case,” he says. “You shouldn’t give it up. No matter what. It’s the will of God. It has to be.”
I leave Valtteri, still seeming reflective, thinking that even for him, it seemed like an odd thing to say.
***
THE DETENTION CELLS ARE in the basement. My timing is good. As I walk down the stairs, I hear Seppo screaming, “Hey! Hey! Somebody let me out of here!”
It took all of three hours to break him. The cell door is steel. I slide open the observation port and look in. His face is pressed against the inside.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Please let me out. I can’t stand it in here.”
“Stick your hands out the window.”
He looks like he’s afraid I’ll rip them off, but he does it. I hand-cuff him. “Now move away from the door.”
I unlock it and step inside. He almost falls backing away from me. His piss-stained expensive suit is gone, along with his bravado. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, both way too big for him.
“Where did you get the clothes?” I ask.
“The sergeant gave them to me. I was expecting an orange prison jumpsuit or something.”
“You’ve been watching too much American TV.”
Valtteri’s Christian charity applies even to psychotic murderers. They’re his own clothes. The T-shirt is tucked into the jeans and accents Seppo’s beer belly. His face is red from broken blood vessels. It takes years of hard drinking to acquire that look. I can bench-press two hundred and fifty pounds. Seppo doesn’t look like he could bench-press a vodka bottle.
“Want a smoke?” I ask.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
I sit down on a metal cot bolted to the wall and shake a cigarette out of the pack. “No.”
He reaches out to take it, his hands tremble. I try to light it for him, but he’s shaking so hard that I have to hold him by the manacles to steady him. He inhales and coughs. The cell is sixteen by twenty-four feet square. Former occupants have scrawled names and dates on the gray concrete walls.
“Drab surroundings compared to your winter dacha,” I say.
He sucks on the cigarette like he’ll never get another.
“Let’s talk about Sufia.”
He coughs again. “I don’t know any Sufia.”
“Sufia Elmi, murdered forty-nine hours ago in a snowfield. You were having an affair with her. If you’re going to murder someone, you shouldn’t leave documentation. You gave her money, paid her rent.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“I just spent a couple hours collecting evidence from your BMW. I found blood, hair and semen. Are you going to tell me they won’t connect you to Sufia?”
He purses his lips, like he’s trying to decide something. “Can I talk to you straight, without you hurting me?”
“If you want to get out of here, that’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, and I think you know it.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent convinced that you did.”
“There’s been a murder, and you found a way to link me to it. After all this time, you’re getting even with me for my affair with Heli.”
“That’s not true.”
He starts to cry. “Can’t I just apologize? I’m truly sorry that Heli and I hurt you. I didn’t know you. All I knew was that I loved Heli.”
This note rings false. People have affairs all the time and I doubt he cares who he hurts. Seppo is a sack of shit. He’s begging, just spewing whatever he hopes will get him out of this mess. I don’t say anything.
He sniffles. “And I’m sorry for what I said about your wife. I was trying to be brave.”
“Ancient history has nothing to do with this murder investigation.”
“I know what Heli did to you was awful. I didn’t make her do it, I told her to decide for herself who she wanted to be with.”
“Let’s move forward in time thirteen years and talk about Sufia’s murder.”
He dries his tears. “I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t think I should discuss it without talking to a lawyer.”
“You want out of
I leave Valtteri, still seeming reflective, thinking that even for him, it seemed like an odd thing to say.
***
THE DETENTION CELLS ARE in the basement. My timing is good. As I walk down the stairs, I hear Seppo screaming, “Hey! Hey! Somebody let me out of here!”
It took all of three hours to break him. The cell door is steel. I slide open the observation port and look in. His face is pressed against the inside.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Please let me out. I can’t stand it in here.”
“Stick your hands out the window.”
He looks like he’s afraid I’ll rip them off, but he does it. I hand-cuff him. “Now move away from the door.”
I unlock it and step inside. He almost falls backing away from me. His piss-stained expensive suit is gone, along with his bravado. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, both way too big for him.
“Where did you get the clothes?” I ask.
“The sergeant gave them to me. I was expecting an orange prison jumpsuit or something.”
“You’ve been watching too much American TV.”
Valtteri’s Christian charity applies even to psychotic murderers. They’re his own clothes. The T-shirt is tucked into the jeans and accents Seppo’s beer belly. His face is red from broken blood vessels. It takes years of hard drinking to acquire that look. I can bench-press two hundred and fifty pounds. Seppo doesn’t look like he could bench-press a vodka bottle.
“Want a smoke?” I ask.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
I sit down on a metal cot bolted to the wall and shake a cigarette out of the pack. “No.”
He reaches out to take it, his hands tremble. I try to light it for him, but he’s shaking so hard that I have to hold him by the manacles to steady him. He inhales and coughs. The cell is sixteen by twenty-four feet square. Former occupants have scrawled names and dates on the gray concrete walls.
“Drab surroundings compared to your winter dacha,” I say.
He sucks on the cigarette like he’ll never get another.
“Let’s talk about Sufia.”
He coughs again. “I don’t know any Sufia.”
“Sufia Elmi, murdered forty-nine hours ago in a snowfield. You were having an affair with her. If you’re going to murder someone, you shouldn’t leave documentation. You gave her money, paid her rent.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“I just spent a couple hours collecting evidence from your BMW. I found blood, hair and semen. Are you going to tell me they won’t connect you to Sufia?”
He purses his lips, like he’s trying to decide something. “Can I talk to you straight, without you hurting me?”
“If you want to get out of here, that’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, and I think you know it.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent convinced that you did.”
“There’s been a murder, and you found a way to link me to it. After all this time, you’re getting even with me for my affair with Heli.”
“That’s not true.”
He starts to cry. “Can’t I just apologize? I’m truly sorry that Heli and I hurt you. I didn’t know you. All I knew was that I loved Heli.”
This note rings false. People have affairs all the time and I doubt he cares who he hurts. Seppo is a sack of shit. He’s begging, just spewing whatever he hopes will get him out of this mess. I don’t say anything.
He sniffles. “And I’m sorry for what I said about your wife. I was trying to be brave.”
“Ancient history has nothing to do with this murder investigation.”
“I know what Heli did to you was awful. I didn’t make her do it, I told her to decide for herself who she wanted to be with.”
“Let’s move forward in time thirteen years and talk about Sufia’s murder.”
He dries his tears. “I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t think I should discuss it without talking to a lawyer.”
“You want out of
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