Darling by Jarkko Sipila Page B

said, “Let’s talk some more. I don’t feel like watching TV… I got somethin’ else I need to tell you.”
    Suhonen was ready to make a joke about the last rites of a man on death row, but changed his mind when he saw the serious look on Salmela’s face. He sat down.
    “I couldn’t tell you this before, because it would’ve revealed the source, and things could’ve ended badly for the guy.”
    “Yeah?” Suhonen said, with interest.
    “Well, the guy got run over by a train a couple of weeks ago. Could’ve been suicide, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead either way. I don’t know if you can use this, but he used to have a cell mate in prison by the name of Nortti…”
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 10
    THURSDAY , 12:45 P.M.
    HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA
     
    Nea Lind’s gray pants were impeccably pressed. She wore a matching gray jacket, a white blouse, and a new pair of shoes she’d bought in Rome. A dark overcoat was folded across her arm.
    She wanted to appear professional to her client and the police. Her goal was to make the top of the list of recommended attorneys in the Violent Crimes Unit, which would ensure a steady flow of clients. The only thing better was the Narcotics Unit; they often had as many as ten suspects per case, whereas the VCU only had one or two. Drug-related court hearings were also more complicated, which meant more billable hours. Her income was guaranteed because the state would pay if the criminals couldn’t afford it.
    The atrium of the temporary police headquarters reached up to the top floor. The building used to be a courthouse, and the architectural style created a lofty feeling of openness. Of course the police headquarters didn’t need that; rather it could’ve used something that depicted strength and wisdom, like a bronze statue of a police officer helping a child across the street. As it happened, an artist, who once had to wait too long in line for his passport, had already designed a statue called “Waiting.” The piece would depict a man sitting in a chair, frozen in time, holding a number slip in his hand. The electronic number on his slip would advance to the next one each time a person was called up, and he’d be stuck waiting forever. This statue could be replicated and placed in all the police stations in the country.
    A dozen pe ople sat in the blue chairs in the first floor waiting room. On one side of the room were counters for passports and permits. On the other side, a glass wall with a locked door that led to the confines of the police department.
    During her career at the large law firm, Lind never set foot in a courtroom. Squabbles were solved by negotiation, and tax issues in the office of the Administrative Court. Companies didn’t want bad publicity, and agreements always included confidentiality clauses. The courthouse was for people’s small claims and debt collecting—and for criminal cases, of course. Now, Lind was particularly interested in the latter.
    Lind glanced at the wall to the number b eing served; it was 346. She’d waited for ten minutes and the number had gone up by two. The efficiency level at the police station was about the same as a hardware store, but better than the cable companies’ customer service.
    When she saw a brunette woman approaching in a black sweater, Lind picked up the computer case she had set at her feet. The ID badge around the woman’s neck confirmed she was a police officer. “Lind?” the officer asked, with a serious expression.
    “Yes ,” Lind replied, and the officer introduced herself as Anna Joutsamo from the Violent Crimes Unit. As was customary, the attorney introduced herself, though the officer already knew her name. Lind thought Joutsamo’s firm handshake fit her persona.
    “Guess we haven’t met ?” Joutsamo asked.
    “No.”
    “Have you handled criminal cases before?”
    Lind found the tone of the question a little condescending, but figured it was part of the