Lastly, Joutsamo picked up the old black wallet, about the size of a passport, and emptied the contents onto the table. The photo on his driver’s license was the same one that Joutsamo had seen in the DMV database. Eriksson looked much more innocent in this photo than in his mug shots.
But who owned the Kannelmäki apartment, Joutsamo wondered. When they had some time, they’d have to figure that out. The condo association would have some name on record: either a person or a business.
Joutsamo turned back to the wallet: it contained four one-hundred-euro notes, two fifties, and six twenties. All together, 620 euros. Enough to rule out robbery.
The billfold had two compartments. In one side was the money, in the other, some receipts. Joutsamo fished them out and immediately recognized the thin strips as taxi receipts. About half a dozen of them.
The first two were about a week old, but Joutsamo dutifully marked the dates in her pad. She took the third receipt and, as she registered the date and time, felt a shock of revelation. Eriksson had paid €19.20 on Monday evening to ride 6.2 miles between 6:34 P.M. and 6:53 P.M. The locations didn’t appear on the receipt, but the name of the taxi company did.
This narrowed the window of time for the murder. The next receipt was even better. Still from Monday, but the time was from 9:33 to 9:46 P.M. The trip was 4.8 miles, and the cab fare came to €14.20. The name of the taxi company was Oinonen, and the phone number was even printed on the receipt.
Joutsamo was about to call the Oinonen company to ask for more details about the passenger and his destination, but decided to finish examining the wallet first. Minutes didn’t matter at this point.
Takamäki popped into the room, “Anything interesting there?”
Joutsamo nodded. “Eriksson’s last acts are starting to take shape.”
“Good,” Takamäki said in a voice that seemed a bit tepid for what she had told him. Her surprise doubled when he added, “Are you going to be much longer?”
“Probably not. A few minutes, but then I’ll have to make copies of these.”
“Do it later.”
“What’s going on?”
“Forensics found a list of debts in the Kannelmäki apartment. We have a good candidate for a suspect. He owed Eriksson fourteen grand.”
“Who?”
“The list says ‘Juha S,’” Takamäki said. “I want you and Suhonen in my office in five. They also found about half an ounce of what appears to be meth.”
CHAPTER 10
BOARD OF CUSTOMS, EROTTAJA
WEDNESDAY, 2:45 P.M.
Customs Inspector Nyholm sat in his desk chair. Out the window, he could see the courtyard and hotel windows on the Boulevard. Occasionally, some eye candy walked by, but he just stared into space.
Nyholm rubbed his eyes and cursed to himself.
Snellman and that cop hadn’t said why he had to look into Jerry Eriksson. Nyholm had actually recognized the detective lieutenant-he had seen Takamäki on TV and in the newspapers. The policeman’s cold eyes had seemed to look right through him.
And now he had to track down Eriksson’s connections to Customs. Where would he begin, Nyholm mused, laughing aloud.
He knew where he could start. Exactly where.
“Son of a bitch.”
The phone rang and Nyholm inadvertently answered with “bitch.” It suited: the caller was his wife, who replied, “Excuse me?” He didn’t apologize for his rudeness.
“Stop at the store on your way home.”
“I can’t. Meetings.”
“Again?” she said coldly.
“That’s the custom here,” Nyholm replied. “How’s the girl?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”
“Really,” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm.
“I’ll be better off here alone anyway,” she snapped and hung up the phone.
Nyholm groaned. He’d have to stop at the store. She was probably talking about liquor, not groceries. He tried to forget his wife and focus on the matter at hand. He’d have to be sharp.
He picked up his desk phone and pushed speed dial for the head of intelligence in the southern region. He had to get some field agents involved so his efforts would seem sufficient. Hopefully nobody knew Eriksson.
* * *
Joutsamo knew she should already be in Takamäki’s office, but she had to make the call.
“Oinonen,” a man answered in a hurried voice.
“Anna Joutsamo from the Violent Crimes Unit. You have a minute?”
The man on the other end laughed. “Sure. Just waiting for the train here, so nothing to do but talk on the phone and read classics.”
Joutsamo drew a picture of the man in her mind-your typical long-winded cabby. The kind who always had something to say, whether passengers liked it or not.
“I’m calling to check on one of your passengers.” Joutsamo had a copy of Eriksson’s receipt in her hand.
“Okay, shoot.”
“On Monday night, between 9:33 and 9:46 P.M., you gave a ride to a younger guy in a hooded sweatshirt. Do you remember where you took him?”
“Monday, huh? Today’s Wednesday, right? Heh, the days just sort of blend together in this job,” Oinonen said and thought for a moment. “Guy with a hoodie… Yeah, now I think I remember. He flagged me down on Helsinki Avenue in Kallio. Over there by Tenkka, as I recall.”
“The Tenkka Bar?” Joutsamo clarified and jotted the name down in her notepad. Tenkka was one of the few institutions in what was a rough neighborhood. Most of the bars and pubs changed ownership so often that there was no sense of tradition. They just got people drunk on inexpensive beer and cheap vodka.
“That’s the one. What’s this about?”
“It’s a case I’m working on,” Joutsamo skirted the issue. “Was he alone?”
“Yep, nobody with him.”
“What about before he got in the cab? Anyone else with him?”
“Well, there were others milling around on the street, but this guy with the hoodie was definitely alone. As far as I could tell.”
“Good,” Joutsamo remarked, though it would’ve been better had he had a companion. It would’ve been one more lead to follow up on.
Joutsamo noticed Takamäki standing in the doorway, looking impatient. She nodded.
“How’d the trip go, then?”
“I tried to strike up a conversation, but nothing. The guy didn’t say a word. He was kind of in his own
world. He didn’t seem so drunk or high that he’d have been nodding off. You know, for a cabby at that hour, the night is still young.”
“And where was he headed?”
“Yeah. Now that was a little strange. When he first got in, he said to go to Oulunkylä. But then when we got there, he asked me to keep going further north towards Beltway One and Pakila. All of a sudden, when we got to Pirjo’s Tavern, he told me to stop and he got out. Seemed to me like the trip was cut short. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the money, though. He paid with a fifty, if I remember right.”
“Do you remember if he had a cellphone? Did he call anyone during the trip?”
“I don’t think he called anyone,” Oinonen said. “But now that you mention it, he might have been fiddling with a cellphone. It’s also possible that it was an iPod or something. It was dark out and the back seat is even darker, so it was tough to see. But I do remember that he really wanted a receipt. He asked for one.”
“Okay,” Joutsamo said and jotted a note on her pad: Why receipt?
Joutsamo continued, “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station to make a formal statement. It doesn’t have to be right away, but we’ll let you know.”
“Awright, must be a pretty serious case?”
“I’ll let you know when you get here,” Joutsamo said, to arouse his curiosity. “And please, don’t mention this conversation to anyone.”