Free Death Spiral by Leena Lehtolainen Page B

scared myself a little with how fast I went through a construction zone with narrowed lanes, but we needed to hurry. I didn’t even know whether Janne had gone home. Maybe we were hot-rodding across the city for no reason.
    “Red Nissan 1994 Micra, AZG-577. Janne’s car, that is. We can ask him to drive it over to the parking garage and get that witness to take a look. And order a fiber analysis, of course.”
    “Yeah. But let’s talk to him first.”
    When we arrived at the parking lot of Janne’s apartment building, there was the bright-red Nissan. He had clearly been in a hurry, because the car was parked askew across a stall line.
    Janne lived on the third floor. Usually I could climb that many stairs without getting out of breath, but this time I started running out of oxygen by the second flight. Koivu reached the door first and rang the bell furiously. On the third set of rings, a shout came from inside.
    “Leave me alone, Rami!”
    “Open up, Janne, it’s the police!” I yelled back. Where did the manager live? How hard would it be to get a master key? But I didn’t need to pursue the thought, because Janne opened the door.
    His forehead glistened with sweat, and his breath reeked of vomit. His skin was as white as Noora’s skates.
    “Get lost! I don’t have anything to say to you.”
    Janne didn’t have the nerve to push me out of the doorway, though, probably thanks to my belly. He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later we heard the sound of retching, which made my own stomach turn. I moved out of the entryway so I wouldn’t have to listen to him throwing up. On the right was a kitchen with only enough space for a small table and two chairs. It was spotless other than a flattened juice carton and half-eaten cup of yogurt on the table.
    The other room was a combined living and bedroom. The double futon was opened to the sleeping position, the sheets bunched messily under the comforter. Koivu flopped into the only armchair. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I started organizing my thoughts. Koivu fidgeted in his chair and then stood up to check whether the bathroom door was locked.
    “Did you fall in?” he yelled at Janne, who was still retching. The reply was incomprehensible muttering, but a few seconds later we heard a bang and a flush. Janne appeared in the doorway, drying his face with his T-shirt, which he had pulled off. Involuntarily my eyes wandered to his beautifully muscled upper body and washboard abs, which trembled from the vomiting. Then I started feeling like a dirty old woman and turned my eyes away.
    Janne collapsed next to me on the futon and hid his face in his shirt. I glanced at Koivu, who started the questioning.
    “Rami Luoto says you left the ice rink at the same time Noora did. Where did you leave her?”
    No answer. His face remained hidden under the black fabric, and his muscles continued shaking. Koivu met my eyes, lifting his eyebrows and shaking his head. I wondered whether this could really be Noora’s murderer huddled here.
    “Janne, this isn’t helping anything. Tell us what happened yesterday and we’ll leave you alone.”
    Still no answer. Koivu stood up restlessly, walking to the bookcase, which held significantly more music and random junk than books. He bent down to pick up a large, framed picture with jagged shards of glass protruding from it. Without a word he handed it to me. Based on the costumes and the background, it was from the Edmonton World Championships. The skaters had their arms around each other’s necks and wore wide smiles. Janne was looking at the camera, and Noora was looking at Janne with an expression that was impossible to mistake. She worshipped him.
    “When did you break this?” I asked.
    “Can’t you understand I don’t have anything to say!” Janne screamed so loudly that the picture slipped from my hand and the broken glass made a superficial cut on my palm between the thumb and index finger. Janne jumped up,