Before I Go

by Leena Lehtolainen

“We’ve questioned all of them, but so far we haven’t found any evidence of their involvement with Petri’s killing.”

  I didn’t bother telling him about Jani Väinölä’s arrest, since it was none of his business. Laitinen put a lump of sugar in his tea and then stirred it so vigorously that a few drops splashed on his trousers, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “You have to find the killer! Tell me what I can do. I’ll to do anything, even risk my own life, if it means catching Petri’s murderer!” Laitinen said with a frightening glint in his eye. For the first time during our conversation, he looked straight at me.

  “Don’t do anything! You are not a detective. Virtually every homicide in Finland gets solved. We know what we’re doing. The best way to help is to tell me everything you can think of, anything that could possibly have a connection to Petri’s death. Start with your fight. What was it about?”

  Tommi stared at his teacup as if he hadn’t heard my question, and I let him arrange his thoughts in peace. I wanted to know everything about Petri Ilveskivi. Knowing a victim well had brought results before, even when the objective evidence had run out. A few times during my career, a victim or one of the subjects of an investigation had been a previous acquaintance of mine, which was always tricky. In this case, however, I wasn’t going to have to put personal feelings on the line.

  “Do you have any children?” Laitinen suddenly asked.

  “My daughter, Iida, will be three in August.”

  “Did you have her when you wanted to?”

  “Yes, actually,” I said, laughing. I didn’t share the story of the failed IUD and my surprise pregnancy. Now I couldn’t imagine not having Iida.

  “So you can’t understand what it feels like to not be able to have a child. We knew it was irrational, but Petri and I always hoped that the adoption laws would change. But that hasn’t happened. So we were looking for . . . for a woman willing to be a surrogate, but we couldn’t find anyone. But Petri still could have asked me before talking to Eila! Turo, Eila’s husband, is sterile, so . . . Petri and Eila . . . They’re such good friends . . .”

  “So Petri asked Eila to be your child’s mother?”

  “Yes, without asking me first! He told me about it just before he left for that Planning Commission meeting. Eila was supposed to come over afterward to work out the details. Petri only gave me that much time to think about it. I can’t understand how he could have been such an idiot!”

  Laitinen’s fist thudded against the table so hard it knocked his teacup over and onto the floor. Neither of us bothered to pick it up. I remembered what the Jensens had told me about the couple’s desperate desire to have a child. The law only allowed adoption for married couples and unmarried people who lived alone, which meant that Ilveskivi and Laitinen couldn’t adopt, even though they had been together for ten years. One of them would have had to move out so that either of them could have the right to adopt.

  “So I gather you didn’t think it was a good idea,” I said.

  “I like Eila a lot. But there is more to it than that. We wanted a child of our own. And I couldn’t imagine Turo agreeing to that. Not having any children must be hard on their marriage too. That wasn’t what I was worried about, though. The real problem was that Petri had made all these plans with Eila without mentioning any of it to me. That was what we were fighting about. My last words before Petri left were ‘Go to hell.’”

  Tommi Laitinen seemed like your average, forthright Finnish man, someone it would be easy to like. But killers were usually close to their victims. What if Laitinen had gone after Ilveskivi and the motorcyclist being there was just a coincidence? Maybe the story about the fight was a way to avoid having to admit something to himself.

  “Now all I want is to be able to take back what I said and tell Petri how much I love him,” Tommi said and then began to cry.

  I didn’t know what to say. I was tired of grieving people. The situation didn’t demand anything of me—no one expected me to be a priest or a therapist, but I couldn’t stand not being able to help. Finally I handed Laitinen a napkin I had brought with the cups.

  “I don’t have anything else to tell you,” he said after calming down slightly. “I just wanted the police to know Petri’s mental state when he left home. I was up all last night. It felt like someone had slashed my wrists and left me lying there, all my blood draining out, leaving nothing but an empty shell. When I turned on the lights, I was surprised the sheets weren’t covered in blood.”

  Laitinen blew his nose again. Red veins crisscrossed the whites of his eyes.

  “The only hope I have left is that Petri’s killer will be brought to justice.”

  He stood up, swaying like a drunk. I didn’t want to keep him any longer, but I still had one question to ask.

  “Had Eila Honkavuori already talked to her husband about the baby?”

  “I don’t know. What would that matter now?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I told Laitinen that I intended to ask the phone company for records of all their recent incoming and outgoing calls. One of my junior officers could go through all the numbers. Maybe that would lead us to some sort of solution. I offered to arrange a ride home for Laitinen, but he said he’d prefer to take the bus.

  After he left, I went downstairs to buy a sandwich. I called Koivu to ask whether he had assigned anyone to interview Eila Honkavuori, but all I got was his voice mail. Back at my desk, I tried to wrap my mind around the big picture, but instead it kept wandering back to Petri Ilveskivi and my grandmother. Neither of them had the opportunity to choose whether they had children with their partner or not. Birth control hadn’t existed in my grandparents’ Northern Karelian mining town in the 1930s, and Grandma would have considered it a sin anyway. I had a memory of a radio gospel hour and Grandma’s delicate soprano joining in with a hymn.

  Whereas I had the complete freedom to choose whether I had more children. Not that that made the decision any easier.

  When I found a moment, I looked up Eila Honkavuori in our database. She was a couple of years older than me, and her husband, Turo Honkavuori, was forty-five. The couple owned a Nissan Primera sedan, which was five years old. Neither had a criminal record.

  Next I went online to look for minutes from the Espoo City Council meetings. I discovered that Petri Ilveskivi had been one of the more vocal council members. He had been particularly interested in city planning. He had advanced a couple of initiatives about environmental issues and one about reducing day-care overcrowding. I found a link to his homepage and read some old blog posts about adoption rights for same-sex couples, environmental policy, and local politics. He supported the development of regional centers, telecommuting, and organic farming, as did many members of his party. Ilveskivi was a native of Espoo and had serious reservations about half of Finland moving to the Helsinki metro area and the construction that such population growth would cause. His website was professional, but it didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Just then my door buzzer rang and in walked Kettunen from Narcotics.

  “Do you think you’ll need to question Jani Väinölä again?”

  “Why? Are you letting him go?”

  “Have to. Not enough reason to hold him. He says he doesn’t know anything about the drugs hidden in his bathroom. No one believes him, but what can we do?”

  “Hold him for the full forty-eight hours. My boys are checking his alibi for the Ilveskivi attack right now,” I said. “We’re going to have to question him again either way.”

  “Got it. We still do have until tomorrow afternoon. Väinölä is one slippery bastard,” Kettunen said with a despondent sigh. “His friends are probably running for the Salo gang, but we haven’t nailed them for anything yet.”

  Kettunen had been working Narcotics for fifteen years. He hated drugs and the people who sold them with all his heart, and everyone knew why. Kettunen’s older brother had died of a heroin overdose in the early seventies. That was when the fourtee
n-year-old Kettunen decided to become a cop and catch every drug dealer in Finland. During our last department Christmas party, he had told me that nowadays he felt like he was trying to fix a broken leg with a Band-Aid.

  After Kettunen left I called Koivu again. This time he picked up, and he was delighted when I offered to take over Eila Honkavuori’s preliminary interview.

  Honkavuori worked in the department of Civil Engineering and Community Development at the Helsinki University of Technology. I called there and reached her easily. She promised to come to the police station at three thirty.

  Before the meeting with Eila Honkavuori, I handled a few outstanding items, including scheduling time on a soccer field for our women’s team practice. I was really looking forward to bounding down the field and sending an opponent flying with a perfect slide tackle.

  When I met Eila Honkavuori in the lobby, I was astonished at her posture and how she unashamedly embraced being big. I’d noticed how many ample women swathed themselves in boring tents and were constantly pulling in their stomachs, but Eila Honkavuori seemed to enjoy her body. She wore a low-cut crimson blouse, high heels, and flashy earrings. Even though I was curvy and well muscled, I felt small and drab next to her, until I was brought to by the frightened expression in her violet eyes. I asked her to sit on the couch where Tommi Laitinen had been a scant hour earlier. A hint of rose-scented perfume spread throughout the room.

  “I understand that you and Petri Ilveskivi were close. How long had you known him?”

  “A long time. We were in the same class in middle school and high school. We were both in drama club. After our college-entrance exams, we didn’t see each other again until several years later, when I was serving my first term on the City Council and Petri came to a discussion about city planning. We immediately hit it off again. Since the last election we’ve been on the same committee together. Even though we’re from different parties, we see most things in the same way.”

  Despite the tremor in Honkavuori’s voice, it was low and warm. I would have liked to hear it when she was happy.

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to attack Petri?”

  Honkavuori vigorously shook her head, sending black curls whipping across her forehead.

  “Petri could have a sharp tongue, but no one would want to hurt him for that—at least not physically. Some of the male politicians have had a hard time with him being openly gay. But political backstabbing is to be expected, especially if someone stands out from the crowd.”

  I nodded. The atmosphere around the city bureaucracy in Espoo had been extremely tense for the past few years as different administrative cultures clashed with increasing frequency. It was common knowledge that the mayor and several of his deputies were in open conflict.

  Many of the leading officials felt that the city should be run like a business, while others argued that a city existed for its residents, not the companies that filled the coffers. Because of his politics, people had accused Petri Ilveskivi of being a socialist and a tree hugger, and several leading politicians had freely expressed their disdain for him.

  “Who specifically did he irritate?” I asked. Honkavuori’s face twisted in anger.

  “I don’t think it’s fair for you to blame Petri for someone attacking him! No matter who was irritated by him, that’s no excuse for murder!”

  “I agree. I am not blaming Petri Ilveskivi for his death. I just want to find whoever is responsible. How did your husband feel about your friendship with Petri Ilveskivi?”

  Honkavuori’s eyes went wide. “Feel? Why should he have felt anything about Petri any more than any of my other friends? You don’t really mean to suggest he was jealous, do you? Petri was one hundred percent gay!”

  I didn’t feel like getting into an argument over whether anyone was one hundred percent gay or not, so I just got to the point.

  “Did your husband know about your intention to have a child with Petri Ilveskivi?”

  The violet eyes opened even wider.

  “No! How do you know about that?”

  “Tommi Laitinen told me.”

  “And you assumed that my husband was angry about it and so killed Petri! Life isn’t that simple, sister. If that’s your best theory, I should leave right now.” Honkavuori stood up.

  “The police have to consider every alternative,” I shot back, annoyed that I had managed to raise Honkavuori’s hackles so quickly. I didn’t want to get lumped together with idiots like Ström and Lähde.

  “Our not being able to have a baby has nothing to do with Petri’s death, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore!” Honkavuori huffed, her hand already on the door handle. “Are you sure this was even a personal attack on Petri? The newspapers are constantly full of stories about people being beaten and stabbed for no reason at all. You must know better than me how common that is.”

  I didn’t bother answering, even though I was thinking it increasingly likely that Ilveskivi had indeed been attacked without cause. Obviously my promotion had killed my ability to get people to talk. Even Lähde would have a done better job.

  “If you asked me here just to accuse my husband, I’m leaving. Good luck with your investigation,” Honkavuori said and opened the door.

  “Now wait just a minute,” I said, without any attempt to keep the exhaustion from my voice. “Even if this was a random attack, any information we can get about Petri Ilveskivi is helpful. How many people knew his bicycle route?”

  “When Petri didn’t show up at the meeting, the chairman said that he must have had a tire failure and laughed. He thought he was so funny. Anyway, the whole commission knew that Petri had been biking to our meetings since Easter. I imagine his neighbors knew too. I know how my neighbors get around anyway.” Honkavuori closed the door. “As I said, I’m prepared to talk about Petri all night if it helps.” She sat back down on the couch and crossed her ankles as daintily as a ballerina. I had never learned to sit well in a skirt, and slim suit skirts and short skirts always caused me problems. I decided to practice the same position at home.

  I asked Honkavuori to describe Petri Ilveskivi, and after talking for a while she started to open up. She told of an energetic, gifted friend who had stood out from the crowd in school from people who were just interested in sports and listening to the Hurriganes. According to Honkavuori, everyone but Ilveskivi himself had sensed his sexual orientation.

  “Petri’s father never learned to accept his homosexuality and always talked about Tommi as his ‘friend.’ He was more of a traditionalist—he was born in 1926 and fought in the war. In February Petri and his dad went to see that new movie about the Karelian campaign, and he said it was the only time he had seen his father cry. Petri’s dad has had heart trouble for a while, and he probably doesn’t have much time left. I sent him flowers, but I haven’t been able to talk to him yet.”

  Honkavuori paused before continuing.

  “I hadn’t had time to talk to Turo about the baby. About this new development anyway. We’ve considered artificial insemination and adoption, although our time is running out, especially for adoption. Turo is forty-five, and no one really wants to give someone that old a baby. I was still thinking about Petri’s idea, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I didn’t really know what ‘it’ was yet. I didn’t see any point in telling Turo.”

  “What did Ilveskivi suggest in terms of custody?”

  Eila Honkavuori shrugged. “A child born in wedlock always belongs to the husband. I don’t know what would have happened if Turo denied paternity and Petri had acknowledged it. And I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.”

  Fortunately Antti had promised to pick up Iida, because Honkavuori’s reminiscing went on until almost five thirty. Although her memories brought Ilveskivi into better focus, they weren’t much use for our investigation.

  Once she left, I found Puustjärvi in the break room. He had completed the profile I’d requested of everyone who had recently committed a rand
om assault. The profile fit Jani Väinölä perfectly: male aged eighteen to thirty, unemployed, loner, alcohol or drug problems, and previous convictions for violent offenses. Many of them had been marginalized since birth, and society didn’t seem interested in figuring out how to help them live harmoniously with the rest of the world or even themselves. Puustjärvi had assembled a list of people we could start questioning if we weren’t making any progress finding Ilveskivi’s killer. Even though the whole unit had been working overtime, it had been nearly two days since the crime, and the more time that passed, the worse for the investigation.

  “Does anyone on your list own a motorcycle that could use a Metzeler ME 99 tire? If so, let’s talk to them first. Do we know yet whether it was a 120-millimeter or 130-millimeter tire?”

  “No. The ground was soft, and the edges of the track were indistinct. Luckily newer motorcycles tend to have wider tires. This is either an old beater or someone’s expensive restoration project.”

  “Ah. The eyewitness statements were contradictory. Do we know if it was a Harley or what?”

  Puustjärvi shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

  “How many comp hours have you not taken?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Well, add these to the pile.”

  “Yeah. Tiina has the night shift, and the kids are going to have to be home alone again. They call every half hour, and at least I can answer when I’m at the computer,” Puustjärvi said ruefully. His wife worked at the cheese counter at one of the larger local supermarkets. Of course the customers liked the store being open until nine, but Puustjärvi’s ten- and eleven-year-old children didn’t like being home at night without their parents. But at the rate he was racking up overtime, Puustjärvi was going to be able to spend all the time he wanted at home with his kids playing Go.

  Then, to top it all off, Lähde called and said that a salesperson at the liquor store and the store detective at Stockmann recognized Jani Väinölä. The store detective remembered following Väinölä on Tuesday around five thirty, so there was no way he could have been in Espoo killing Petri Ilveskivi.