Wolves and Angels (9 page)

Koskinen remembered the pictures taken of
Timonen
.
I
n their first meeting, they had wondered why the corpse was barefoot and didn’t have a coat.

“How did he get the front doors open?”

“All of the doors have electric locks that open by pushing a button on the inside or with a remote control. The quadriplegics are able to use an assistive device they hold between their lips.”

“Was
Timonen
a quadriplegic?”

“Not technically.”

“What does that mean?”

“During the first years after his injury he was classified as one. But thanks to physical therapy he had regained some use of his arms.”

“Back to the locks,” Koskinen said, rewinding their discussion. “How did they work the oth
er way round? Could someone enter
in the middle of the night?”

“The front doors are locked at six every night and unlocked again at seven in the morning. At other times you have to use a keycard.”

“Who has those?”

“All of the residents, or at least the ones who are able to use them.”

“Does anyone else?”

“No,” Kalenius said, shaking her head. She straightened
up
in
her
chair.
“Except
of
course
for
the staff.”

Koskinen let his eyes wander around the room. The nurse who was assisting with eating had finished with the man sitting in the wheelchair and quickly moved to the next in line.

“How many patie...residents are there here?”

Kalenius smiled at Koskinen’s slip. “Twenty-four.”

Koskinen sat thinking and looking at Kalenius. He guessed she was a few years younger than himself. Her neck was long and muscular, her cheekbones were high, and her eyes were a little spread apart from each other. Together it all made her face beautiful in a unique sort of way.

She fluffed up her hair impatiently, and the beams of sunlight filtering in through the window made it sparkle.

“I am in a bit of a hurry. A lot of people still haven’t eaten their breakfast, and it’s already after eight.”

“Go ahead,” Koskinen said. “I’m sure I can find you around here if I have more questions…”

“Certainly,” she said and stood up from the table. “At least until three thirty.”

Koskinen dug his phone out of his backpack and called the station. He hadn’t heard such an irritated voice in ages.

“Detective Sergeant Pekki.”

Koskinen got right to the point. “Wolf House is the right place. One of the nurses immediately recognized our vic.”

“Good,” Pekki grunted, but there wasn’t one iota of relief in his voice. “Who is he?”

“Raimo
Timonen
, nickname Raymond. Only known relative is a sister living in Lempäälä. The rest you can find in the big book.”

“Thanks for calling. I was just heading to Ikuri with Kaatio and Eskola.”

“What if you go alone?”

“Alone?”

“There are twenty-four residents here, along with seven employees. That’s over thirty people, and we have to interview every one of them. That makes more than fifteen heads apiece for two men.”

“Okay,” Pekki said begrudgingly. “I’ll send Eskola over to keep you company.”

“I don’t need any company. I don’t have the slightest intention of staying here any longer than I
absolutely
have to.”

“Why not?”

“Not my job. My desk is already overflowing with work and—”

“But you got that new assistant yesterday.”

Pekki’s wisecrack just provoked Koskinen.

“Assistant, right! That girl’s going to create more work for me than she’s worth.”

“Fine. I’ll send Kaatio and Eskola over,” Pekki said, resigned. But then he immediately started blustering again. “And the big men down in Helsinki think they’re going to
start
outsourcing police services. Mr. Hot Shot Minister of the Interior Ville Itälä should come on up here sometime so I can give him a piece of my mind! I’d tell him to take this little Ikuri job and outsource it to some amateur private eye or Cub Scout troop. Then we’d see how smart he really is. Here we are running out of cops and—”

Koskinen interrupted Pekki’s outburst. “And send someone from Forensics over here too. We need to
inspect
Timonen
’s room and take fingerprints from the staff.”

He wasn’t sure whether Pekki was even listening.

“Now I have to go out to Ikuri myself. Won’t it be fun walking from house to house the whole day like some raffle salesman asking who knows what about their neighbors’ business…of course it had to be today that Ulla had
to
get her hoohah looked at.”

The stress that had been weighing on Koskinen all morning boiled over: “Don’t bitch to me about it!”

Heads turned in the dining room and
Lea
Kalenius straightened her back in astonishment—she had already started helping an elderly woman with her food.

“Who then?” Pekki yelled back. “Should I call the mental health hotline?”

Koskinen took a deep breath and tried to get his feelings under control.

“Borrow someone from Meisalmi’s crew…”

“I’ll try,” Pekki groaned. “Although it might be difficult. He’s still on that case about the consultant from Turku who was raped in the Hotel Ilves elevator.”

“Tell him it’s on my orders.”

“Well…in that case I got nothing to worry about.”

Pekki hung up, and Koskinen was left wondering how he should interpret that last sentence, as a sigh of relief or just more nattering.

He stood up and walked over to Kalenius. She was just wiping the chin of the elderly woman, who was strapped into her wheelchair. The woman’s head was bent back in what looked like a painful position, and her
hands hung like two shriveled wing stumps.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Koskinen said. “But I still need to ask one more thing.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Kalenius said with a smile, “if you can do it right here.”

“I don’t see why not,” Koskinen replied hesitantly. He didn’t really like asking questions related to criminal investigations when outsiders could hear, but the clock was ticking.

He lowered his voice. “Who was it who remembered that
Timonen
had ordered the taxi that night?”

Kalenius had to think for a moment. The woman in the wheelchair tried to say something, but Koskinen couldn’t understand anything of her awkward, muddled speech. Kalenius obviously couldn’t either. She stroked the woman’s cheek tenderly as if in answer and then stood up. She turned and yelled to the other side of the room.

“Anniina! Would you come over here for a moment?”

A large woman with a bouffant hairdo started
toward
them. She was dressed in the same light green scrub outfit as Kalenius. Koskinen guessed her age at about thirty-five and her height at about five foot ten.

“This is Anniina Salonen.”

Koskinen shook the woman’s hand
,
and Kalenius told her the news about Raimo
Timonen
.

“Oh, no!” Salonen groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Oh, poor Raymond.”

Koskinen let the women take their time hugging and comforting each other.
Both had t
ears running down
their cheeks, and Koskinen didn’t doubt the genuineness of their sorrow for a moment.

Finally he cleared his throat
. “Yes, about that handicap taxi.”

Salonen turned to Koskinen with a question in her eyes and he clarified: “Apparently someone knew that
Timonen
had ordered a taxi late Monday night.”

“Yes, someone did say that,” Anniina said, nodding. “It was Taisto Toivakka.”

“Did he see it first hand?”

“Yes.” Salonen nodded. “Taisto had climbed up out of his bed and just saw the rear lights of Laine’s van as it was leaving the parking lot.”

“How did he know that Laine picked up
Timonen
and not someone else?”

“He had just heard
Timonen
’s door creak.”

“That sounds like a pretty shaky observation.”

The old woman sitting between them tried to convey something again in her croaking voice. Kalenius rubbed her shoulders calmingly while addressing Koskinen.

“It isn’t a shaky observation at all. Just from the sound of a door our residents can tell who
’
s out and about. People who are confined learn to differentiate
s
ounds significantly better than us so-called healthy people. It’s hard for us to understand because we live in such a cacophony of sounds that we can’t tell a chainsaw from a moped.”

Koskinen thought he understood.

“Was this…Taisto Toivakka…able to say when
Timonen
was picked up?”

“At ten forty-five. He has
lighted
hands on his wall clock.”

Koskinen wrote down the time. Someone should go check the accuracy of Toivakka’s clock.

“A couple of my colleagues from the Violent Crimes Unit will be here shortly. They are going to interview all of the residents, as well as the staff.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Kalenius said and patted the woman sitting in the wheelchair on the shoulders. “Although there are a few people here with serious speech impairments. Like our beautiful Ms. Rauha here.”

“They can answer in writing.”

Kalenius smiled at Koskinen sadly.
“That would be even worse.”

“Could one of you nurses assist with the more challenging ones?”

The women nodded in unison. Koskinen put his notebook in his pocket.

“I would still like to take a glance in
Timonen
’s apartment.”

Kalenius turned to her colleague. “Could you show him?”

Without a word Salonen set off, and Koskinen followed. She turned to the left-side hallway and walked down to the second-to-last door.

“This is Raymond’s room.”

Koskinen looked around. There was a tall
window at the end of the hall making
the hallway bright. He stepped closer and looked at the window frame. It was
tightly sealed
,
and the window was probably difficult to open—no one had gone through there. But Forensics would be able confirm that.

“Where does the guy with the sharp ears live? The one who saw the taxi and heard
Timonen
’s door creaking?”

Salonen pointed toward
the lobby. “Taisto’s door is the very first one over there.”

Koskinen looked in the direction. The room was on the street side, and it was probably easy to see any cars coming by.

“Let’s take a peek in
Timonen
’s room.”

Salonen took a keycard from her pocket and swiped it. The bolt clicked open, and she let Koskinen enter in front of her.

The lieutenant stopped in the doorway.

“We’re not going any farther in,” he said over his shoulder.

He made a quick survey of the room.

“Has anyone been in here since Monday night?”

“Yes, of course,” Salonen said. “We had agree
d
with Raymond
that we’d
clean his apartment every morning, whether he was here or not.”

Koskinen felt like swearing out loud.
“How thorough is the cleaning?”

“We’re very vigilant when it comes to hygiene. The sanitary areas, the restroom and shower, get scrubbed, and the floors in the whole apartment are mopped.”

“I guess there’s no reason to worry about footprints then,” Koskinen said and stepped in. “But don’t touch
anything.”

The room was surprisingly spacious, but that just made it all the more austere. On one wall there was a bed, on the other a table without any chairs. In front of the window stood a relatively new TV and on top of it a vase of silk flowers. In the corner nearest the door was a small kitchenette. Everything in it said it hadn’t been used in ages. There wasn’t a single dish on the stove top, in the sink, or in the open drying cabinet. The only thing
that
might
have been
use
d
on a daily basis was a wood-handled bottle opener hanging from a hook on the wall.

Koskinen peeked into the bathroom. It too was spacious, and clinically clean. Sturdy handrails were on both sides of the toilet, and a metal frame, evidently for sitting, had been installed under the shower.

“We have different degrees of disability among our residents,” Salonen said. “Some are able to use the toilet or take a shower on their own, even in the middle of the night.”