Free Wolves and Angels by Seppo Jokinen

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.”
    “And those who can’t?”
    “They either get a diaper or a urine bottle, and a nurse cleans them in the morning.”
    Koskinen quickly turned back into the room. At the head of the bed was a pull-up bar suspended from the ceiling by two chains to allow Timonen to get out of the bed with arm strength alone. On a low nightstand, right next to the bed, was something that looked like a telephone with no handset and a large curl-grained wood picture frame.
    Koskinen bent in to get a better look at the photograph—it definitely did not depict any of Raimo Timonen ’s family or