The Defenceless (18 page)

Sammy read the poem on the wall one more time. He was overcome by a strange sensation. Restlessness, a longing for home, for his mother, all the pain and loss whirled inside him like an oppressive gale, but at the same time something new flickered within him. He heard the wind blowing across the Afghan borderlands, sensed its humid gusts right here, far away amid the snow and frost, felt the touch of dust and sand against his cheek. The wind found a hole in his body and blew right through him. Agitated, he stood up from his bunk. His heart was thumping so hard that the veins throbbed in his head, he clenched his fists, opened them again, paced back and forth across the floor of his cell and smiled, for suddenly he knew exactly what to do.

Esko went home late that evening, tired and in pain. He’d been looking forward to an evening on the sofa watching television shows, munching on sandwiches and knocking back a few comforting beers. He was ashamed, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. He had made a fool of himself in front of his colleagues by being so out of breath after a short run that he’d almost choked. And the worst of it was that he hadn’t even caught the little fucker. He would be the laughing stock of the station.

Esko flicked on the lights in the stairwell and called the lift; he didn’t dare take the stairs. He really was beginning to worry; it was perfectly possible that his heart was about to pack up. He belonged to every risk group there was: he was an almost sixty-year-old male who smoked, drank and didn’t exercise. The lift appeared in front of him with a hiss. A few years ago the rattling old model with the concertina door had been replaced by this brightly lit metallic box. Esko stepped inside and jabbed the number four with his finger. The number lit up, green. A digital screen counted the floors as though he were in a much fancier building. Esko stared at himself in the mirror on the back wall. The pallid light in the lift made his face look old and haggard. Do you really want to die of a heart attack? he asked his reflection. It didn’t respond but stared back at him dejectedly from beneath sagging eyelids.

When Esko opened his apartment door and switched on the lights in the hallway, he knew instantly that something wasn’t quite as it should be. At first he thought it was probably because of his fatigue after an exhausting day, the shock caused by the fear of death, but almost at once he realised that there was something else too. It was as though the hallway gave off a strange smell, the faintest hint of something sweet, perfume or aftershave. His old copper’s instinct told him to remain on the threshold and not to shut the door. Everything was quiet. From inside the apartment he could hear the tick of the clock; a dull thump behind the neighbour’s door; somewhere someone blew their nose. The lights in the hallway went out. Esko held his breath. He heard the fading sound of footsteps one floor
below, then the front door clicked shut. In his aching chest his heart beat faster than the clock. He closed the door and ran to the window. He couldn’t see anyone in the yard. For Christ’s sake, don’t start losing your mind, he told himself, sniffed the air in the living room without sensing anything out of place, but remained by the window watching the yard for a moment longer. After at least ten minutes had passed and he still hadn’t seen a soul outside, he gave up, cracked open a beer, switched on the television and slumped on the sofa with the remote control in his hand.

The American comedy show with canned laughter couldn’t catch his attention; his restless thoughts were still on the events of earlier that day: Naseem, Reza, his own health, the incident when he’d arrived home. Esko wondered whether his nose was playing tricks on him. Someone had been in the hallway, that much was certain, and there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. In apartment blocks people were always moving around in the stairwells. The sweet smell must have come from that passer-by who had decided to take the stairs instead of the lift. The man had just walked past Esko’s door, and the scent molecules were still hanging in the air. Yet still Esko felt as though someone had been inside his apartment. Why? Was it fear? Esko allowed his experienced eyes to scan across the living room; everything was as it should be. He went into the kitchen – nothing out of the ordinary there either. I really am becoming paranoid, he thought as he walked into the bedroom. The computer screen was black and lifeless, his papers in a neat pile, as always. The top drawer of his desk was slightly ajar. You must have left it like that yourself, idiot, he thought and felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. A tightening sensation gripped his chest so hard that it was difficult to breathe.

‘
LET’S CONTINUE
,’ Anna said to Sammy. That was too abrupt a start, she thought instantly. The boy withdrew into his shell.

It was early in the morning. Once again Sammy was in the interview room, Ritva Siponen sitting next to him like a dour shadow. The sun had already risen, pale fluorescent light banished the eternal dim of the windowless room, cups of coffee stood steaming on the table. Anna had asked Esko to join them, but he’d declined, muttered something indistinct about being too busy and looked right past her, from which Anna deduced that Siponen had been true to her word and Esko had received an official warning.

Anna urged Sammy to drink something. The boy carefully raised the mug to his lips and sipped, then replaced the mug on the table and didn’t look at it again. Ritva Siponen hadn’t wanted coffee or anything else to drink. Still, the woman’s podgy figure revealed that she too was partial to treating herself. We all have our vices, thought Anna, our own private business that we think nobody else notices.

‘We are going to compare the black hairs found in Marko’s car to your DNA sample. Rest assured, we will establish whether or not you were in that car,’ said Anna. It was best to lay down the facts straight away without beating around the bush. Maybe it would encourage him to talk a bit more quickly.

Sammy tried to look impassive, but Anna noticed that he was building up to something. There was a new intensity about him, an enthusiasm that she hadn’t seen before.

‘They are my hairs,’ said Sammy. ‘You don’t need to compare samples.’

Ritva Siponen adjusted her posture.

‘When were you in his car and why?’

‘We drove around one night, that’s all,’ Sammy answered and looked Anna right in the eyes. The fear, fatigue and despair had vanished from his eyes. Was the boy on new medication for his withdrawal symptoms, Anna wondered.

‘Why?’

‘We had to take something, fetch something.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Be more specific.’

‘We went to pick up some subs one night. I can’t remember where it was or when it happened. It wasn’t long ago, a few weeks maybe.’

‘And was Vilho Karppinen already in the boot of the car?’

Ritva Siponen gave an involuntary stammer. Sammy didn’t look at her. A minute passed. Anna could sense Sammy’s composure transforming right there in front of her. Still he stared at her fixedly, almost defiant. His posture was dignified, his expression bright and cool.

‘No,’ he said eventually.

Ritva Siponen sighed, but Anna knew this wasn’t all.

‘That was only later.’

‘Why was the old man in the car?’

‘Because we had to get rid of the body.’

Sammy drew a breath and looked in turn at Ritva and Anna with a look of determination in his eyes.

‘I killed him. I murdered him. And I murdered Macke too.’

‘Why?’ Anna tried to remain calm though her heart was thumping and she could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. Sammy exuded self-confidence. Ritva Siponen started frantically scribbling down notes.

‘I wanted the drugs. Macke wasn’t going to give me anything.’

‘Whose drugs were they?’

‘No idea, but they didn’t belong to Macke, that’s for sure.’

‘What happened then?’

‘We got into a fight. I caused those bruises. I hit him over the
head with something; I can’t remember what. Macke was unconscious, then I injected him with a shitload of Subutex.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Siponen. ‘That’s quite enough for today. I need to consult with my client in private before we continue.’

‘The boy admitted to killing Vilho Karppinen and Marko Halttu,’ Anna told her colleagues who had all gathered in Virkkunen’s office.

‘What the heck?’ Nils gasped.

‘His lawyer terminated the interview there and then. I couldn’t ask him anything after that.’

‘What’s going on here?’ asked Sari. ‘I can almost understand murdering Halttu, but why on earth would Sammy kill the old man?’

‘I don’t know. But the fact is we’ve found hairs from Vilho Karppinen in the boot of Marko’s Opel and Sammy’s hair in the passenger seat, so they’re both mixed up in this one way or the other.’

‘We mustn’t forget the woman living opposite. Riitta Vehviläinen is still missing,’ said Virkkunen.

‘The gangs must be behind this,’ said Nils. ‘The old pair saw something they weren’t supposed to see.’

‘It certainly looks that way,’ said Virkkunen. ‘Siponen won’t allow us to interview Sammy again until tomorrow, so by then we need to gather all the information we have and plan how to proceed with the investigation.’

‘I’m guessing this Sammy is one of the main suspects in the gang cases. Esko will have to find watertight evidence and a link to the Black Cobras,’ said Nils.

‘We need everybody on board with this investigation. Where is Esko?’

‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Sari. ‘Probably at home sleeping off a hangover.’

Virkkunen frowned. ‘We also have to step up the search for that old lady. And we’ll have to take a closer look at Vilho’s affairs – bank details, telephone calls, everything.’

‘Got it.’

‘Anna will continue interviewing Sammy tomorrow. And we’ll have to inform Vilho’s son of the turn of events. This also puts the dangerous-driving charges against that young girl in a new light.’

‘She always maintained the man was lying in the road when she approached,’ Sari commented.

‘Gabriella,’ said Anna and felt a tinge of disappointment. If what Sammy said was true, all the charges against her would be dropped. Why was that so disappointing? It was good news; the girl was innocent of Vilho’s death. Virkkunen’s wife and children stared at her from a golden picture frame on the desk. Why did Anna always think his wife’s stare was trying to warn her of something? And why did she have a niggling feeling that the innocent party here was Sammy, not Gabriella?

‘If you see Esko, tell him to come and see me at once,’ said Virkkunen. Sari gave a gloating smile.

The waiting room was empty, but twenty minutes after his appointment time Esko still hadn’t seen the doctor. He flicked through health magazines and twice had to go outside for a cigarette. The chest pains had stopped and his lungs were no longer stinging. He’d had a light cough in the morning, but that too had passed. I’m probably sitting here for nothing, he thought. If the bloody doctor isn’t here in five minutes, I’m going to work, he resolved and tried to concentrate on an article about the health benefits of blueberries. Five minutes had almost elapsed when the doctor’s surgery door opened and Esko was called inside. Nobody had come out of the room, Esko noted. This was all deliberately to piss him off, he thought, working himself up even further.

The doctor was a young woman. Not bad looking, thought Esko, but is she any good at her job? Looks like she’s barely out of college. The doctor asked about Esko’s general state of health, his lifestyle, and she was particularly interested in what had happened when he chased after the suspect. Was the pain sharp, constricting, dull or pulsating? Where exactly was the pain? Did it seem to radiate
outwards? How long had it lasted? Had he experienced anything like this before? Esko fibbed about the number of cigarettes he smoked, said he only drank now and then, but admitted that regular exercise had fallen by the wayside lately. He played down the pain. He’d never experienced it before, he said, and it hadn’t been all that bad while he was running. The doctor looked at Esko, somewhat sceptical. She asked him to take off his jumper, then listened carefully to his heart and lungs. The verdict was blunt. They would have to examine his lungs more closely as the doctor could hear extraneous sounds, and they would take him up to A&E straight away to perform a cardiograph. She urged him to quit smoking, printed off the appropriate referrals and wrote out a prescription for medication to alleviate the initial shock of giving up smoking. Esko reluctantly took the papers from her. The young doctor gave him a firm, jovial shake of the hand and said it was high time he started looking after himself. If he changed his lifestyle, he would have plenty of life in him yet.

Esko stepped out of the health centre and immediately lit a cigarette. He felt old, too old to take care of himself. Did anything matter any more? There was nobody at home waiting for him and the younger ones were speeding past him at work – he couldn’t even run after a crook any more.

Esko’s phone rang in his pocket. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and answered quickly.

‘I need some money,’ said the breathless voice at the other end. The connection was bad, the line crackled and hissed. In the background he could hear the sound of traffic.

‘I haven’t got any on me.’

‘I need three hundred, fast. I’ve got some information; it’s fucking important.’

‘Okay, you’ll get your money. Now talk to me.’

‘Where can I get the money and when?’

‘Tomorrow. Come to the Hesburger on Rautatienkatu. What is it?’

‘I need it today.’

‘No can do. Tomorrow.’

‘All right then, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Well?’

‘You’d better watch your back,’ said the voice.

‘Why?’ asked Esko and instinctively scanned the car park outside the health centre. There was nobody there.

‘You’re on the Cobras’ radar.’

‘They wouldn’t dare touch a copper.’

The voice on the telephone chuckled.

‘Killing the bastards in blue is the highest honour there is.’

‘How do you know this? Have you got any details? Where? When?’ Esko asked and gazed around him. His chest had started to ache again. He lit another cigarette.

‘I know something. I’ll tell you once I get the money. You’d better have eyes in the back of your head.’

‘I have. See you tomorrow. Ten o’clock.’

‘Does it have to be so early?’

‘Christ, if it’s not good enough, you’ll get two hundred at eleven o’clock.’

‘All right, all right, ten it is.’

You’ll get two hundred anyway, thought Esko angrily and ended the call. He felt an unpleasant tightening sensation in his throat. It was fear, pure, chilling fear. Fuck me, when did I become this pathetic, he wondered. I’ve got to talk to someone about this. But who?

Anna was going over the files on Vilho Karppinen. According to his bank statements he was a man who took good care of his finances, and over the years he had saved a small but significant amount of money. He owned the apartment in Leppioja, a cottage in the countryside and a stretch of woodland in Kainuu, and he had enough money in the bank to last him many years to come. He wasn’t fantastically rich but wasn’t poor by any means. Anna didn’t really know why she called the skiing resort at Kero to verify that
Juha Karppinen had really been there. Perhaps it was because Anna didn’t believe Sammy’s story or because as a police officer she was used to double-checking everything. With deaths in suspicious circumstances, it was always worth finding out if anyone would benefit from the death. The receptionist at the resort confirmed Juha’s story. Besides, the size of his inheritance wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Anna forced herself to call Juha, though she wasn’t in the mood to do any more work that day. Fatigue had hit her straight after the meeting. She’d noticed before that intensive interviews and immediate debriefings with colleagues zapped her energy, making her head feel leaden and empty. Anna briefly outlined the recent turn of events regarding Vilho’s death, Sammy’s confession and the investigation that would now ensue. Juha seemed unable to take in what Anna was saying. She had to explain twice who Sammy Mashid was and how a refugee drug addict had anything to do with his father being run over on an icy stretch of road. Once things became clear to him, he fell silent with shock and couldn’t utter a word. Anna explained that the police would be in touch with Juha as and when they were able to confirm the details of Sammy’s story. Juha swallowed and thanked her for the information. Anna ended the call. The hierarchy of death, she thought as she stared out across the city, where people hurried from one shop to the next buying things they didn’t need, where the headlights of the streams of traffic caressed the black surface of the road and where neon signs glowed in all imaginable colours, making the cityscape seem artificial and cinematic. The manner in which someone dies isn’t irrelevant, though the result is always the same. A violent death is more difficult to come to terms with than an accident, and an accident is harder to accept than illness. A so-called natural death was best, the most desirable death of all. It was no wonder Juha Karppinen was in shock.

I really don’t care how or when I die, thought Anna. In fact, I’m not afraid of death. What difference does it make whether I exist or not, in the greater scheme of things? We are nothing but tiny specks, though we think ourselves so important and unique. Anna’s eyes
fixed on a woman in the street below, carrying a heavy bag of shopping in one hand and dragging a child behind her with the other. The child was writhing and resisting, trying to wriggle free of his mother’s hand, but the woman held on to him tightly.

When Esko arrived at the station, Virkkunen was waiting for him. He had been keeping an eye on his office door to see when Esko turned up.

‘Where have you been? Breathe.’

‘For crying out loud,’ said Esko and breathed towards Virkkunen’s face so hard that a bead of saliva flew on to his cheek. Good job I didn’t drink too much yesterday, he thought contentedly.

‘I hear you got into a spot of bother during yesterday’s raid.’

‘I wasn’t in any flaming bother.’

‘Apparently you looked like you were about to have a heart attack.’

‘Sari told you that, did she?’

‘That’s irrelevant.’

‘Sari’s got something against me. She’s been behaving like a right bitch recently.’

‘You didn’t have the strength to run.’

‘Listen, the suspect is a lad in his twenties and I’m 56. Is it any wonder I didn’t catch him?’

‘How long are you going to lie to yourself, Esko?’

‘Lie about what?’