Fir
st off, I could clean that desk
. It looks like all the guests left without helping to clean up after the party.”
“I’d rather do that myself.”
“And this office is in need of some organizing too.” Milla swung her hand in a wide arc and then pointed at Koskinen’s computer.
“And your computer is in entirely the wrong place. It can’t be right in front of the window like that. Let’s move it there closer to the corner.”
Koskinen was starting to become agitated. “We’re not rearranging anything. And besides, you’re going to be working in Taru’s office. It’s over there closer to the elevator. I’ll show you in a minute.”
“And that fish painting on the wall is crooked.”
Koskinen wasn’t sure whether Milla was listening at all. He looked at her antenna hat and began fearing the worst.
“And I have a
c
omputer
driver’s license
—
I
passed
all three tests.”
Oh, great, Koskinen thought, growing impatient.
“I’m in a hurry…
I have a lot of work to do,” he said, with more irritation in his voice than he intended. “Let’s cut the rigmarole and get to the point.”
“Okay, okay, I just wan
na
help.”
Koskinen began teaching Milla what her new duties would include. He outlined the pre-trial investigation process and described all of the bureaucracy, reporting, and red tape that
go
into it. He told her which files
a
re
sent to the prosecutor and which ones
a
re archived. He particularly impressed upon her the importance of the int
errogation transcripts that go
to the defense lawyers, who w
ill
immediately seize upon any typos in them. Lastly he reminded her that informant tips and other confidential information included in the files could not under any circumstances be passed along to anyone else.
That took up the whole morning. It was already 12:30 when Koskinen began to stretch his numb back in his chair. He was in a good mood. He would finally be able to
tackle
his own work.
“I think it’s about time for me to go get some lunch.”
Milla’s antenna hat bobbed. “Sure, let’s go. I’m as hungry as a horse.”
Koskinen sighed. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to shake her. No point even trying. She followed him out into the hall, and they took the elevator down to the first floor. The lunch special was frankfurters in gravy, and Koskinen’s irritation was mit
igated by a malicious thought: t
his was Pekki’s favorite food, and he wouldn’t get any of it.
He stood with a tray in his hands by the counter and swept his gaze around the cafeteria—none of the larger tables had two free chairs. His night
mare scenario was playing out: t
hey would have to sit at a two-person table near the door.
Milla
eagerly
began chomping down pieces of her hot dogs, contrary to Koskinen’s expectations. A moment ago he would have been ready to bet she was a vegetarian—her behavior had been eccentric enough.
Milla pointed at Koskinen’s left hand with her fork. “So you’re not married?”
“No.”
“Bachelor, widower, or divorced?”
Koskinen forked mashed potatoes from his plate as he answered uncomfortably. “Divorced.”
“Why?”
“I’d rather not explain,” Koskinen said
,
and then wondered if he even could. Sometimes it felt like the reasons were still obscure even to him.
“Do you have any children?”
“One son.”
“Really?” Milla lifted her head, interested.
“How old?”
“A little over twenty.”
“Is that so? Is he in college?”
“No.”
“What does he do? Is he in the army?”
Koskinen was feeling even more uncomfortable now. He was planning to clear out of the cafeteria as soon as he could get his plate emptied. Why did he have to lay out his genealogy for anyone? Especially a yappy dog in an antenna hat he had only met a few hours ago!
But he still answered Milla’s question. “He’s doing civilian service instead.”
“A civvy! Awesome! My brother went to the army even though I tried to enlighten him. Now he works for the post office. My dad was at the post office too, but he retired in January. But my mom is still working as an office clerk for Soraseula Concrete.”
Koskinen wondered whether it was his turn now to
listen to her family history. He glanced at his watch and attempted a diversion. “It’s already almost one.”
Milla had taken a piece of crisp bread with her meal. The antenna jittered as she chewed it.
“My boyfriend was a civvy, too.”
“Is that so?”
“He studies process engineering. Do you know what that is?”
“More or less,” Koskinen muttered, calculating that after five more forkfuls he would be able
to escape
. He would have to skip dessert today.
“Howdy, Kossu!”
Koskinen felt a slap on his shoulder and turned to look. Next to the table stood Harri Kangas, a
thirty-year-old
patrol officer. He bent over to Koskinen.
“I heard from Kaatio this morning that you were challenging folks to the Pirkka Trail Run,” he said in a projecting voice.
Kangas smoothed the pant legs of his coveralls and then smirked.
“Aatos Havakainen and I accept the challenge.”
Koskinen quickly glanced around. The people at the neighboring tables were looking at them curiously. Kangas’ deep bass carried all around the room. “How
’
bout we say that whoever finishes last buys drinks for the others for the whole night.”
The handle of his fork bent when Koskinen squeezed his hand into a fist. That windbag Kaatio was going to catch hell for this.
But Koskinen couldn’t come up with any reason to
decline the bet, and Kangas sl
apped him on the shoulder again.
“See y
a
on Sunday morning.”
Milla waited long enough for the officer to get out of earshot
and
then tilted
her head. “Can
I call
you Kossu?”
“What?” Koskinen snapped.
Milla pointed over her shoulder with her fork. “Like that guy did. It’s a fab nickname. Almost as good as having your parents name you Jack Daniels.”
“No!”
A ringtone cut off their conversation. Koskinen set his fork down on his plate and dug his phone out of his breast pocket.
It was Pekki.
“They’ve opened up the body.”
“Ah,” Koskinen said, pushing his plate aside. A dab of mashed potatoes was still left. Luckily he had already eaten all the hot dog slices.
Pekki continued in a
n
excited, raspy voice: “You were right about the cause of death. The victim suffocated.”
Koskinen remembered that he had been the only proponent of the asphyxiation theory. But he didn’t interrupt and let Pekki continue.
“He was killed with a pillow.”
“Oh, really?”
“The M
E found some fuzz in his mouth and airway that’s apparently from some sort of cotton fabric.”
“So we have a homicide on our hands,” Koskinen said thoughtfully, immediately starting to build an
investigation plan in his head. First they had to figure out the victim’s identity and through that his most recent place of residence. There they might find the pillow used in the slaying and—
Pekki interrupted his train of thought: “That wasn’t all we learned. Guess why this guy didn’t struggle or run away.”
Pekki waited in silence for an answer. When one didn’t come, he explained himself.
“He sa
id
t
he
guy
hasn’t moved his legs in at least ten years.”
5.
The bike path to Hervanta was a good place to test his conditioning. The last two miles were all uphill, and Koskinen had a habit of trying to see how long he could pedal at full speed without his thighs and lungs exploding. Nowadays he could make it all the way to the top of the hill his apartment was on.
This time Koskinen took it easier, not because he couldn’t have done it, but because today’s events were endlessly rolling around his brain. It was like they gave his pedaling
an
even, monotonous rhythm.
T
he autopsy
of
the body found in th
e parking lot in Peltolammi revealed that he was
a paraplegic,
creating
quite a stir at the station.
They had called every institution that housed disabled people. A completely new bulletin had been given to the media, and every would-be tipster had been given a chance to talk. But none of that had led anywhere. The identity of the suffocated paraplegic was still shrouded in mystery.
At five o’clock they
had held a brief meeting and ca
me to the conclusion that for the time being there was no need to p
ut in overtime. Especially since it’d be unpaid
, and the opportunit
ies
to
use
the built-up comp time
arrived rarely
.
Riipinen, an experienced detective, was coming in for the night shift. He would wait for whatever the
f
orensics team could get out of the few clues that had been found at the
crime scene
. At times Jalonen and his team were able to conjure the smallest shreds of evidence into distinguishing features that were almost as good as business cards
.
Koskinen suddenly noticed that he needed to speed up a bit.
Tomi
was coming over
soon
, and before that he needed to make it to the store. He crouched down and started pedaling
over t
he last hump, and then coasted down to the doors of the Tapsantori grocery store. In Hervanta every other person walked around in a tracksuit, so Koskinen wasn’t embarrassed to go shopping in his biking outfit.
Rustling up a frozen lasagna and a quart of milk didn’t take long, but there was congestion at the registers
from all the after-work shoppers.
Koskinen was left at the end of the line wiping sweat from his brow. He noticed a new issue of
Boating
on the magazine rack, which he impulsively snagged into his cart. He could drool and dream tonight as he waited to fall asleep.
At a few minutes past six he set off with a plastic bag hanging from his handlebars. He cut through the walkway between the library and the health c
lub
and wondered if Emilia was working the evening shift. He hadn’t been inside the library since the divorce. He was being stupid and obstinate. And he knew it.