share.”
“He’s fucking his secretary Linda and wants his wife out of the way.”
“I saw them together at Kamp last night,” I say. “You’re right about the fucking part.”
“Iisa kept Saar’s work schedule in her purse. Filippov knew it. He could monitor their possible tryst schedules, and it makes sense that he would check her cell phone for text messages, too. He sees the text asking Iisa to meet Saar and her message agreeing. She has a key to Saar’s place. Filippov had a copy made and waited for his opportunity. He specializes in toxic waste disposal. He’s got waterproof, disposable coated-paper suits, rubber and vinyl masks and gloves, all the gear necessary to cover him head to foot and keep DNA evidence off him. He puts the stuff on, hits Saar in the head and frames him, tortures his wife and kills her, then gets rid of the bloody gear. It’s simple and practical.”
Milo’s theory begins to intrigue me. “It’s possible.”
“It’s more than possible,” Milo says, “it’s what happened.”
I think it through. “How about if we wait to find out about the blood on Saar’s shirt? If we don’t find blood spatter to match the crime, we take a closer look at Filippov.”
Milo nods.
“Did you look at Filippov Construction’s security tape?” I ask.
“Yeah, they arrived at the times they stated.”
“I expected that. Do you know when Iisa’s autopsy is scheduled?”
“Eleven thirty this morning.”
“I have another investigation going on,” I say. “It’s going to take up a big part of my day. Let’s do it like this. Skip the autopsy. You go back to Saar’s apartment. Now that forensics is done, you can really give it a thorough search.”
“This other investigation of yours must have something to do with your late-night visit from the chief. Want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
Now he’s both impressed and slavering for details. “It’s that top-secret?”
“I didn’t say it was secret. I’m choosing not to discuss it with you.”
He purses his lips. “You’re a real prick today.”
“Yep. When you search Saar’s apartment, I mean search it. You look between the pages of every book, go through pockets of all his clothing. No stone goes unturned. Tear the place apart. Meet me back here at four thirty and we’ll reinterview Saar. Can you work that fast?”
He scowls and salutes. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
I leave him alone with his ego.
14
I stop at a fast-food place and intend to wolf down some lunch, think better of it and grab a coffee instead. While I sit and drink it, I get a text message from Jyri Ivalo: “I read the Filippov murder initial report. Charge Saar. Open and shut. Interview Arvid Lahtinen and report.”
I ignore the text and call Jari.
“Hello, little brother,” he says. “How are things?” I’m forty-one. Jari is four years older than me.
“They’ve been better. Can I see you?”
“You’ve been in Helsinki for the better part of a year. I wondered when you’d want to get together.”
“Actually, I’ve got a headache problem, and I need to see a neurologist.”
“Oh.” I hear disappointment in his voice.
I don’t know why I haven’t seen him. I guess being around him makes me think about our childhoods, something I try to avoid. “I’ve been meaning to call, it’s just… you know how things are. The new job. And I guess you heard Kate is pregnant. She’s expecting soon, and I’ve been spending every free moment with her.”
“I understand,” he says.
He doesn’t understand. “Tell me about your headaches,” he says.
“It’s not headaches. It’s one long headache. I’ve had problems for about a year, but this particular migraine has lasted about three weeks now.”
“Constantly?”
“Yeah, no breaks.”
“Your nerves must be shot.”
“They’ve been better.”
“You shouldn’t have waited so long to see me. Come to the polyclinic at Meilahti at nine a.m. tomorrow
“He’s fucking his secretary Linda and wants his wife out of the way.”
“I saw them together at Kamp last night,” I say. “You’re right about the fucking part.”
“Iisa kept Saar’s work schedule in her purse. Filippov knew it. He could monitor their possible tryst schedules, and it makes sense that he would check her cell phone for text messages, too. He sees the text asking Iisa to meet Saar and her message agreeing. She has a key to Saar’s place. Filippov had a copy made and waited for his opportunity. He specializes in toxic waste disposal. He’s got waterproof, disposable coated-paper suits, rubber and vinyl masks and gloves, all the gear necessary to cover him head to foot and keep DNA evidence off him. He puts the stuff on, hits Saar in the head and frames him, tortures his wife and kills her, then gets rid of the bloody gear. It’s simple and practical.”
Milo’s theory begins to intrigue me. “It’s possible.”
“It’s more than possible,” Milo says, “it’s what happened.”
I think it through. “How about if we wait to find out about the blood on Saar’s shirt? If we don’t find blood spatter to match the crime, we take a closer look at Filippov.”
Milo nods.
“Did you look at Filippov Construction’s security tape?” I ask.
“Yeah, they arrived at the times they stated.”
“I expected that. Do you know when Iisa’s autopsy is scheduled?”
“Eleven thirty this morning.”
“I have another investigation going on,” I say. “It’s going to take up a big part of my day. Let’s do it like this. Skip the autopsy. You go back to Saar’s apartment. Now that forensics is done, you can really give it a thorough search.”
“This other investigation of yours must have something to do with your late-night visit from the chief. Want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
Now he’s both impressed and slavering for details. “It’s that top-secret?”
“I didn’t say it was secret. I’m choosing not to discuss it with you.”
He purses his lips. “You’re a real prick today.”
“Yep. When you search Saar’s apartment, I mean search it. You look between the pages of every book, go through pockets of all his clothing. No stone goes unturned. Tear the place apart. Meet me back here at four thirty and we’ll reinterview Saar. Can you work that fast?”
He scowls and salutes. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
I leave him alone with his ego.
14
I stop at a fast-food place and intend to wolf down some lunch, think better of it and grab a coffee instead. While I sit and drink it, I get a text message from Jyri Ivalo: “I read the Filippov murder initial report. Charge Saar. Open and shut. Interview Arvid Lahtinen and report.”
I ignore the text and call Jari.
“Hello, little brother,” he says. “How are things?” I’m forty-one. Jari is four years older than me.
“They’ve been better. Can I see you?”
“You’ve been in Helsinki for the better part of a year. I wondered when you’d want to get together.”
“Actually, I’ve got a headache problem, and I need to see a neurologist.”
“Oh.” I hear disappointment in his voice.
I don’t know why I haven’t seen him. I guess being around him makes me think about our childhoods, something I try to avoid. “I’ve been meaning to call, it’s just… you know how things are. The new job. And I guess you heard Kate is pregnant. She’s expecting soon, and I’ve been spending every free moment with her.”
“I understand,” he says.
He doesn’t understand. “Tell me about your headaches,” he says.
“It’s not headaches. It’s one long headache. I’ve had problems for about a year, but this particular migraine has lasted about three weeks now.”
“Constantly?”
“Yeah, no breaks.”
“Your nerves must be shot.”
“They’ve been better.”
“You shouldn’t have waited so long to see me. Come to the polyclinic at Meilahti at nine a.m. tomorrow
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