The Nightingale Murder (The Maria Kallio Series Book 9)

  ALSO BY LEENA LEHTOLAINEN

  My First Murder

  Her Enemy

  Copper Heart

  Snow Woman

  Death Spiral

  Fatal Headwind

  Before I Go

  Below the Surface

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2005 by Leena Lehtolainen

  Translation copyright © 2018 by Owen F. Witesman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Rivo satakieli by Tammi in Finland in 2005. Translated from Finnish by Owen F. Witesman. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2018.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503901117

  ISBN-10: 1503901114

  Cover design by Ray Lundgren

  For Laura. Thanks for the name.

  CONTENTS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Aaltonen: Commander, Espoo Narcotics Division

  Aarnivuori, Jaakko: A friend of Arto Saarnio

  Airaksinen, Jukka: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Akkila: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Asikkala, Mari: Nurse, Jorvi Hospital

  Autio, Gideon: Detective, Espoo Violent Crime Unit

  Eija: Secretary, Espoo VCU

  Erkko-Salonen, Iiris: Riitta Saarnio’s psychiatrist

  Grotenfelt, Kirsti: Forensic pathologist

  Haapio: IT specialist, Espoo PD

  Haikala: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Hakkarainen: Forensic technician

  Helin, Mirja: Nurse, Jorvi Hospital

  Hietamäki, Miasofia: Surgeon, Jorvi Hospital

  Himanen: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Honkanen, Ursula: Detective, Espoo VCU

  Hytönen, Mauri: Small businessman, customer of prostitutes

  Iivonen, Iines: Stripper

  Kaartamo: Assistant chief of police, Espoo PD

  Kallio, Maria: Commander, Espoo VCU

  Kerminen: Forensic photographer

  Klimkin, Johanna: Russian interpreter

  Koivu, Pekka: Detective, Espoo VCU, Wang’s husband

  Konkola: Patrol officer, Helsinki PD

  Koskela, Nuppu: Makeup artist

  Koskinen: Patrol officer, jailor, Espoo PD

  Lähde: Detective, retired

  Lahtela, Pamela: Teenage prostitute

  Länsimies, Ilari: Talk show host

  Länsimies, Kaarina: Wife of Ilari, shoe shop owner

  Leena: Maria’s friend

  Liskomäki: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Mäkinen, Paavo and Anita: Lulu Nightingale’s parents

  Marita: Antti’s sister

  Mikkola: Forensic technician

  Minttu: Receptionist, Hytönen HVAC

  Mishin, Igor: Pimp

  Montonen: Patrol officer, Helsinki PD

  Mustajärvi, Pate: A friend of Tero Sulonen

  Mustajoki, Anna-Maija: Author, former Ministry of Social Affairs and Health official

  Nightingale, Lulu (Lilli Mäkinen): A high-class prostitute

  Nordström, Lasse: Special agent, National Bureau of Investigation

  Petrenko, Oksana: Ukrainian prostitute

  Pihlaja, Terhi: Lutheran pastor

  Puupponen, Ville: Detective, Espoo VCU

  Puustjärvi, Petri: Detective, Espoo VCU

  Raila: Riitta Saarnio’s friend

  Raivionpää: Industrialist

  Räsänen, Niina: Childhood friend of Lulu

  Rasilainen, Liisa: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Reponen, Katri: District prosecutor

  Saarnio, Arto “Hatchetman”: Corporate restructuring expert

  Saarnio, Riitta: TV producer

  Saastamoinen, Mira: Patrol officer, Espoo PD

  Sarkela, Antti: Maria’s husband

  Sarkela, Iida: Maria’s daughter

  Sarkela, Marjatta: Antti’s mother

  Sarkela, Taneli: Maria’s son

  Sarkela, Tauno: Antti’s father, deceased

  Söderholm, Kaide: Ballistics expert

  Ström, Pertti: Detective, Espoo VCU, deceased

  Sulonen, Tero: Lulu Nightingale’s bodyguard

  Taskinen, Jyrki: Director, Espoo Criminal Division

  Urmanov, Yevgeni: Mishin’s enforcer

  Vesterinen, Eeva: Maria’s sister

  Vesterinen, Jarmo: Maria’s brother-in-law

  Vesterinen: Evidence technician, Espoo PD

  Viitanen, Aila “Allu”: Leena’s aunt and godmother, entrepreneur

  Virve: Antti’s colleague at the University of Vaasa

  Wang-Koivu, Anu: VCU detective, Koivu’s wife

  1

  A woman stood on a sidewalk. High-heeled vinyl boots extended up to her thighs, leaving ample space between them and the hem of her miniskirt. Breasts burst from her skimpy top. Her smile was at once alluring and uncertain: What would her next customer be like? When a car finally pulled up, Richard Gere was in the driver’s seat.

  I changed the channel. I couldn’t stand watching Pretty Woman for the third time. But the other options were lousy too: Formula 1 time trials, reality TV, and a meat market masquerading as a game show. I finished my tea and turned off the television set.

  The kids were asleep, and I checked to make sure they were breathing. Our three-month-old kitten, Venjamin, lay curled up at Iida’s feet. He purred when I scratched behind his ear. I felt lonely. I tried to reach my husband, Antti, but his phone was off even though it was only nine thirty. I didn’t feel like bothering any of my friends. Everyone either had small children or an early morning.

  When I couldn’t come up with anything else to do, I called Koivu, who was the officer on call for our unit that night. Beyond being a colleague, Koivu was also my friend. He was only a year younger than me, and before coming to Espoo we’d also worked together in Helsinki and Northern Karelia.

  “Hey, it’s Maria. Anything going on?”

  “One house call—the Janatuinens on Aapeli Lane. We hadn’t heard a peep from them for a whole month. They were both drunk, so we tossed them in the tank and placed the kids in a foster home. Any chance we can get them removed permanently this time?”

  “If the parents both regret it in the morning and neither wants to press charges, then . . .”

  Koivu groaned. “Yeah, yeah. But should the parents’ right to bring up their children really be so absolute?”

  I didn’t answer. Koivu and I had debated this many times over the years. He and his wife, Anu Wang-Koivu, who was also a police officer, had had three children in quick succession, and the youn
gest was barely two months old. Fatherhood had made Koivu so sensitive to anything having to do with children that sometimes I had to rein him in.

  “Also, an ambulance brought in a woman who’s all slashed up. She has cuts all over her body, including her face and genital area. She doesn’t have any papers and doesn’t seem to understand Finnish. The hospital staff thinks she’s from Russia or somewhere thereabouts. She was yelling something in a Slavic language before the sedatives kicked in. They’ve been sewing her up for more than an hour.”

  “Where was she found?”

  “In a vacant lot near downtown Espoo. A dog out for his walk smelled the blood. I have a team looking for footprints.”

  I thought of the scene from the movie I’d just seen, and even though I was ashamed of my assumption, I asked, “What kind of clothes was she wearing?”

  “Winter boots and a fur coat,” Koivu replied. “But nothing underneath, not even underwear.”

  Strange. If this was a prostitute beaten up by her pimp, why would she be dressed in a coat and boots instead of being left naked out in the cold March air? Had he—or they—just wanted to give her a warning, but the beating got out of hand?

  Koivu’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Are you still there? The hospital said we could come in to interview her tomorrow. Cuts like that don’t happen by accident.”

  “Book an interpreter. Will you be working in the morning too?”

  “Yes. Speaking of which, when can I take my comp days?”

  “You know the answer to that,” I said and then hung up with a silent curse. Despite the recent reduction in the alcohol tax, the number of violent crimes wasn’t growing nearly as fast as the number of drug crimes and white-collar crimes, which increasingly received more investigative resources. To the decision makers, crimes involving money were more important than the physical safety of citizens. This meant less funding for dealing with the violent crimes that did occur—my unit currently had two unfilled positions. Lähde, who had been in the department since long before my time, had taken early retirement at the beginning of the year for health reasons, and the other position had been open for going on two years. Plus Anu Wang-Koivu was out on maternity leave, and I’d hired Ursula Honkanen for successive three-month contracts to fill in.

  I curled up on the edge of the window side of our double bed. Antti’s side was empty. His research job in Vaasa meant two nights away from home each week, but since Christmas he’d started staying there for longer stretches. He told me that his current project at the University of Vaasa was in its most interesting phase, and he had a lot of conference presentations to give since the pilot study was garnering international attention. The department of economics was attempting to model the effects of globalization on the Finnish and world economies over a fifty-year time horizon by comparing different taxation and customs regimes. Even though Antti’s specialty was category theory, he’d told me that digging into more practical mathematics was a pleasant change of pace. He felt like he was doing important work because the results could be used to direct the world’s money flows more fairly. But the meaningfulness of the work didn’t alleviate the loneliness.

  When sleep finally took me, my dreams tangled Julia Roberts with this woman found bloodied in the snow. At some point in the night Venjamin nipped at my toes.

  At seven o’clock the alarm clock forced me out of bed. After our regular morning routine, I took Taneli, who was four now, to day care, and escorted Iida and her friend Saara to their second-grade classroom. There were two dangerous intersections along the way. The half-mile walk was pleasant and gave my brain some oxygen. Though March was halfway over, it was still full winter. The sun didn’t push the temperature above freezing even in the afternoon, and there was still enough snow on the ground for skiing.

  In the conference room at the police station, everything was as usual. Ursula’s makeup was perfect. Puustjärvi didn’t arrive until the last minute because of the same traffic at the same intersection he always got held up at on the way from Kirkkonummi. For the umpteenth time, I wondered why he didn’t just leave home five minutes earlier. Koivu yawned and said he’d only caught a few hours of sleep in the lounge. Puupponen ate a donut. Every day he consumed an absurd amount of fat and sugar, but somehow he stayed slim. Autio had a new tie. Its blue stripes went well with his brown suit.

  “Ursula, you take the Janatuinen family and talk with DCFS about having the children removed from the home once and for all. Koivu, did you manage to get an interpreter for the woman at the hospital? For the time being let’s call her Lady X.”

  “It doesn’t look good. One of our Russian interpreters is on sick leave, and the other one is on loan to the Vantaa department. What about trying English or asking the hospital for assistance? And were you hoping I would head up the investigation?”

  I smiled. Languages weren’t the strongest weapon in Koivu’s policing arsenal.

  “Here’s a few pictures.” Koivu turned his computer around. Immediately Puupponen’s second donut fell from his mouth. The very first shot depicted the woman’s genitals, which had a knife cut all the way from the vagina to the anus. Both breasts bore deep wounds, and on her face a slash ran from her right eye to her mouth. The woman was slender, and I estimated that she was barely twenty. I tried to maintain my composure as I looked, but I felt sick to my stomach.

  “Left-handed. The attacker,” Puupponen said instantly, but I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the perpetrator had stood behind the victim. Puupponen had a habit of jumping to conclusions, and there were other aspects of his behavior that resembled those of a little boy’s. But lately his compulsion to make everything a joke had subsided, and sometimes I even found myself missing his attempts to lighten the mood.

  “This is where she was found,” Koivu continued, moving to the next screen. The pictures showed a level field covered in a thin blanket of snow next to a road. Pushing someone out of a car there would be simple.

  “Yesterday was pretty cold, and the snow was stomped flat, so finding footprints was difficult. According to the responding patrol, she couldn’t have been cut there, because there was no blood spatter.”

  “But why dump her right there? Did they leave her to die? Or to be found?” Puupponen asked.

  “It was revenge. They stole the tools of her trade,” Ursula said coldly. “Strange that they left her alive, and that they let her go free. Usually pimps keep their whores locked up for the time it takes to recover after punishment.”

  “Let’s remember that so far we don’t have any evidence that this girl is a sex worker. Let’s question her first,” I said. I’d learned a lot from Anu Wang-Koivu, who was originally from Vietnam, about Finns’ attitudes toward Asian and Slavic immigrants. She’d pointed out that usually we assumed they were either hookers or mail-order brides.

  “I can handle it,” Koivu said, and I also thought he’d be a good choice for the job. His gentle nature usually made people want to talk, but he wouldn’t get anywhere without an interpreter. “There has to be someone who speaks Russian at Jorvi Hospital. Don’t they bring in their cleaning staff from across the border since no Finns are willing to get their hands dirty anymore?”

  “You sound like a politician. I’ll come with you,” I said suddenly. “How about right after this meeting?”

  Puupponen whistled. “Do you know Russian, boss?”

  “I studied it in high school, and lately I’ve been practicing a bit since we get Russian channels on our satellite.” What I didn’t tell my subordinates was that I thought knowing Russian would be helpful for getting a new job. I’d been with the Espoo Police Department for ten years now, although because of maternity leave I’d only done seven years of actual work. I also didn’t let on that I’d chosen Russian back in high school because my first love, Johnny, had studied it too. How funny that a moment of schoolgirl fancy might help with a criminal investigation nearly twenty-five years later.

  Koivu drove while I tried to remember relevant v
ocabulary and phrases. I’d practiced Russian with the assistant coach of Iida’s figure-skating group, but terms for jumps and spins probably wouldn’t be much use in an assault interview.

  The last time I’d visited Jorvi Hospital was in the fall, when we’d said good-bye to Antti’s father. That memory still brought a lump to my throat, even though Tauno Sarkela’s passing after a long illness had been a relief. To me, Jorvi meant pain and death—both of my children had been born at a birthing center away from the big city in Tammisaari.

  Koivu walked briskly from the parking lot, as if he wanted to get this job over with as quickly as possible. I suddenly felt as though I couldn’t remember a single word of Russian.

  The desk nurse directed us to the correct room. Our victim lay in a bed near the window. In the middle bed slept an elderly lady, and nearer the door was a woman about my age with curly hair, her leg elevated in a cast. She greeted us happily.

  “So they finally found the window girl’s friends?”

  Of course, we couldn’t interview Lady X with other people present. I asked the nurse whether they had any empty rooms on the floor. She looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Even this room is designed for only two patients.”

  “What about a washroom or a linen closet? Any enclosed space will work.”

  The nurse left to fetch the charge nurse, and Koivu and I tried to dodge the curly-haired woman’s questions.

  “She’s Russian. I’ve heard enough Russian in Tallinn to recognize it.”

  “Did she talk to you?”

  “No, but during the night she was screaming in her sleep and we had to call one of the nurses. I’ve been in line for varicose vein surgery for four years, and I guess I just have to put up with this in order to finally get the procedure. Who knows what drug gang she’s mixed up with. Is it safe to be near her right now? Anyone could just stroll in here.”

  I walked toward the window and found that the girl’s eyes were open. One half of her face was covered in bandages. Her blond hair reached her shoulders, and the covers were pulled up to her neck as if she wanted to conceal as much of herself as possible.

  “Zdravstvujtye. Vy govorite po-russki?” I asked. The girl’s eyelids fluttered a little, but she didn’t reply. I decided to wait to continue until we were alone.