Wolves and Angels (7 page)

The traffic on the walking path along the lake was normal for
a
weekday evening. Dog owners were walking their pets who had been holding it all day, tired mothers were carting home their children from daycare, and teenage boys were searching for inspiration for their homework at the skate park. Cruising on his bike, Koskinen had quite the
job dodging them all. Not until a
block from his apartment did the path open up
,
and he was able to sprint the rest of the way. He recklessly left his Kuwahara in the yard, instead of locking it up in the basement, and took the elevator to the fifth floor.

Tomi
was already sitting on the landing waiting.

“I guess I’m a little late,” Koskinen said apologetically. “We got a difficult case this morning, and we’re still at a dead end.”

Tomi
didn’t even ask what had happened. He had learned since childhood that no answer would come anyway. He stood up and shook his head. “Forget it. I just got here too. I stopped to say hi to Mom at the library.”

“Really?” Koskinen dug his key out of his pocket. “How is
she
doing?”

“She’s fine,”
Tomi
said, shrugging and then walking into the apartment after his father.

Koskinen put the lasagna in the oven and went to shower. Work didn’t leave him alone there either. He
lathered shampoo into his hair, and as he squeezed his eyes shut he saw a black
-
and
-
white picture—a man lying on the ground in an unnatural position with his limbs sticking
out
every which way. The position seemed more understandable now. Something else was bothering Koskinen. There was something out of place in the picture—or something missing—and he had a strange hunch that whatever it was would be crucial to the case.

It was still bothering him at the dinner table as he chewed his lasagna apathetically. He had taken it out of the oven too soon, and it tasted like old chewing gum. The potato bread he had bought on Saturday was already dry, and the margarine was starting to smell rancid. A single male’s household was bound to have problems keeping food fresh.

But
Tomi
was enjoying the meal—Koskinen watched with pleasure as his son shoveled lasagna into his mouth. It had always been his favorite food, and the whole quart of milk Koskinen had just bought also went down his gullet.

“How’s work?” Koskinen asked, trying to start up a conversation.

“Fine.”

“You haven’t gotten tired of the tiny tots yet?”

“Oh, I do okay with the kids,”
Tomi
said with a laugh, wiping a drop of milk from his downy mustache. “If only I could get along with the old ladies.”

“Old ladies?”

“There are a couple of middle-aged madams there who just can’t comprehend civilian service. They just can’t understand that not everyone wants to play with guns. Every day they preach about how their moms were
nurses
in the
Lotta Svärd
on the front lines
during the war protecting their country with their own blood.”

It looked like
Tomi
’s appetite had disappeared, and Koskinen was sorry he had even asked. He tried to play it down.

“No reason to get bent out of shape over something like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,”
Tomi
admitted and started shoveling down the lasagna again. “It just gets at me because they’re always making us do the crappiest jobs.”

“Like washing baby bottoms?”

“As if…they don’t trust us civvies that much…they probably think we’re a bunch of pedophiles anyway.”

“What
,
then?”

“Cleaning muddy
overalls
and
boots and stuff
like that.”

Tomi
slammed his glass of milk, his Adam’s apple bobbing,
and
then
burped
unselfconsciously
to
top
it off.

“It probably would have been easier at the library.”

Koskinen smiled. Emilia had arranged a civilian service job for
Tomi
at the library, but
Tomi
hadn’t wanted to be bossed around by his mother, so he applied to a daycare in a
small
town about half-way between Tampere and Nokia. Initially he had wanted to work at the police station, but they didn’t take civvies.

Koskinen thought about the temps who subbed for investigative assistants during maternity leave.
Tomi
surely could have handled the job as well as Milla. At least he wouldn’t have been so tizzy. She had been coming by at regular intervals asking for instructions
about the most trivial things. To Koskinen it was of utterly no consequence whether the computer backup dis
c
s were kept in her desk drawer or in the fire vault in the basement.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” Koskinen said, waving his fork and quickly moving on to a new subject: “Have you ever thought about childcare as a career?”

“No,”
Tomi
replied
curtly.
“I’m
going
to
apply
to Kuru.”

“The forestry college?”

“Yeah. I want to be able to do something about the senseless raping of our forests that’s going on.”

Koskinen nodded approvingly and started clearing the dishes into the sink. He started setting out teacups. He found an unopened box of Domino sandwich cookies in the cupboard.

“How is...” Koskinen began, but then he realized he had forgotten her name. “How is your girlfriend doing?”

“Just fine,”
Tomi
said as he dipped a teabag in the water. “She has exams tomorrow.”

Work things had started running around in Koskinen’s head again. “Process engineering?” he asked, distracted.

Tomi
looked at his father, surprised. “Silja studies literature.”

“Yes, of course,” Koskinen said with an embarrassed laugh. “Just like your mom did.”

Tomi
took a chocolate cookie.

“She intends to do her thesis on Leo Tolstoy’s
asceticism and use his novel
Resurrection
as the basis for it.”

Koskinen nodded thoughtfully. The word
“
resurrection
”
had woken an idea that had been lying dormant somewhere in the rear chambers of his brain. And then it dawned on him and he set his cup on the table.

“Hold on a sec while I make one phone call.”

He walked into the living room and dialed Pekki’s number.

“Yeah?” Pekki answered immediately.

“Do you know what we’ve completely forgotten?”

“If I knew then it probably wouldn’t be forgotten.”

Pekki’s ribbing didn’t dampen Koskinen’s enthusiasm.

“The wheelchair.”

“Huh?”

“Exactly! The victim was a paraplegic. Even if he was taken to Peltolammi by car or carried some other way, his wheelchair still has to be somewhere.”

He heard a hoarse groan from the telephone.

“Why didn’t we think of that during the day!”

“There was all sorts of shit going on.”

“I’m going to call Riipinen right now. He can start asking around—that chair will have to turn up somewhere.”

“Glad you called,” Koskinen heard just as he was ending the call.

Koskinen realized from Pekki’s relieved gratitude that he had been bearing just as much pressure from the stalled investigation as Koskinen.

Tomi
had moved to the entryway and was tying the laces of his sneakers.

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Koskinen said, surprised. “It’s not late yet.”

“I was just thinking that if you still have work...”

“No, I don’t have anything else. Just that one phone call.”

“I should still go. It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t have a light on my bike.”

“What does that matter?”

Tomi
looked at his father, perplexed, and then stood up to his full height. Koskinen had to admit that his son had turned out taller than him, even though he had always teased him that it would never happen. His dense blond hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, and the beard projecting from his chin was pointed like on a young goat.

“Why didn’t you bring the Volvo?”

“The starter is acting up. The solenoid is probably busted.”

Koskinen nodded sympathetically, happy that he didn’t have to tackle all those repairs anymore. On the other hand, his conscience bothered him for having foisted his old beater off on his son. He dug something from the pockets of his jacket that was hanging on the rack.

“I could give you a key.”

“For what?”

“For this apartment.”

“What would I do with it?”

“I was thinking that you wouldn’t have to wait on the landing like today. I have a few of these extra keys anyways.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t use it. I’ll call when I’m coming by again,”
Tomi
said and threw his backpack on. “Later.”

“Bye.”

Koskinen stared at the closed door. He stood there in the
hallway
for
a
long time,
squeezing the key
in
his fist.

H
e
ended up going
back into the kitchen. The cookies had been eaten, and the tea had already cooled. He sat down at the table, leaned his chin on his palm, and thought about whether he should go back to the station to help Riipinen. That felt ridiculous too. What would Riipinen need help for?

He stared out the window for a while. A gray layer of clouds hung above the rooftops, and the evening had started to darken. He thought about whether
Tomi
would make it home to Kaleva before dark. Would Silja be surprised that he was coming back so early?

Koskinen decided to go out for a run. He would have time to go around the shoreline trail three times before nine. That was when the old Hitchcock movie would be starting on TV. The one he had been thinking of watching with
Tomi
.

Five minutes later he was already running
toward
the lake so fast that passers-by must have thought he was being chased.

6.

The man was old and sick—he
didn’t
get
much sleep anymore. The disease tore at his insides, never giving rest the opportunity to come.

The convulsive burning had forced him up out of his bed. He had shuffled into the kitchen and pressed his perspiring forehead against the cool window. Even with his eyes clouded
in
pain
,
he had noticed the movement in the dark yard. Someone was skulking behind the
R
aven. Anger gave him a moment of relief, shaking his frail body, and for a few seconds extinguishing the fire raging in his belly.
With
no time to waste,
he
t
ook
support from the door jamb
and
staggered out.

He had to protect the
R
aven.

The man knew he would soon escape his suffering. His last days would have been easier in the hospital, but he wanted to die at home with his
R
aven. It was always faithful. God took his wife, and his son hadn’t visited in years.

The
R
aven had spread its wings threateningly, but the human figure behind it did not seem afraid. The man struggled closer with the last of his strength. Fly away, he gasped, fly away to safety and take me with you. The man was thankful one last time as he saw the
R
aven stir.

Dear bird, always faithful, in you I trust.

The
R
aven pecked the man on the top of
his
head, and the agony that had shaken his body departed, along with his consciousness.

7.

Koskinen’s breakfast was, in all its simplicity, high in fiber. He mixed oat grits and lingonberries with nonfat milk, stirred them into one big, pink m
e
ss, and added a pinch of sugar on top. It would keep his hunger at bay until noon.

He spread the morning paper out in front of him
, and f
ound the article on page eight. It said that the body of an unidentified man had been found in a parking lot of a strip mall in Peltolammi. The police suspected it was a homicide and asked for the public’s assistance. The article rather superficially described the man’s features,
and
mentioned his disability—the most
crucial
identifying characteristic.