Darling (4 page)

“No.”

“Surprising—usually there’s something.”

“Not this time,” Joutsamo said.

“The door was intact, and no signs of struggle were found. So it had to be someone she knew,” Nyström went on.

Takamäki
joined in. “Never assume, and look at the facts. I agree that the first line of investigation should be looking into people she knew. We just need to keep all options open. It’s unlikely we’re dealing with a serial killer—if one was around, I would’ve heard about it.”

“Um, t
here might actually be one lurking around,” Nyström pointed out. “A serial killer murdered three women in Järvenpää in the beginning of the ’90s, and a few years ago there was some talk about him making a comeback. We checked a case in Vantaa, but the tips didn’t fit. By the way, what color was Vatanen’s hair?”

“Blonde,” Joutsamo said, passing the victim’s passport picture around.

“Then it’s probably not the Järvenpää guy; he went after brunettes, unless his tastes have changed. By the way, he was never caught.”

Kulta looked at the pictu
re. He noticed Laura’s childlike features, now that he knew her background. Otherwise he would’ve just considered her slightly simple. She looked gentle and vulnerable rather than pretty.

“I’ll check with the
National Bureau of Investigation about the Järvenpää case,” Takamäki said. “Anna, go on.”

“Did we get any
fingerprints or DNA?” Kulta inserted.

“Before we get to that…
Mikko, tell us what the neighbor woman said about what happened in the morning.”

Kulta recounted Iina Ridanp
ää’s story. Around ten o’clock she had heard noise from the apartment, and when Laura Vatanen didn’t show up at eleven to run her errands, Ridanpää called the police.

“How sure was she that it was ten o’clock?” Kohonen asked.

“I asked her that and she wasn’t entirely sure. I would say give or take thirty minutes. She said she was listening to the news on the radio, and that’s how she figured the time.”

“The
radio news is broadcast every thirty minutes.”

“That’s right. So I figured between nine-thirty and ten-thirty. The w
oman told her story to Partio, but wouldn’t talk to me unless I got her red wine from the liquor store.”

“Did you?” Kohonen asked.

“Of course he did,” Suhonen replied.

Kulta nodded.

“As long as she doesn’t demand a wine bottle on the witness stand,” Nyström joked.

Kulta chuckled. “No worries. We can
get her high-security status, so she can hide behind the black glass and sip her wine.”

“Back to business,”
Takamäki said firmly.

“Yeah, sorry,” Kulta responded sincerely.
Humor wouldn’t fly right now, especially with a mentally immature murder victim. But in this business you couldn’t let the details of the case get to you or let your feelings interfere with the investigation. It was just a job, nothing more.

Joutsamo continued
. “Forensics took DNA samples, but it’ll take a few days to get the results. They found plenty of fingerprints, of course, but none near the victim. The coffee table had been wiped clean recently.”

“W
onder if the killer cleaned up the place,” Nyström said. “That would mean they had time, and that the murder was premeditated. But she wasn’t raped, so it’s hard to say. In any case, this is no contract hit for unpaid debts or the revenge killing of a snitch.”

Takamäki
liked the way Nyström thought. He was glad the guy was assigned to his unit.

“Hard to say,” Joutsamo added. “Let’s first find the killer and then ask about the motive.”

“Yeah, I was just trying to think of the motive so we could narrow down the potential perpetrators.”

Takamäki
nodded. “Good, let’s go on.”

“No
winners yet among the fingerprints,” Joutsamo said. “For example, the front door had prints from at least seven different people, and we’ve identified three so far: Laura Vatanen’s own and the two officers who responded to the call.”

“One set of prints might be the
custodian’s, who unlocked the door,” Kulta pointed out. “He fiddled with the lock.”

“That’s what I was thinking. We
’ll talk to him again and get his prints,” Joutsamo said. “Interestingly, one set of the prints matches the ones found on the coffeemaker and more specifically the on-switch. So it’s evident that someone who recently entered the apartment started the coffeemaker. Note that it was still on when the body was found.”

“What about a phone and a computer?”
Takamäki asked.

Joutsamo l
ooked at her notes. “No computer in the apartment. Maybe the killer removed it from the apartment, or she never had one. No internet cable or wireless network either. She had a hundred twenty euros in her purse, so the motive probably wasn’t money. We found one noteworthy call in her phone—an answered call at 8:50 A.M. from a number listed as ‘Mom.’”

“A possible suspec
t, since the motive wasn’t sex, money, or gang-related,” Kulta said. “The mother had easy access to the apartment and could’ve even surprised her daughter, who wouldn’t have been expecting the slash.”

“
Sure,” Joutsamo said. “The previous phone call was the night before to a number on a prepaid SIM card. By the way, Laura’s was prepaid, too.”

Joutsamo looked at
Takamäki. “That’s what we know so far.”

“Nice work, Anna, and quick
. The coffeemaker is an interesting point. Seems likely at this stage that the killer was someone Laura Vatanen knew.”

Takamäki
was interrupted when Kannas from Forensics popped into the room, his large frame towering in the doorway. Takamäki knew Kannas from their patrol days.

“Well, we’ve got something anyway,” Kannas said
in his gruff voice.

“What is it?”
Takamäki asked.

“
The prints matched a guy with a criminal record; a guy named Jaakko Niskala was in the apartment at some point. He’s not a big-time gangster, but he does have a couple of thefts and assaults to his name.”

“You mean t
he prints on the coffeemaker?” Takamäki asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, no;
his were on the front door and the fridge.”

Kannas handed Joutsamo the printout and said, “
His address is only a few hundred feet from the victim’s apartment, so you might want to talk to him.”

Kulta was the first to speak, though they all thought the same thing.

“What was a small-time thief doing in a mentally disabled woman’s apartment?”

No one had an answer.

“We’ve got our work cut out. Mikko, Kirsi, and Leif, keep interviewing the tenants in the Nӓyttelijӓ Street apartment complex. Someone might’ve seen something. And ask the people if they know anything about her.”

“Okay,” Kulta agreed. “We’ll get
fingerprints off what’s-his-name, the custodian. Jorma Korpivaara, was it?”

Joutsamo nodded.

“Yep, we’ll get his prints, and talk to him some more.”

“
Find out about this Jaakko Niskala,” Takamäki told Suhonen. “What kind of a guy he is and what circles he runs in.”

“Check,” Suhonen replied.

“Anna and I will go break the news to the mother and check on that end. It’s three thirty, so we’ll meet back here at nine,” Takamäki decided.

CHAPTER 3

WEDNESDAY, 5:30 P.M.

OLARI, ESPOO

Takamäki
rang the doorbell with Joutsamo at his side. They were the only people in the dark yard of the unlit townhouse. The December sun had set a few hours ago. A high hedge cast a drab shadow onto the walkway from the dim street lamp. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. The roads would be slick after the slush froze.

Takamäki
wore a dark blue, waist-length zippered jacket, a white dress shirt, and a dark blue tie he had added just for this visit. Joutsamo’s small black shoulder bag was draped over her black trench coat. Takamäki shot her a grim glance.

They
could tell someone was at home by the faint noises from the house. The door had no mail slot; apparently mail here is delivered to the boxes by the road.

The townhouse was in the Olari district of Espoo, about nine miles
west from downtown Helsinki. The neighborhood’s crisscrossing walkways made the layout confusing. The units were crammed together and took up every square inch of land. Takamäki wondered if a 1930s-built single family house with a large yard and apple orchard had once stood here until a greedy developer had turned it all into a densely-built townhouse-and-apartment-building hell.

They heard scratching behind the door.

“It’s a dog,” Joutsamo said. The dog wasn’t barking.

Takamäki
let out a heavy sigh. This was one of the toughest parts of his job.

A fifty-something plump woman answered the door. She looked more like a grandmother than her age should have allowed. The woman’s short, curly hair had turned gray, and she was wearing a brown cardigan. A quizzical look crossed her face. Behind her a small poodle cowered.

“Evening, I’m Detective Lieutenant Kari Takamäki from the Helsinki PD Violent Crimes Unit… I’m afraid we have some bad news.” The woman’s hand flew to her mouth as she exclaimed, “What’s happened to Martin?”

Takamäki
was confused. Martin? Who was Martin? According to the records, Laura Vatanen had no siblings and her father had died ten years ago.

“Are you Marjaana Vatanen?”

The woman shook her head. “No, I’m Elisa Rauhala… Elli.”

Takamäki
closed his eyes and cursed silently.

“Is this Planeetta Street?”

“No, no, it’s Olari Street. The houses on Planeetta Street are back that way. But what’s happened?”

With a meek look on his face,
Takamäki said, “I apologize. We’ve come to the wrong address.”

“The wrong address?” the woman asked.

“I thought this was Planeetta Street.”

“No, it’s Olari Street.”

“Yes, unfortunately, sometimes even the police get it wrong.”

“But,” the woman looked at the officers confused. “Is Martin alright?”

“I’m sure he is.”

“You think so?” Rauhala
kept on, in shock.

“I’m quite sure,”
Takamäki reassured, and watched the woman pull a cell phone from her pocket. A horrid scenario of Martin’s car sliding on the icy road and hitting a semi head-on flashed in Takamäki’s mind. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”

Takamäki
closed the door, and he and Joutsamo walked back to the intersection of Olari and Planeetta Streets. He stuck his hands in his pockets. They had to take short steps on the icy sidewalk.

“Damn. The house numbers matched, but the street name didn’t.”

The officers walked on. Takamäki found a street sign at the intersection and took a left. It was presumably a short walk, so they didn’t have to move their car.

“This reminds me of the time in the Espoo drug unit when we followed a
junkie to one of the apartment buildings in Matinkylӓ,” Joutsamo recounted. “We knew he had thirty grams of amphetamines on him, and more in the apartment, but we didn’t know exactly where the apartment was. He slipped into the stairwell and we followed close behind. The elevator went up to the fourth floor and there was a door with a name on it that fit.”

Cars lined the other side of the
street. Joutsamo thought the correct building was the one in front of them, but continued her story. “We had a master key made ahead of time, so we decided to go right in. Three big guys went in first and I followed. We had our weapons drawn. We didn’t ring the doorbell, but burst in, yelling, ‘Police! Don’t move!’ I remember the scene: a twelve-year-old girl at the table eating her tuna sandwich froze on the spot with the sandwich in her mouth. All we could do was apologize profusely. We found the dealer one floor up; he was smart to get off the elevator before his floor.”

“That shouldn’t happen, and neither should what we did just now.”

It might be funny later, but at the moment Takamäki was not amused.

“I agree, but mistakes happen. Sometimes ambulances get sent to the right address but in the wrong town.”

The building turned out to be the right place. Takamäki confirmed the address with a man who was out walking his dog. The officers walked to the door and saw the name Vatanen on the mail slot.

“This is it,”
Takamäki said and rang the doorbell. “I hope…”

A woman opened the door. She was much skinnier than the last
one and had a thin face with prominent cheekbones. She was wearing a white long-sleeved blouse and dark slacks and looked to be around fifty.