the same at the academy; we were constantly getting on each other’s nerves.
Perhaps asking Eki to represent Kimmo would be a better idea after all.
“I want to know what grounds this witness has for saying I was still at Armi’s place at one fifteen,” Kimmo demanded, surprisingly clearheadedly.
“I don’t have to tell you that! And you keep quiet, Kallio! You know I’m right.”
The recording officer grimaced at me apologetically behind Ström’s back. I felt better. Maybe we were three against one here.
Ström went through Kimmo’s account repeatedly until we were all growing impatient. Finally, he changed the subject.
“If your bride-to-be didn’t like this pervert stuff you were into, then why did you have the rubber suit with you at her house?”
I had wondered the same thing. This one detail didn’t line up with Kimmo’s otherwise sensible story.
“When I picked up Armi on Friday to take her to Risto’s house, I was coming from the city. I had the suit with me because I was looking for the right kind of product for it. You have to condition rubber, and I didn’t want to use silicone because it makes the surface so sticky. I was looking for something more like a furniture wax. When we left to go to Risto’s, I left my stuff at Armi’s because I was supposed to stay the night.”
“Ah, so. Rubber suit polish…” I stalled. Christ, this guy was not helping me out. “Where did you buy it?”
“Stockmann, in the home furnishings department.”
“You went in there, asking for rubber-sex-suit polish?”
“I didn’t ask anyone anything. I just discreetly tried a few on the suit and then paid for it at the register.”
“Do you still have the bottle and receipt?” I asked quickly.
“The bottle is probably in a bag in my room, and the receipt should be there too.”
Ström mumbled something like, “We’ll check on that,” and changed the subject.
“OK, so since you’re one of these perverts who gets off on wearing rubber, tell me: Are you a sadist or a masochist? What is it you want to do to women?”
The recording officer grimaced at me again, and Kimmo blushed.
“Ström, really? Kimmo, you can answer the first question and ignore the second,” I said.
“Masochist,” Kimmo said quietly. “And I don’t want to do anything to anyone,” he continued, ignoring me. “I want things to be done…”
“Such as…?” The curiosity in Ström’s voice was poorly concealed. Sexually repressed as he was, of course the tawdry aspects of the case would interest him. A lot of people consider police officers sadists; perhaps in Ström’s case, they were right.
“Is this really relevant? We’ve already established that he’s a masochist,” I grumbled.
Ström gave in surprisingly easily.
“Can anyone confirm that you’re specifically a masochist? Some old girlfriend, a whore, whatever?”
“Ström!” I yelled.
“Well, I’ve talked a lot with people at my club, my S&M club,” Kimmo continued. “They could probably tell you.”
“They who? We need specifics.”
Kimmo was silent for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to get them mixed up with the police, especially if you’d treat them with as little respect as you have me.”
Kimmo wouldn’t give names or say anything else about the club. I tried to express to him that gallantry was pointless, but Kimmo kept his mouth stubbornly shut.
“If you don’t give me any names, I’m not going to believe a word you say about this masochism thing. I’m going to workfrom the assumption that whipping and strangling women is your thing, and that’s exactly what you did to your girlfriend,” Ström said.
Here I broke in again. “Markku Ruosteenoja. Makke. There’s your witness. Address Hakarinne 6, stairwell B. He can tell you that Kimmo is a masochist.”
“And who is this Ruosteenoja? Hänninen’s boyfriend or something?”
“No—his dead sister’s boyfriend.”
“So was your sister the sadist then?”
Perhaps asking Eki to represent Kimmo would be a better idea after all.
“I want to know what grounds this witness has for saying I was still at Armi’s place at one fifteen,” Kimmo demanded, surprisingly clearheadedly.
“I don’t have to tell you that! And you keep quiet, Kallio! You know I’m right.”
The recording officer grimaced at me apologetically behind Ström’s back. I felt better. Maybe we were three against one here.
Ström went through Kimmo’s account repeatedly until we were all growing impatient. Finally, he changed the subject.
“If your bride-to-be didn’t like this pervert stuff you were into, then why did you have the rubber suit with you at her house?”
I had wondered the same thing. This one detail didn’t line up with Kimmo’s otherwise sensible story.
“When I picked up Armi on Friday to take her to Risto’s house, I was coming from the city. I had the suit with me because I was looking for the right kind of product for it. You have to condition rubber, and I didn’t want to use silicone because it makes the surface so sticky. I was looking for something more like a furniture wax. When we left to go to Risto’s, I left my stuff at Armi’s because I was supposed to stay the night.”
“Ah, so. Rubber suit polish…” I stalled. Christ, this guy was not helping me out. “Where did you buy it?”
“Stockmann, in the home furnishings department.”
“You went in there, asking for rubber-sex-suit polish?”
“I didn’t ask anyone anything. I just discreetly tried a few on the suit and then paid for it at the register.”
“Do you still have the bottle and receipt?” I asked quickly.
“The bottle is probably in a bag in my room, and the receipt should be there too.”
Ström mumbled something like, “We’ll check on that,” and changed the subject.
“OK, so since you’re one of these perverts who gets off on wearing rubber, tell me: Are you a sadist or a masochist? What is it you want to do to women?”
The recording officer grimaced at me again, and Kimmo blushed.
“Ström, really? Kimmo, you can answer the first question and ignore the second,” I said.
“Masochist,” Kimmo said quietly. “And I don’t want to do anything to anyone,” he continued, ignoring me. “I want things to be done…”
“Such as…?” The curiosity in Ström’s voice was poorly concealed. Sexually repressed as he was, of course the tawdry aspects of the case would interest him. A lot of people consider police officers sadists; perhaps in Ström’s case, they were right.
“Is this really relevant? We’ve already established that he’s a masochist,” I grumbled.
Ström gave in surprisingly easily.
“Can anyone confirm that you’re specifically a masochist? Some old girlfriend, a whore, whatever?”
“Ström!” I yelled.
“Well, I’ve talked a lot with people at my club, my S&M club,” Kimmo continued. “They could probably tell you.”
“They who? We need specifics.”
Kimmo was silent for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to get them mixed up with the police, especially if you’d treat them with as little respect as you have me.”
Kimmo wouldn’t give names or say anything else about the club. I tried to express to him that gallantry was pointless, but Kimmo kept his mouth stubbornly shut.
“If you don’t give me any names, I’m not going to believe a word you say about this masochism thing. I’m going to workfrom the assumption that whipping and strangling women is your thing, and that’s exactly what you did to your girlfriend,” Ström said.
Here I broke in again. “Markku Ruosteenoja. Makke. There’s your witness. Address Hakarinne 6, stairwell B. He can tell you that Kimmo is a masochist.”
“And who is this Ruosteenoja? Hänninen’s boyfriend or something?”
“No—his dead sister’s boyfriend.”
“So was your sister the sadist then?”
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