“Um, there might actually be one lurking around,” Nyström pointed out. “A serial killer murdered three women in Järvenpää in the beginning of the ’90s, and a few years ago there was some talk about him making a comeback. We checked a case in Vantaa, but the tips didn’t fit. By the way, what color was Vatanen’s hair?”
“Blonde,” Joutsamo said, passing the victim’s passport picture around.
“Then it’s probably not the Järvenpää guy; he went after brunettes, unless his tastes have changed. By the way, he was never caught.”
Kulta looked at the picture. He noticed Laura’s childlike features, now that he knew her background. Otherwise he would’ve just considered her slightly simple. She looked gentle and vulnerable rather than pretty.
“I’ll check with the National Bureau of Investigation about the Järvenpää case,” Takamäki said. “Anna, go on.”
“Did we get any fingerprints or DNA?” Kulta inserted.
“Before we get to that… Mikko, tell us what the neighbor woman said about what happened in the morning.”
Kulta recounted Iina Ridanpää’s story. Around ten o’clock she had heard noise from the apartment, and when Laura Vatanen didn’t show up at eleven to run her errands, Ridanpää called the police.
“How sure was she that it was ten o’clock?” Kohonen asked.
“I asked her that and she wasn’t entirely sure. I would say give or take thirty minutes. She said she was listening to the news on the radio, and that’s how she figured the time.”
“The radio news is broadcast every thirty minutes.”
“That’s right. So I figured between nine-thirty and ten-thirty. The woman told her story to Partio, but wouldn’t talk to me unless I got her red wine from the liquor store.”
“Did you?” Kohonen asked.
“Of course he did,” Suhonen replied.
Kulta nodded.
“As long as she doesn’t demand a wine bottle on the witness stand,” Nyström joked.
Kulta chuckled. “No worries. We can get her high-security status, so she can hide behind the black glass and sip her wine.”
“Back to business,” Takamäki said firmly.
“Yeah, sorry,” Kulta responded sincerely. Humor wouldn’t fly right now, especially with a mentally immature murder victim. But in this business you couldn’t let the details of the case get to you or let your feelings interfere with the investigation. It was just a job, nothing more.
Joutsamo continued. “Forensics took DNA samples, but it’ll take a few days to get the results. They found plenty of fingerprints, of course, but none near the victim. The coffee table had been wiped clean recently.”
“Wonder if the killer cleaned up the place,” Nyström said. “That would mean they had time, and that the murder was premeditated. But she wasn’t raped, so it’s hard to say. In any case, this is no contract hit for unpaid debts or the revenge killing of a snitch.”
Takamäki liked the way Nyström thought. He was glad the guy was assigned to his unit.
“Hard to say,” Joutsamo added. “Let’s first find the killer and then ask about the motive.”
“Yeah, I was just trying to think of the motive so we could narrow down the potential perpetrators.”
Takamäki nodded. “Good, let’s go on.”
“No winners yet among the fingerprints,” Joutsamo said. “For example, the front door had prints from at least seven different people, and we’ve identified three so far: Laura Vatanen’s own and the two officers who responded to the call.”
“One set of prints might be the custodian’s, who unlocked the door,” Kulta pointed out. “He fiddled with the lock.”
“That’s what I was thinking. We’ll talk to him again and get his prints,” Joutsamo said. “Interestingly, one set of the prints matches the ones found on the coffeemaker and more specifically the on-switch. So it’s evident that someone who recently entered the apartment started the coffeemaker. Note that it was still on when the body was found.”
“What about a phone and a computer?” Takamäki asked.
Joutsamo looked at her notes. “No computer in the apartment. Maybe the killer removed it from the apartment, or she never had one. No internet cable or wireless network either. She had a hundred twenty euros in her purse, so the motive probably wasn’t money. We found one noteworthy call in her phone-an answered call at 8:50 A.M. from a number listed as ‘Mom.’”
“A possible suspect, since the motive wasn’t sex, money, or gang-related,” Kulta said. “The mother had easy access to the apartment and could’ve even surprised her daughter, who wouldn’t have been expecting the slash.”
“Sure,” Joutsamo said. “The previous phone call was the night before to a number on a prepaid SIM card. By the way, Laura’s was prepaid, too.”
Joutsamo looked at Takamäki. “That’s what we know so far.”
“Nice work, Anna, and quick. The coffeemaker is an interesting point. Seems likely at this stage that the killer was someone Laura Vatanen knew.”
Takamäki was interrupted when Kannas from Forensics popped into the room, his large frame towering in the doorway. Takamäki knew Kannas from their patrol days.
“Well, we’ve got something anyway,” Kannas said in his gruff voice.
“What is it?” Takamäki asked.
“The prints matched a guy with a criminal record; a guy named Jaakko Niskala was in the apartment at some point. He’s not a big-time gangster, but he does have a couple of thefts and assaults to his name.”
“You mean the prints on the coffeemaker?” Takamäki asked hopefully.
“Unfortunately, no; his were on the front door and the fridge.”
Kannas handed Joutsamo the printout and said, “His address is only a few hundred feet from the victim’s apartment, so you might want to talk to him.”
Kulta was the first to speak, though they all thought the same thing.
“What was a small-time thief doing in a mentally disabled woman’s apartment?”
No one had an answer.
“We’ve got our work cut out. Mikko, Kirsi, and Leif, keep interviewing the tenants in the Nӓyttelijӓ Street apartment complex. Someone might’ve seen something. And ask the people if they know anything about her.”
“Okay,” Kulta agreed. “We’ll get fingerprints off what’s-his-name, the custodian. Jorma Korpivaara, was it?”
Joutsamo nodded.
“Yep, we’ll get his prints, and talk to him some more.”
“Find out about this Jaakko Niskala,” Takamäki told Suhonen. “What kind of a guy he is and what circles he runs in.”
“Check,” Suhonen replied.
“Anna and I will go break the news to the mother and check on that end. It’s three thirty, so we’ll meet back here at nine,” Takamäki decided.
CHAPTER 3
WEDNESDAY, 5:30 P.M.
OLARI, ESPOO
Takamäki rang the doorbell with Joutsamo at his side. They were the only people in the dark yard of the unlit townhouse. The December sun had set a few hours ago. A high hedge cast a drab shadow onto the walkway from the dim street lamp. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. The roads would be slick after the slush froze.
Takamäki wore a dark blue, waist-length zippered jacket, a white dress shirt, and a dark blue tie he had added just for this visit. Joutsamo’s small black shoulder bag was draped over her black trench coat. Takamäki shot her a grim glance.
They could tell someone was at home by the faint noises from the house. The door had no mail slot; apparently mail here is delivered to the boxes by the road.
The townhouse was in the Olari district of Espoo, about nine miles west from downtown Helsinki. The neighborhood’s crisscrossing walkways made the layout confusing. The units were crammed together and took up every square inch of land. Takamäki wondered if a 1930s-built single family house with a large yard and apple orchard had once stood here until a greedy developer had turned it all into a densely-built townhouse-and-apartment-building hell.