Wolves and Angels (31 page)

“He’s doing
civilian
service in a daycare.”

“My, my!” Ursula said and raised her wine glass. “Now there’s something worthy of a toast.”

They clinked glasses. Koskinen took a swig and then
remembered the fishing outing he had arranged with
Tomi
for the next day. They were also supposed to winterize the boat. He would probably have to push all that back now. He had the feeling that Saturday was going to turn out just as busy as the whole week had been since Tuesday morning.

Obviously Ursula misunderstood Koskinen’s silence.

“O
kay
,” she sighed. “Since you aren’t interested, I’ll tell something about myself then. If you’re at all interested.”

She took another toothpick out of its plastic wrapper and then sighed.

“I don’t have any children. Or a husband anymore. Lasse has a degree in economics and works for Nokia’s marketing department. A few years ago he was assigned responsibility for the Far East and Australia. Guess how much I saw of him at home after that! Then we thought it was best to separate. After that I haven’t had any company beyond my two canaries.”

“You haven’t remarried?”

“No. Where is a
forty
-year-old woman supposed to find any available men?”

There’s one sitting right across from you, Koskinen thought, noticing that he was getting excited again. Ursula’s glass had dwindled to a third, and he filled it again.

A teasing expression flashed in Ursula’s eyes. “You aren’t trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“Of course not,” Koskinen said, at the same time thinking about whether he should order a second bottle. He poured the final couple of drops into his own glass.

“What if we had a change of venue?”

“Good idea,” Ursula said, nodding. “What do you have in mind?”

Once again Koskinen intended to act as tactfully as possibly. He decided to fashion his next sentence so artfully that Ursula wouldn’t immediately notice the proposition concealed within it.

But then in spite of it all he just blurted out, “It would be nice to meet those canaries of yours.”

“Wow!” Ursula huffed mirthlessly. “You sure do move fast.”

“What? No.”

Ursula clasped her hands and leaned her chin on them. She looked at Koskinen searchingly.

“How long have you been a policeman?”

To Koskinen it sounded the same as
:
“How long have you
been
suffering from that disease?”

“Almost my whole life,” he replied. “Almost twenty-five years.”

“Do you have any relatives in the same profession?”

So is the disease the hereditary type, Koskinen thought.

He replied tepidly, “Just my nephew. He’s a prison guard in Espoo.”

“Why did you become a police officer?”

Koskinen had expected this question. The thought of rattling off the same old litany was nauseating. Luckily he didn’t need to answer, because Ursula did it for him.

“It probably feels like a calling for you. You have an
obvious need to protect people.”

Koskinen remembered Rauha
Salmi
, an old, defenseless woman, and her angel picture
s
. He wasn’t able to conceal how bad the thought of
Salmi
’s fate made him feel. Ursula misinterpreted this as well. She leaned over the table and placed her hand on Koskinen’s wrist.

“Can I say something?”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re easy to read. You don’t even try to act more clever than you are.”

Koskinen considered how he should take this. Not as a compliment in any case. He didn’t have time to say anything before Ursula continued. “You’re sensitive and easily hurt.”

“Is that so…”

“On the other hand, you have a very strong personality and probably a rich internal world. You take your work seriously and maybe carry too much of other people’s burdens. You put other people’s problems before your own, but when you need help yourself, you can’t find any shoulders to lean on. When it comes down to it, you have a hard time building new relationships, but then when you do, they’re that much more enduring.”

Koskinen found that his enthusiasm had suddenly died, and her next words didn’t improve his mood either.

“Your problems with relationships have a lot to do with how taciturn you are. Even when the other person is doing most of the work you aren’t much company. I wouldn’t call you unsociable, but your communication
skills are clumsy.”

Koskinen wondered what she would have said had he brought the bouquet of roses. That might have elevated him all the way to bumbling.

Ursula took another toothpick from the glass and pointed it at Koskinen.

“But in your own way you need attention, and you take pleasure in your successes. Even though you downplay your achievements to others, their praise is flattering to you. You hate losing, and you shouldn’t pursue anything where you compete with your friends.”

Koskinen felt his anger rising, and decided to shoot off a few choice words about his date’s impertinence. But Ursula beat him to it again.

“Your quick temper is one of the most dominant sides of your personality, and sometimes you say malicious things that you immediately regret.”

Koskinen might have had the chance to regret just such an outburst very soon, but his phone saved him.

“It’s Pekki.”

“What now?”

“Hannu Ketterä has disappeared.”

Koskinen drew a blank for a moment.

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“Just like
how
people usually disappear
…
No
o
ne has a clue where he is.”

Koskinen looked at Ursula, who was still picking at her teeth, and made a quick decision.

“I’ll be there
in ten.”

“Where are you now?”

“Close.”

“At the Erotic Showroom, eh?”

Koskinen didn’t reply. He ended the call and pushed the phone into his pocket. Apparently Ursula had already guessed what was going on, and she didn’t look at all cheeky anymore.

“My, my,” she sighed wistfully. “Sounds like you have work to do.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

“I understand,” Ursula said, and then added with undisguised suggestiveness, “It won’t take you the whole night, will it?”

“It does look that way.”

Koskinen waved the waitress over. She was more reminiscent of a strawberry picker from Savo than a Greek
despinida
. She had the check ready on her tray. Ursula started rummaging in her purse, but Koskinen raised his hand.

“Let me pay.”

“Okay.” Ursula smiled meaningfully. “Only on the condition that I get to treat you next time.”

Koskinen counted out the appropriate number of bills onto the table, trying desperately to come up with something intelligent to say. On the other hand, it was pointless to pretend with her. It would just turn into the same awkwardness for which she had already reprimanded him.

Instead he shook her hand and thanked her for the company. Not until he was outside the restaurant did he
start to wonder whether he should have kissed her on the hand or done one of those fake French air kisses to the cheek. Or maybe a real kiss on the cheek. He should probably pick up an etiquette guide somewhere. Maybe he could borrow one from Pekki. That one would surely be in good condition if not completely unused.

Most of the shops in the shopping center had already closed their doors, and the saleswomen from the department stores were out collecting their advertising signboards from the hallway. Even so, there were still young people loitering around here and there in their oversize hoodies, a few African men leaning on the railing of the upper floor, and, below them, a group of giggling teenage girls on the escalator. Two athletically-built guards marched side-by-side chewing gum in time with their steps. An old man with a tangled beard crept outside as they came, the tattered hems of his trench coat flapping and his toxic green plastic bag making an unholy jangling racket.

Koskinen walked out the front doors and crossed the main road before turning
toward
the police station three blocks away. An ominous restlessness made him quicken his steps to jog. It was clear and calm, and the air was refreshing as his breathing intensified. The moon had already climbed into
the eastern sky, and the onion-
dome silhouettes of the Orthodox church looked like a giant clump of mushrooms.

19.

Koskinen stared into the darkness outside
,
t
he figures of four men reflected in the glass. For a moment he felt right at home. Their investigative team had spent countless nights together over the years this same way, sitting at the police station threshing out alternatives about how to track down criminals hiding out in the darkness. Often their sessions had rolled on into the early hours.

Staying up together while the city slept outside the window had increased their feeling of solidarity.

Koskinen turned his eyes from the window back to his desk. A slew of entries had collected in his notebook.

“One more time from the top,” he said. “So Laine picked up Ketterä at Wolf House at four thirty-five.”

“Yes,” Pekki said, flipping through his own notes. “Ketterä had an appointment with a physiotherapist
...at
five o’clock. At fifteen past the therapist called Wolf House and asked if Ketterä had decided not to come. Lea Kalenius was confused, but didn’t think of calling us yet.”

“I had understood that the physiotherapists came to Wolf House rather than the other way around.”

“Usually, yes, but Ketterä had
been seeing
a
priva
te therapist for over a year
.”

“Where?”

“On Sotkan
Street
, across the river.”

“And Laine gave Ketterä a ride there?’

“Yes.”

“And Laine didn’t just leave him on the street there, did he?”

“Actually he did. The building is modern enough that you can get through the front doors to the elevator in a wheelchair. The
elevator buttons have
even
been
installed lower than when we were kids. Back then you had to be
a teenager
before they let you use the elevator alone.”

Kaatio was sitting in one of the chairs. He had stretched out his legs, and even though Koskinen couldn’t see from behind his desk, he knew that he was rotating his ankles from side to side.

“Ketterä can get around much more independently than
Timonen
could,” Kaatio said. “Not to mention Rauha
Salmi
. Until last July, Ketterä was still doing these therapy trips in his own car.”

“His own car?” Koskinen was alert now. “Ketterä ha
s
a car?”

“I just heard about it today at the Wolf House. The car is a late model Mitsubishi equipped with a control system for disabled people, including a hand throttle.”

“So why was he taking a taxi?”

“Last July, on the third to be precise, he got nailed at a DWI check point. He was coming back from a drinking trip to a restaurant outside of town with Harjus. The breathalyzer jumped to .17 and that was the end of his driving privileges for the rest of the year.”

Koskinen clicked the tip of his pen in and out. The investigation was constantly turning up new, surprising details, and that was making him increasingly insecure.

“And Ketterä wasn’t the only motorist at Wolf House either,” Kaatio continued. “Tapani Harjus had a car too until a year ago. It was an older American model, a big boat. But he had to sell it after his steroid bust to pay his debts.”

Koskinen shook his head, wondering why that hadn’t come up in their conversation, not even at the Cat’s Meow. There at least he had gotten Harjus and Ketterä to open up using the power of beer.

However, there are things people just don’t want to reveal, even to the police. Especially to the police.

“So Laine left Ketterä on the curb,” Koskinen said, thinking. “Didn’t he wait around to make sure his ride made it into the building?”

The answer came from Eskola. “No.”

All three turned to look at him, standing in the doorway. Koskinen noticed again how a flush started to spread from Eskola’s protruding ears.

“No, he didn’t stay,” Eskola repeated with a military tone. “Laine helped Ketterä down from the passenger bay and then jumped right back behind the wheel. Then he drove off
toward
downtown.”

Pekki’s eyes narrowed as if he were stalking prey.