Free Wolves and Angels by Seppo Jokinen Page B

shoulder, devastated. At a loss, she fluffed her hair.
    “Do you know yet what the killer did to Raymond... H ow he died?” she asked in a quiet voice.
    Koskinen was just about to appeal to the fact that the investigation was still ongoing when a corpulent woman dressed in a white cook’s outfit appeared at the door.
    “Is there a Lieutenant Koskela here?”
    “Koskinen. That’s me.”
    The woman pointed behind her with a thumb. “Three men are out there in the lobby. They’re asking for you.”
    “I’ll be right there,” Koskinen said and then quickly swept his eyes around the room. He had a strong feeling that they weren’t going to find much in here. They would have to look somewhere else to find the killer’s trail.
    Salonen closed the door. No one would walk through it until Forensics arrived. The lock would be sealed , and blue - and - white plastic tape would be stretched across the door.
    They set off toward the lobby. Koskinen felt strange to walk next to a woman who was only four inches shorter than himself—it made him feel almost small. However, the sweet smell of her hairspray ma d e even such a large person as Salonen seem feminine.
    Kaatio and Eskola were standing in the lobby waiting, with Risto P. Jalonen from Forensics behind them sitting on his metal case. He looked exhausted. No wonder, since his shift had started early the previous night.
    Koskinen began cranking out instructions immediately: “Split everyone in the building, both residents and staff, into two groups and wring out every possible thing they know about Timonen .”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Kaatio answered impatiently, but Koskinen still had more to say.
    “A resident named Taisto Toivakka claims that Timonen was picked up from here by a handicap taxi on Monday night. C onfirm the time with him one more time and look for even the smallest things the other residents might have noticed around the same time. I’m going to track down the taxi driver and order him down to the station for questioning.”
    To Jalonen, Koskinen mentioned the alert phone bracelet. In the best case scenario, the person who had ripped it off would have left his fingerprints on it. Also, all of the bedding would have to be sent to the lab for fiber analysis. Koskinen wanted to know whether the lint found in Timonen ’s airway was from his own pillowcase.
    Finally he turned to the woman standing at his side. “This is M r s. Salonen. She’ll show you to Timonen ’s room and help you with interviewing the residents.”
    “Just Miss,” Salonen replied demurely.
    Kaatio and Eskola looked like little boys next to her.
    Koskinen retrieved his backpack from the dayroom and walked out. It was getting close to nine o’clock. On the opposite side of the street was a small grove of birch trees. The sun had climbed high enough in the sky that a golden light shone across the tree tops.
    The same two men were still sitting by the front door in their wheelchairs. As he unlocked his bike, Koskinen noticed out of the corner of his eye that one of them was rolling closer. He sensed that the man had something so say, so he waited—it might be something important.
    The man stopped six feet away and spat to the side.
    “You think you’re some fucking Lance Armstrong riding around on that nut crusher?” he hissed.
    Koskinen took off without responding. He was surprised at the man’s sudden hostility and wondered what had caused it.
     
     
    8.
     
    Koskinen didn’t know how to ride a bicycle slowly—this time he made the mistake of racing a city bus for a good mile and a half until reach ing a bridge going over t rain tracks and cut onto the side roads before finally turn ing into the station parking lot.
    He succeeded in slipping through the lobby and into the stairway without being noticed. He climbed at a half run to the third floor, and his good luck held—not a single person in the hall. The last thing he wanted right now was to get stuck talking to someone