Wolves and Angels (43 page)

Rinne nodded at Ulla coldly. “I’m Pike.” Then, in a sudden moment of shock, she said, “Just tell me you didn’t introduce yourself as police officers to Heli’s dad just now!”

“Of course not,” Koskinen said, raising his hands to allay her fears. “We just asked to speak with you.”

“Then let’s talk quickly. I just left my dance partner on the floor.”

“Since we last met
,
another resident of Wolf House has been the victim of a homicide.”

“I heard about it on the radio,” Pike said with a tremor in her voice. “I was sorry about Rauha. I can’t
understand what kind of a pig could have done that. It seems incomprehensible.”

“And that isn’t all. Yesterday Hannu Ketterä disappeared.”

“A…and?”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

Pike angrily swung the end of her scarf over her shoulder.

“How would I know? You don’t think
he
came to my place, do you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Koskinen said sanctimoniously. He did not tell her that police had already searched her apartment that morning. He would let Patrol explain that themselves. He remembered the description
of the apartment with
drawers tumbled out on the floor and the food left on the table.

“Did you leave in a hurry this morning?”

“Actually, yeah,” Pike said, laughing. “I promised to leave first thing to help the bride get ready, but I slept in. Then I couldn’t seem to find my new stockings anywhere and didn’t even have time to—”

Her mouth snapped shut suddenly and she gave Koskinen a confused look. “How so?”

“Just asking,” Koskinen said, then quickly moving on. “Let’s go back to Ketterä’s disappearance. Any idea where he might have gone?”

“No.”

“Maybe sometime he mentioned some place to you and nobody else?”

“Why would Hannu have told me something like
that?”

“You had a better relationship with the Fallen Angels than any of the other nurses.”

“Fuck you!” Pike snapped. “I should’ve guessed.” Her wide mouth twisted into a disdainful smirk. “It wasn’t like I just let them pass me around! And if we’re really laying everything out, the others had their favorites too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“On my last day of work I heard some whispers that one of the other nurses might have a—how shall we say—somewhat warmer relationship that normal with one of the male residents.”

“
Timonen
, Ketterä, or Harjus?”

“If only I knew. Not
Timonen
anyway.”

“Which nurse was it?”

“I don’t know that either. It was just a rumor. Ask the one with the big tits.”

“Anniina Salonen?”

“Exactly.”

Koskinen remembered his recent visit to Wolf House and his conversations with each nurse.

“Today Kalenius called Salonen a honey buffalo and said that I shouldn’t take her words too seriously. What did she mean by that?”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Pike said, laughing. “Not only does Lea have weak nerves, but she’s also paranoid. She thinks that Anniina is always fooling around behind her back and trying to get all the residents to like her better.”

“Was it Kalenius who was making the insinuations?”

“No, it was one of the residents.”

“Give me a name.”

Pike glanced impatiently at the dance floor. “How the hell am I supposed to remember their names anymore? It’s been almost three months since I got shit-canned from there.”

Ulla had been letting Koskinen do the questioning, but now she jumped in. “Could it have been Rauha
Salmi
?”

“Not a chance! Rauha was the best person there. And besides, she couldn’t even really talk.”

That reminded Koskinen of Kaatio’s description of the situation at Wolf House three days previously.

“Rauha told our investigators over and over that she didn’t want to dance. What do you think she meant by that?”

“That’s odd,” Pike said thoughtfully and lightly touched her lower lip with her tongue. Koskinen only now noticed th
e
stud, silver this time, through
it.

“It was always hard to understand what she was saying. Listening took time and patience. The other nurses besides me and Anniina never really understood properly what Rauha was saying.”

“Do the words ‘no dance’ bring anything to mind?”

“No dance,” Pike repeated with her eyes closed. “The word ‘dance’ could mean something else entirely. It could be ants or it could be trance. Or anything really.”

“Like maybe Transit,” Ulla said, and Koskinen understood immediately what she meant. They shared a
glance—had Rauha
Salmi
been trying to tell the police something about the vehicle that had visited Wolf House the night
Timonen
was killed? But Koskinen didn’t get a chance to develop the line of questioning any further.

Tons of
children
were at
the party. The smallest ones were obviously exhausted and wh
i
n
ed
to their parents to go home. The older ones, on the other hand, were cavorting noisily around the hall. Two girls with glowing cheeks bounded into the room from the stairway. “Why is there a police car outside?” one of them yelled in a clear voice, drowning out even the accordion. Pike’s cheeks clenched in horror.

“You didn’t come in a police car, did you?”

“We are police officers.”

“What will people think now?” Pike groaned, glancing over her shoulder back into the hall. Suddenly she turned her head and her eyes narrowed. “You fucking Nazi pigs! You aren’t going to ruin this party for me. Get the fuck out of here right now!”

Koskinen didn’t let Pike’s defiance ruffle him. “One more question and then we’ll leave,” he said impassively.

Pike shifted impatiently. “Hurry it up then!”

“I heard that you lost one of the Wolf House master keys over the summer.”

Instead of answering, Pike snapped, “Who told you that?”

“That
doesn’t
matter,”
Koskinen said harshly.
“Do you remember what the circumstances were when the key went missing?”

“Now I get it! You think I killed them! Don’t you? I
nicked the keycard and then said that I lost it. Then I snuck into the building in the dead of night and killed Raymond and Rauha. Beautiful!”

Pike’s rant ended in uncontrolled shaking. She crossed her arms across her chest and squeezed her forearms in to try to stop it.

“Neither of us think that,” Koskinen said. “We’re just interested in what happened to the key.”

“Somebody stole it!”

“Be more specific.”

Pike looked at them both from under her eyebrows as if doubting whether they would believe anything she said. But then, with her voice s
t
ill shaking, she told her story. “It was just another day. The same crazy rush. You practically had to run from job to job to get all of them done. I was dashing from room to room washing people up, cleaning, and passing out medication. During the day most of them kept their doors open so I didn’t need a key. I must have set mine down somewhere and then when I needed it, I realized that my jacket pockets were empty. I went through all the rooms where I’d been. Kalenius and Salonen came and helped too and soon the whole building was looking. But we never found it.”

“And you think that somebody took it?”

“I’m sure of it,” Pike said emphatically. “I set it down somewhere, and anyone could’ve grabbed it.”

“So it only could have been one of the residents or staff?”

“Not necessarily. Other people do visit there. Sometimes all the people milling around were a real pain
in the ass when we were trying to get our work done. And of course relatives have the very best advice! They think they know exactly how everything should work. But still they can’t be bothered to take care of their own. They panic if you just ask them to do something as simple as change their old mother’s diaper.”

In that case the range of possible suspects just increased exponentially, Koskinen thought in irritation. He noticed how curious glances were starting to come their way from the reception hall and dance floor. People were whispering to each other and someone even had the nerve to point.

Koskinen decided to end
the interview. T
hey really didn’t have any right or desire to ruin this important night for Rinne.

“That’s enough for now. Where can we get hold of you tomorrow?”

“If only I knew,” Pike said, grinning widely with her brightly painted red lips. “Heli’s husband plays basketball for Tampere Pyrintö, and the whole team is here. I’m thinking I might be in high demand tonight.”

Koskinen had noticed the above-average height of the male wedding guests. He had also noted how sober Pike seemed even at this hour. Obviously she had decided to stay sharp for the night and not drink herself out of getting lucky.

“Go
o
d
luck
.” Ulla smiled at Pike supportively and then looked wistfully at the wedding party dancing on the parquet floor one last time. Koskinen had to tug on her sleeve to get her to come along.

They sat in silence in the back of the Saab the whole way back. The
dispatcher’s
crackling voice came from
the radio at regular intervals doling out assignments in different parts of the city. Somewhere the glass in the door of a corner store had been smashed, and somewhere else two men were fighting over a woman. In P
i
ispala a garbage can shelter was on fire, and near Viinikka Church a man who had reached the bottom of his bottle was beating his wife. There were constant calls for rides to the drunk tank, and over the course of the night there would be plenty more.

Koskinen listened to the hushed conversation in the front seat. The officers were expressing their low spirits over the outsourcing plans by indulging malicious glee, laughing about the social services’ “aunties” dealing with all the unconscious city residents they usually had to drag out of bar bathrooms and off of park benches.

For the time being, however, the police had more work than time to do it—Koskinen felt guilty again about not having a car. He had kept a patrol car tied up during the busiest, most violent hour of a Saturday night to present a couple of questions to a silly woman who was mooning over a basketball player.

Once they got back to the station on Sorin
Street
Ulla decided to make coffee and disappeared into the restroom with the pot. Koskinen went into his office. Staring at the blank notebook in front of him, he tried to collect his thoughts
on
what Pike had told them. At least the conversation had cleared up the question about the key
card—the killer could very well have entered the building and gotten into his victims’ rooms with her lost key.

But Koskinen was more preoccupied with something else—Pike had hinted that one of the other Wolf House nurses had had some sort of special relationship with one of the male residents. And her hints had focused rather
directly on Anniina Salonen. Koskinen wondered if she just wanted to clear her own reputation, was bitter over being fired, or whether there was something else entirely behind it.

He decided to ask
Salonen; h
e had the contact information for the W
olf House staff in his notebook.
Salonen’s number was second on the list. Koskinen let the phone ring a couple of dozen times, but no answer. That was strange, since Salonen had said she was staying home the whole weekend.

Koskinen had started to be bothered by Salonen otherwise as well. Did the large nurse with the big hair have some part in the murders? Lea Kalenius had acted with surprisingly hostility
toward
her
co-worker
and called her that strange name, honey buffalo.

Ulla came through the door with a steaming coffee cup between her hands. “What do you think…is he going to strike again?”

Koskinen hung up the phone. “Who?”

“What do you mean who?” Ulla snorted. “The Big Bad Wolf of course.”

“Yeah, right.” Koskinen massaged his forehead. “If we only knew what had happened to Ketterä, that question would be much easier to answer.”

Ulla blew on her coffee, looking thoughtful. “Could Ketterä have two wheelchairs?”

Koskinen looked at Ulla curiously. “Why were you thinking about that?”

Ulla shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking.”

“We need to focus more on how Ketterä left Sotkan
Street
after the taxi dropped him off.”

“Mmm,” Ulla said, sipping her hot coffee. “I forgot to mention this morning that I interviewed the physiotherapist. She didn’t know anything about Ketterä’s life—they never really talked. It turns out that during their first couple of sessions, Ketterä tried to grope her, but she made it clear that just one more pat on her rear end would mean he was done with the treatment. After that they never talked about anything but the weather and even then only using two or three words at the outside: ‘it’s raining’ or ‘it’s sunny.’”

“Kaatio said that nobody in the surrounding buildings had seen a man in a wheelchair.”

Ulla puffed up her cheeks and then released the air quickly. “Poof. Into thin air like a ghost.”

“Looks that way.”

“But where can a paraplegic disappear to like that after losing his wheelchair?”

Koskinen sighed in obvious pessimism. “Not many alternatives. He’s lying somewhere without a blanket or a mattress but not feeling the cold.

Ulla had emptied her cup. She stood up, stretching her back and yawning. “I’m beat.”

“Head home then. Nothing more we can do here. We have an APB out on Ketterä; Riipinen will take care of the search overnight.”

“You need to get some sleep too.”

“How so?” Koskinen said apprehensively.

“So you can race tomorrow.”

Koskinen’s eyes went to the ceiling, and he sighed. “You didn’t go and place a bet too, did you?”

Ulla smiled. “No, but I still want you to give those loudmouths in Patrol a good thrashing.”

“We’ll see if I even go at all.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a little more than questionable for the head of a triple homicide investigation to go spending hours running around in the woods. Especially in this situation when the
killer
is still
out
on the street.”

Ulla sighed. “You poor thing. You’ve come down with the same old Koskinen Syndrome again.”

“What?”

“You’re feeling guilty for no reason. You have a right to have your own life. Police work can’t be all that you have.”

Koskinen thought that nowadays that was actually almost true. But he knew that Ulla was right. He couldn’t protect the whole world all by himself. The past week had been an abrupt reminder of that fact.

He stood up and said, mostly to himself, “A couple of frosty pints would set me up right about now.”

Ulla suddenly grabbed him by the arm. “Oh, you said it!”

“Let’s go then!”

“You know I can’t.”

“Yeah, of course,” Koskinen mumbled in confusion.

Ulla looked at him somewhat shyly, “I’d love to go with you. My mother-in-law is watching the kids until tomorrow.”

Koskinen could see what a struggle Ulla was having
with herself. But he was the last person who wanted to lure his
co-worker
into temptation. Her alcohol problem had almost ended her career a few years ago, and Koskinen had expended a lot of effort to get her back to work.

“Home then?”

“Yes, it’s better that way. Who knows what would happen if I had even one? A girl like me could get her carburetor jammed again in no time.”

Ulla picked up her coffee cup and turned
toward
the door dejectedly.

But Koskinen stopped her. “Wait. Can I ask one question?”

Ulla turned and pursed her lips endearingly. “Yeah?”

Koskinen scratched his neck, embarrassed. “About Wednesday. I’ve been wondering why you had to go to the doctor.”

“I lied,” Ulla answered hastily. “I didn’t go to the doctor.”

“Where were you then?”

“In Hämeenlinna looking at
house
s
.”

Abashed,
s
he stepped closer to Koskinen. “There’s a
percussionist position opening
in the Hämeenlinna City Orchestra. There’s at least some chance my husband could get the job. Just think how amazing it would be if this touring circus could end and we could li
v
e like every other normal family.” Ulla fell silent for a moment and then said, “Will you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For lying to all of you. Everything is still so
uncertain
that
I
haven’t
dared
to
talk
about
it
even
to you.”

“I understand,” Koskinen reassured her. “But what about your commute? No matter how you came that would make it at least an hour.”

“I’m starting to look into vacancies in the Hämeenlinna department.”

Koskinen opened his mouth for a moment, but couldn’t get a single syllable past his dry palate. He pushed his chair under the desk, but then pulled it back out again and shoved it against the wall and from there back under the desk. Finally the words started to come, harshly, like old paper being ripped from a wall. “You can’t do it. We can’t… I can’t
make it
here without you.”

“It’s hard for me too.”

Ulla wrapped her arms around Koskinen’s neck and tapped him on the back of the head with her mug. Koskinen reciprocated the hug, feeling the softness of her body against his own, the curves of her back under his palm, and breathing the apple scent of her hair. The skin of her neck was warm, and he pressed his cheek against it.

Ulla gently wiggled free from Koskinen’s bear hug.

She sighed. “Back here again in the morning, Right?”

Koskinen’s arms dropped to his sides—he was at a loss. They looked at each other for a moment. Ulla’s cheeks were glowing red, and her hair was disheveled from Koskinen’s hug.

“I…”

Ulla raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it.
Tomorrow it
’
ll be like nothing ever happened.”

She left Koskinen alone in the room. He stood for several minutes staring at the door and trying to get the chaos of feelings he was experiencing into some sort of order. Even the thought of working was overwhelming. And he couldn’t do much that late at night, at least not from the police station.

It was pointless to waste time staring into the middle distance, though, so he started changing into his cycling clothes. He would be back in Hervanta by midnight. That
left
him with seven hours to sleep, and
then he would have to get up for the ra
ce.
Seven hours would suffice.

He retrieved his bike from the courtyard and was just starting down Sorin
Street
when he saw Ulla walking at the bottom of the hill. He coasted along next to her while thinking about what to say.

Ulla solved his problem. “Don’t you have a helmet yet? You think you’re some kind of tough guy or something? Nowadays even school kids wear hats when it’s cold outside.”

Koskinen listened like a puppy with his ears laid back, thinking that since the divorce a remarkable number of people seemed to think it was their responsibility to take on Emilia’s old role as his appointed guardian. And he couldn’t decide whether he was happy about that or not.

“I promise to buy a helmet,” he said, continuing in his mind, by next summer at the latest.

Ulla walked with her head at an angle, looking at him with a warm grin on her lips. “You’re like a lone night rider astride your stallion.”

Ulla turned right onto Joki
Street
. From there she had a fifteen minute walk home. They waved at each other one last time, and Koskinen turned left
toward
Hervanta.

He rode home along the bike path all alone in the autumn darkness. The journey felt longer than usual, and he kept checking the rear shifter—it felt like he had left the h
igh gear engaged on the uphill.

26.

Sunday dawned clear and calm. The morning sun was shining just above the tree tops. Its slanting rays highlighted the entire spectrum of fall colors—the forest painted in various shades of brown and an unbroken line of gaudy tracksuits.

The runners did not disturb the serenity of the surrounding nature. Running shoes rasped in a monotonous rhythm on the
gravel
of the forest road, their pace set by the warbling of the birds preparing for their migration. The race had been in progress for over an hour, and Koskinen had been running faster than he had planned.

He wanted to keep visual contact with his competition—Kangas and Havakainen—even though sometimes the pace felt a bit much. Their tactic had been clear enough right from the starting line—they were
going to try to shake him immediately after the gun, cut him down to size from the outset. However, Koskinen had kept up. It was easier knowing that the speed was going to wear down his opponents as well.

The course wound through tortuous, hilly forest trails. Koskinen tried to find the right tempo—small steps saved more energy than bounding from rock to rock, which would use up his thigh muscles. He paced his breathing with his steps:
one
long in–two quick out, rhythmically moving air into his lungs.

After the first
couple m
ile
s
of hammering away, his running had become more relaxed. Once his muscles warmed up, and the sweat really started to flow,
he was hit by a
pleasant endorphin high. But even so, Koskinen couldn’t completely rid himself of his feelings of guilt. When the alarm clock had gone off, he had considered not coming at all. He had called the station and asked if there were any new developments, but no progress
had been made
in the search for Hannu Ketterä. Riipinen had promised to stay until noon, and Pekki would be getting in soon as well. So Koskinen had finally ma
d
e up his mind and went.

Rummy Rantanen had promised to give them a ride to Valkeakoski, and the Saab had been waiting for Koskinen at a quarter past eight at the bus stop. He had been in the front seat, and Kangas and Havakainen had sat in the back. They had immediately started their psychological warfare, bragging about being in the best shape of their lives and throwing around obviously utopian split times. They had patted Koskinen on the shoulder and promised to wait for him at the finish line. At that point apparently they would have already had time for a sauna.

The race course crossed the road between Lempäälä
and Kangasala, the same one that a few years ago had been one of the straightaways in the Jyväskylä Grand Prix, a stop on the Rally World Championship tour. From there it was roughly a half mile to the next rest station. Koskinen lengthened his stride a little. With already twelve miles behind him, he immediately felt the nudge as a cutting pain in his thighs. But still it was worth it. He made it to the water station at the same time as Kangas and Havakainen.

The two track
suited police officers weren’t completely able to conceal their astonishment. Nevertheless they gamely put on a cocksure sneer.

“Oh, so you’re still tagging along, are you?” Kangas said, feigning surprise.

Havakainen lifted a finger. “But this is where the real work starts.”

Koskinen knew. The last eight miles would drain whatever juice he had left, if there was anything left to drain. Kangas and Havakainen each grabbed an energy drink from the table and continued on with the paper cups in their hands. Koskinen drank a couple of cups full. And then on top of that he slurped down a bowl of blueberry soup and shoved a few pickles into his mouth.
W
ith three miles until the next rest station
, r
efueling at this point was vital—dehydration-induced muscle cramps would turn the stage into a Via Dolorosa.

In less than a quarter mile, Koskinen had already caught up with Kangas and Havakainen. He set himself up behind them and matched his rhythm to their pace. He was amazed how relaxed his running was—he felt like he
could
easily
pass
the twosome and
set
off on
his own.

Their new tactic quickly became apparent: cat and
mouse. They had intentionally let him into their slipstream, but shortly opened up a new gap; the distance grew to thirty yards and then continued to stretch as Kangas and Havakainen took turns drafting.

Koskinen tried to keep up for about half a mile. He clenched his teeth and sped up, rhythmically pumping his arms and shoulders. But in the end he had to give up, as his lungs were about to burst through his sternum. He slowed his pace and let his breathing even out. No sense killing himself over a bet. And his budget wouldn’t be upended even if he did have to finance one drunken night for the pair. The loss of face wouldn’t sting that long either
—h
e had been the underdog from the start.