Yeah, sure, Joutsamo thought and didn’t reply.
Mӓkelӓ from Turku pulled a file out of his bulging briefcase and set it on the table. The name Rahkola was written on it in red marker.
“This is all the material we’ve accumulated in the case. It was put on the back burner that summer because of a couple other cases, but we’ve revisited it a few times with no progress.”
So, basically, insubstantial investigating, Joutsamo thought. They weren’t taking the disappearance seriously. No body, no homicide.
“Actually, we thought the girl had drowned in the river and her body would show up at some point,” Mӓkelӓ continued. “The problem is that the Aura River runs into the Gulf of Finland and the body could end up there.”
“Yeah sure,” Nykänen said. “The Vantaa River is only a mile from where the body was found, so it could’ve gotten there by first floating in the Gulf of Finland, and then up the Vantaa River…”
Kulta scoffed at the comment but didn’t say anything. When the big guns talk, lowly detectives should keep quiet.
“That’s not good,” Takamäki said. “Let’s try to keep the jokes funny at least… So, we don’t have much information on the disappearance. We’ll have to revisit that. What about the discovery of the body?”
“Yeah. I went into the woods based on the tip and found the body after a bit of shoveling,” Suhonen said.
“Can you be more specific?” Takamäki asked.
“Sure. An ex-inmate I know had a heart attack, and I went to visit him in the hospital. He told me his former cell mate had told him about a dead body hidden in the woods. According to him, the cell mate had heard it from someone else.”
“Give us names-otherwise we can’t keep up,” Nykänen inserted.
“I won’t disclose the name of my informant, but Takamäki knows it. My buddy had heard the story from Lauri Korhonen who got run over by a train a couple of weeks ago.”
“That’s a familiar name,” Nykänen said. “Korhonen ran some meth deals in Espoo in his day.”
“Yeah, but he’s dead now,” Suhonen said. “I checked his record. So Korhonen wasn’t the killer; it was his cell mate. My informant only knew his nickname, Nortti. And he couldn’t remember exactly when they were in prison together.”
“Nortti,” Nykänen said, mulling over the name. “Now we just need to know if it was red or green,” he joked, referring to the cigarette brands that had been one of Finland’s most popular for many decades. “I know a few guys by that nickname, but I don’t think any of them served time in the last year. Korhonen had to have heard about it after June 2010.”
Mӓkelӓ spoke up. “Are you sure your informant hasn’t made up the prison story to get you off his scent?”
“I’m sure,” Suhonen said. “If he had killed her, he would’ve said so. And if he wanted to conceal it, he wouldn’t have told me anything about it in the first place.”
“That makes sense,” Mӓkelӓ said. “But it shouldn’t be hard to find out. Let’s go over the list of guys who served a sentence with Lauri Korhonen.”
“I’ve got that list,” Joutsamo said and showed him the document. “Korhonen was in Helsinki prison from September to December 2010 and another stretch from February to March this year. The prison gave me his cell mates’ names.”
Joutsamo passed out copies. The list had more than ten names: Malmberg, Pesonen, Mölsӓ, Saarinen, Aarnio, Kinnunen, Lyytinen, Sandström, Pentikӓinen, Cuchna, Leikas, Talja, and Holopainen.
While the others were looking at the list, Joutsamo continued, “I checked everyone’s information and nobody listed had the nickname Nortti. Not even close. There was Tanka, Mocha, Rask, Mics, Ronda, and Hole…but none that would remotely sound like Nortti, a smoke, or even North.”
“What if it wasn’t a cell mate, but just someone in the same unit?” Nykänen suggested.
“We’ll check that next.”
“We had an Aarnio in the Korpivaara case,” Kulta said, looking at the list. “But it may not be the same man.”
“No, ours was Mikael,” Joutsamo said, shaking her head. “The cell mate is Kimmo Aarnio. Mikael didn’t have a criminal record. Same last name, different guy.”
“Did you search the database by nickname?” Nykänen asked.
Joutsamo handed out another list.
“We got 213 hits. The records show about two hundred criminals by the nickname of Nortti.”
“Anybody from the Turku area?” asked Vuori from Mӓkelӓ’s team, speaking for the first time.
“Frankly, I haven’t had a chance to look.”
“I understand,” Vuori said with a nod and took the list.
* * *
Nea Lind sat in a Mercedes taxi that was going north from Hakamӓki Street onto the Hämeenlinna Freeway and speeding up.
Lind was confused. Korpivaara had told her straight out that he didn’t kill Laura Vatanen, but he was willing to serve the sentence. Why? Who was he trying to protect? She needed to know. Her first instinct was to go to the office and write up a report, but this wasn’t about taxes. It was a criminal case that she had to investigate and not just interpret.
Maybe Sini Rentola-Lammi could give her some answers. The girl probably knew more about Korpivaara than she had told Lind the night before. Lind tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message.
The taxi took the Aseseppӓ Street exit and drove around Haaga for five minutes before stopping in front of a red-brick apartment building.
“Which door?” the young driver asked.
“Here’s fine,” Lind said and waited for the receipt.
The sun was shining on Lind’s back. The bright weather, albeit below freezing, felt good after the snowfall. She had replaced the shoes she bought in Rome with a pair of winter sneakers to keep her toes warm. Lind felt energetic, though she sensed a headache was lurking. It was probably because she hadn’t eaten or slept well. Walking to stairwell E, she decided she’d try to fit in a meal at some point.
A few cars were parked in the building’s lot, and behind it a young mother was raking a sandbox. A child was standing next to the sandbox, holding a shovel and a bucket. Lind guessed the mother was checking the sand for needles that might’ve been dropped there the night before.
Lind pressed the button by the door and walked in as the lock buzzed. She climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell to Rentola-Lammi’s apartment.
The door opened quickly. The safety chain was not on, and a forty-year-old, stern-faced woman stood at the door. She was somewhat overweight, and it showed in her worn face. Her brown hair reached her shoulders, and she was wearing black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt.
“You from Social Services?” the woman asked tersely.
“No, I’m attorney Nea Lind.”
“Whose attorney?
“Jorma Korpivaara, the building custodian, who is accused of killing the woman in the building next door last week.”
“Oh,” the woman said, sounding curious. “What do you want?”
“Is Sini at home?”
“I haven’t seen her. She went somewhere this morning. I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. What does Sini…?”
Lind shook her head. “I just wanted to check a few things about Korpivaara’s whereabouts on Wednesday.”
“I see,” the woman said.
The mother must have known that the daughter had connections to the murder suspect; otherwise she would’ve been more concerned.
“What do you know about Korpivaara?”
“The custodian?”
“Yes,” Lind said, expectantly.
“I don’t know,” the woman began, shifting her weight. “He’s not really my type. He seemed okay. We’d chat sometimes, and he always did his job just fine. He always plowed a path to the bus stop so we haven’t had to trudge in the snow. So he’s an okay guy.”
“Good,” Lind said. She doubted the woman knew about the relationship her daughter had with Korpivaara.
“Any sign of him last Wednesday?”