Jarkko Sipila - Darling

Kari Takamäki…….Detective Lieutenant, Helsinki PD Violent Crimes Unit

Suhonen…….Undercover Detective, VCU

Anna Joutsamo…….VCU Sergeant

Mikko Kulta…….VCU Detective

Kirsi Kohonen…….VCU Detective

Leif Nyström…….VCU Detective

Toukola…….Narcotics cop

Eero Salmela…….Suhonen’s old friend and ex-con

Laura Vatanen……..Victim

Marjaana Vatanen…….Laura’s mother

Nea Lind…….Defense attorney

Sanna Römpötti…….TV crime reporter

Jorma Korpivaara…….Building custodian

Pekka Rautalampi……..Mustache Guy at the Alamo Bar

Heikki Lahtela………….The Quiet Guy at the Alamo

Jaakko Niskala…….Small-time criminal at the Alamo

Rautis…….Two-bit dealer

Aarnio…….Late night garbage bag guy

FALL 2010 HELSINKI PRISON

He lay in the dimly lit prison cell. The only light was the red hue of the street lamp streaming in through the bars in the window. He couldn’t sleep, but the problem wasn’t the bed. He was used to sleeping on prison bunks by now, and the mattress wasn’t bad. The problem was his cell mate in the top bunk.

They had brought the guy in two days ago, and it was obvious from his eyes that he’d been medicated. “Hell,” he said to the guards. “Take him to the hospital. He shouldn’t be here in that condition.”

The guy coughed and wheezed for a minute before his breathing slowed down.

Last night the guard asked him if the upper-bunk guy had taken his medication. What the hell did they think he was, a damn nurse? If the guard was so worried about it, he should watch the guy himself. Or take him to the hospital. The guard snorted and disappeared.

Unlike his cell mate who lay in bed all day, he’d at least kept himself busy in the license plate shop.

He heard mumbling from the top bunk but couldn’t make it out.

He wasn’t scared of the guy; he could take care of himself, no problem. Sometimes, though, hallucinating junkies could get violent if they thought you were someone else.

They’d exchanged a few words earlier in the day and it seemed like the guy was at least aware that he was in prison.

“I killed her.”

The direct statement startled him.

“I killed her, goddammit.”

Was the guy talking in his sleep or was he awake?

“Strangled her. Fuck, I strangled her.”

He wondered if he should say something to the guards, but for now decided against it.

WEDNESDAY, 11:25 A.M.

NӒYTTELIJӒ STREET, HELSINKI

The apartment complex custodian stood at the door in blue-and-yellow overalls, fiddling with a set of keys. Two uniformed police officers were waiting behind him. They didn’t mind the time he was taking, since this wasn’t an emergency call.

The stairwell of the 1980s apartment building was as dull as the decade: pale gray walls, a landing laid in dark stone, stairs up and down, and four brown doors. Sergeant Tero Partio had seen hundreds of these stairwells. Despite the impression from TV reality shows, Partio sometimes had quiet nights at work, and on one of these he had wondered if there was an apartment complex left in Helsinki he hadn’t visited.

Intrigued, he had looked up a website which gave the number of apartment buildings in the city as forty-five thousand. Over his career the total number of shifts he had worked amounted to about a tenth of that number, and he had never had as many as ten calls during a shift. So Partio concluded that he hadn’t even been to every block in the city, especially since the calls always seemed to concern the same few areas and buildings. This city-owned apartment complex in North Haaga was one of them.

The last time he was in this building was back in August, when police had been called to an apartment on the first floor. Two men had shared a cab and ended up in a knife fight. A man who lived in the building had shared a ride with a thirty-year-old guy he had just met in a bar, and had offered to let him crash in his apartment. The police were called at ten o’clock after the men dug out their knives to settle an argument. With their wounds treated, they both ended up spending the night in the Töölö jail.

That apartment was two floors below. Partio had glanced at the name on the mailbox and thought it was different from before. Maybe the hospitable gentleman had been evicted.

“Okay, good,” Partio said when the maintenance man finally managed to unlock the door. He had a bandage on his index finger, which might have been why it took him so long. Perhaps he expected thanks, but Partio didn’t see the point, especially since the man smelled like booze, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Stay here,” Partio said to the guy.

The apartment was quiet, but the lights were on. At first glance the place looked clean-no piled-up mail behind the door or empty bottles rolling around to trip over. A piercing, sickly-sweet smell of iron hit him, which was never good news.

“Anybody home?” Partio asked loudly. “It’s the police.”

No answer. As he walked down the hall he saw a coat rack and a small closet on the right. A beige rug covered the floor, and Partio noticed a rusty stain on it. Not a good sign.

“Don’t step on the rug,” Partio warned his colleague Esa Nieminen, who was behind him.

Tall, square mirror tiles divided the left wall in half, and he noticed that one of the squares was broken. He carefully opened the door on the right to what he correctly assumed was the bathroom. It was empty.

Partio continued along the mirrored wall to the end of the hall. Past the bathroom, the door leading to a bedroom was cracked. Partio told Nieminen to check it out.

“Anybody here? Police!” Partio yelled again. Finding someone passed out on the sofa wouldn’t be a first.

On the right was the living room. A couch set against the wall was facing a TV, and a low coffee table was between them. Partio noticed a pool of blood on the floor. He walked closer, keeping to the wall, and saw a pair of feet. It didn’t seem like this call would have a happy ending-there was a lot of blood. He needed to check the victim without destroying any evidence. Walking along the wall, he stopped ten feet short of the body. A young woman, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, was lying on her back. Partio’s eyes fixed on her throat; it was slashed, leaving her head barely attached.

Partio thought he had seen it all in his line of work, but this was almost too much. He swallowed hard.

“There’s a body over here,” he told Nieminen. “Don’t touch anything.”

Partio glanced at his young, baby-faced colleague and watched him slowly push the bedroom door open with a pen. Nicely done, he thought.

It was critical to keep from touching anything so the Forensics team could extract as much uncontaminated evidence as possible. Nonetheless, Partio and Nieminen had to check the rest of the apartment in case the perpetrator was still there. In the kitchen, Partio half expected to see a man who had committed suicide.

The officer’s eyes stayed fixed on the woman. If he had suspected that she might still be alive, he would have acted to save her life, not caring about preserving evidence. But there was no doubt she was dead: her gray shirt had dark-red stains on it, and had folded over a bit to reveal some of her abdomen. Her blonde hair was covered in blood.

Partio noticed three teddy bears on the couch. A “mother” bear held a small, black teddy bear with a bow on its ear in her lap, while a “father” bear was propped up to hold hands with the “mother.” Above the couch was an unframed poster: the setting sun over a beach with palm trees. Partio wondered if that was what the woman had dreamed about. He sighed, and imagined that a beach vacation was exactly what he needed.