Derailed

by Leena Lehtolainen

  Puupponen called again at nine thirty, even though I hadn’t asked him for a report. Iida had just gone to sleep, and Antti, whose hair was still wet from the shower, gave me a glare that let me know it was his turn for some attention.

  Przemyslaw Siudek had gone to MobAbility at around eight thirty as usual the night of the event and was surprised to find that everything had been rearranged. The conference room tables were pushed against the walls, as were the chairs, and one of the tables was still full of dirty plates and coffee cups. Siudek had put them in the dishwasher and thrown out the milk souring in the pitcher, along with a thermos of room-temperature tea. He had returned the tea bags to the kitchen cupboard. According to our other interviews, Hillevi Litmanen had taken home her own dishes and the leftover sandwich makings. Apparently, she’d washed the dishes immediately, believing that Pentti Vainikainen had suffered a heart attack, rather than being poisoned. However, for some reason Hillevi had left out all the picked-over food in the conference room, and Ristiluoma hadn’t cleaned up either, since that was a job for someone else, in this case Siudek. Hillevi had thought the food belonged to the ones who paid for it, meaning MobAbility.

  “But the most important thing is that Siudek took the leftover sandwiches and cookies home,” Puupponen said.

  “Including the gluten-free rolls? Did he try them?”

  “No! He ate some of the rye sandwiches, but the gluten-free ones are still at his house. He lives in Leppävaara with eight other Poles.”

  “Holy hell! Has anyone warned them?”

  “We’re still trying. There isn’t a phone in the apartment, and Siudek only had one roommate’s work number. Contacting him took forever. Apparently another one of Siudek’s roommates took one of the sandwiches for his lunch. Some of these guys are cleaners, and a couple deliver newspapers. Siudek was worried we were going to charge him with stealing, so at first, he didn’t want to give us any names. He was protecting his fellow Poles, sticking to the old Lech Wałęsa Solidarity tradition.”

  I laughed, and Venjamin, who was crawling into my lap, made a quick about-face.

  “I left a message for the landlord of their rental apartment, but there isn’t a superintendent on site. I sent a patrol car over. Six-two was close. That’s Akkila’s car. I’m sure he’ll enjoy raiding some foreign workers’ refrigerator. I’m driving to Leppävaara now to check on the situation.”

  “Well done! Now check to make sure there aren’t any Poles in the hospital for poisoning. That’s all we need right now.”

  I hung up and tried in vain to catch Venjamin on the floor. Part of me wanted to rush to Leppävaara, but there wasn’t any sense in that. Tomorrow would be long enough, and I needed rest. I took a shower, and when I came back into the living room, I heard my own voice on TV. Antti was watching the news.

  “It’s like you never left,” he said dryly.

  “Well, it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

  “Are you sure you can handle this? Remember how long your recovery took?”

  “If I can’t handle it, I’ll go on sick leave,” I replied, not mentioning the fact that I’d been having the same thoughts. Instead I just said I was going to bed and turned my phone to silent. Antti didn’t join me until later, and sometime around three Venjamin jumped into bed and started purring between us, which I noticed because I was sleeping so fitfully. I checked my phone every half hour to see whether Puupponen or one of the others had texted me. I didn’t fall completely asleep until almost four.

  In my dream, Iida and Taneli happily ate white death-cap mushrooms, and I tried in vain to force them to vomit by shoving my finger down their throats. The Iida in the dream bit me, and I woke up to find Venjamin with his claws sunk into my hand because I’d been waving it around, and he thought I was playing. It was six o’clock, and Antti was also awake.

  “So is this how it’s going to be again?” he asked and rolled toward me, taking my face in his hands. “If you’re going to be up all night every night, I’ll go sleep in the guest room. How can I function without sleep?”

  I didn’t have the energy to answer, so I just dragged myself into the kitchen to make coffee. Outside it was raining heavily, else I would have gone for a run. As I grabbed the newspaper from the mailbox, Venjamin came to the door but decided to stay inside. Antti had fallen asleep again, and I woke him up at seven thirty because I had to leave. I managed to spend ten minutes with the kids and make sure that Taneli put on his rain clothes. After outfitting myself with an umbrella, raincoat, and rubber boots, I set off tramping toward the Espoo police station. Part of the route was under construction, and cars splashed water on me, but the rain was warm, and the air smelled of the falling leaves. I planned the day’s schedule: first the morning meeting, then Miikka Harju’s interview. I assumed that Puupponen’s Operation Sandwich had gone off swimmingly, because I hadn’t heard anything from him.

  As I began to cross the final intersection before the police station, I was nearly run down by a large black SUV turning left. I jumped out of the way just in the nick of time, and when the SUV driver braked, I barely restrained myself from kicking the bumper. Instead I memorized the license plate number, thinking that the driver would receive either a phone call or an e-mail from me later in the day.

  But I ended up not having to track the license to discover the identity of the SUV’s owner. The vehicle pulled up to the police station, and Ursula Honkanen got out of the passenger side, her five-inch heels treacherous in the rain. The man driving the car gave me an arrogant wave. I realized it was Kristian Ljungberg, my law school boyfriend and currently an extremely successful criminal attorney. Even though twenty years had passed since our breakup, I still didn’t want to see him. Kristian was just behaving true to form, and I knew that few people would dare chastise him for idling his car in a no-parking zone. But I wasn’t afraid of him.

  “Hi, Kristian. So nice to see you. I’ll be sure to send you the dry-cleaning bill. I’ll get the address from Officer Honkanen,” I sang out sweetly through the open passenger door, and seeing his irritated look lifted my own mood.

  8

  The sandwich farce had indeed ended happily. One of Siudek’s roommates had taken a bite of one of the gluten-free rolls, but he’d spat it out immediately because the filling tasted so bitter. He’d thrown both the sandwiches in the trash, from which we retrieved them and sent them to the crime lab. The results would take two weeks, even though the case was a top priority.

  “Siudek’s roommate, Jurkiewicz, already thought Finnish food was strange. He told me that in the spring they’d bought some leftover mämmi, because it went on sale after Lent. But apparently Poles like their desserts sweet, and our beloved gloop left them with some serious prejudices,” Puupponen said. “But Polish foreign workers don’t have the same kind of pull as Silvio Berlusconi. If they complain about the food, let them go home.”

  “Mämmi is terrible,” Koivu said. “But because it’s healthy, it’s sure to be the next trend. Mark my words. They’re already making pasta out of it.” Then he contentedly bit into his donut.

  “It was quite a place. A run-down, thirty-five-square-meter one-bedroom apartment with a dozen men crammed into it. Good thing I went over, because they were as frightened as rabbits facing a pack of wolves. They kept repeating that their work permits were in order and that they’re EU citizens. Akkila’s partner was only a trainee from the academy, so he could bully the Poles as much as he wanted. How did that old commie song go about carrying your bedroll to the barracks or something? It came to mind when I saw that dump. Although I guess no one’s breaking the law by living that way.”

  “Aren’t you the hero! You know, you don’t have to suck up to the boss,” Ursula said angrily. “What do you want me to do today?”

  I decided not to comment on Ursula’s romance with Kristian, since it was none of my business. The last time I’d heard, he had still been married to a woman named Mikaela, but that had been a couple of years ago. And the
fact that a man was taken had never bothered Ursula before.

  “I just got the warrants from the district court, so, Ursula, you can analyze Pentti Vainikainen’s and Jutta Särkikoski’s phone records. Compare the latter to the death threats she received before the accident. Then we’ll see about how to approach questioning the Turku contingent. Pekka, you’ll come with me to interview Miikka Harju. Ville, you write up a summary of everything we’ve found out so far, including the forensic findings. Then contact the Athletics Federation office. Even though we’ve already been there, we should go again. Vainikainen’s coworkers were still in shock when they were interviewed. You and Ursula handle that once we’re done with the guys from Turku. That’s it for now. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

  Because I didn’t have overlapping cases to worry about, I decided to focus on interviews. The normal hierarchy didn’t apply to this investigation. Koivu checked Miikka Harju’s personal information and found one drunk-driving conviction from a couple of years back. He’d been stopped at a routine checkpoint and registered 0.07 on the breathalyzer at seven in the morning. He got off with a fine.

  Harju was on time, and Koivu had him standing at the door to my new office at exactly nine o’clock. He was a little over thirty, and his dark hair extended nearly to his shoulders. It looked cleaner than in the pictures taken at the campaign launch, and he’d shaved. He was a tall man, about six foot six, and weighed north of two hundred pounds. He seemed remarkably nervous.

  Koivu took a seat on the chair next to the wall, and Harju sat on the couch and tried to fit his long legs between it and my desk. The ornamental buckles of his black boots glittered, and his legs nearly reached my own. He watched me set up the recording device for the interview with interest.

  “How long have you been working at the Adaptive Sports Association?” I asked. I was surprised by the torrent of words that followed.

  “Since the beginning of July. I’m on a six-month unemployment relief contract. I’m trained as a firefighter, but about three years ago my back went out, and I had to change jobs. I ended up drinking too much, and my girlfriend left me, and then I drank even more,” Harju said with a grimace. “I hit rock bottom and realized I had to either slit my wrists or give up the bottle. I chose the latter. I slip sometimes, but this job keeps me on the straight and narrow. I just don’t know what will happen when—”

  I interrupted. “How well did you know Pentti Vainikainen?”

  “I didn’t really know him. We met a few times in the office when he came to pick up Merja. But I don’t have any idea who would’ve wanted to kill him.”

  “We’re not asking you that. What was Pentti like during those meetings?”

  “We didn’t talk enough for me to say. But he seemed to really be in love with Merja. He would come in to say hi in the middle of the day, even if they didn’t have time to go to lunch together, and once, I think he brought her flowers for the name day for her middle name. But don’t ask me what that name was. I don’t remember things like that.”

  “What kind of a workplace is Adaptive Sports?”

  Miikka Harju grimaced again. “Well, it is a little tiring . . . But maybe that’s just because I’m the only man there. Luckily there are other guys around the Sports Building, so I can get away from all the nattering every once in a while.” Miikka glanced at me. “I don’t mean any offense. Women are just so different. All my previous coworkers were men. Hillevi Litmanen is sweet, but she’s like the Energizer Bunny. She just won’t calm down. And then there’s Merja, who has a real short fuse. That combination doesn’t work well.”

  I asked Miikka to tell me about the campaign launch. His job had been to start the PowerPoint presentation and to take pictures.

  “The event went really well. We didn’t think anyone would show up. Disability issues aren’t very sexy. Toni Väärä was a good crowd puller, though.”

  “Whose idea was it to hire him?”

  “Merja’s, and I guess she arranged it through Pentti. Väärä visited the office a few times to get the rundown. Nice guy. Of course, there was a little tension since he was injured riding with Jutta . . . Although the accident wasn’t Jutta’s fault, if what the newspapers said is true.” Miikka Harju shifted in his seat and inadvertently kicked the desk, sending it banging painfully into my knee. I barely stifled a curse.

  “Did you participate in the food preparation?”

  “No, I only helped moved the tables and chairs around with Ristiluoma. The work was divided up the old-fashioned way. Which was fine with me.”

  “Did you go into the kitchen at any point during the event?” Koivu asked. Harju, who had directed his last sentence at me, turned toward my partner.

  “No. But . . . I went to the bathroom once.”

  I woke up my computer and searched for the video I’d received from the TV crew. Harju turned back around and looked at me curiously. “Watch this,” I said when I found the right file. I turned the computer display toward him and went behind him to watch. At the twenty-three-second mark, Harju walked through the kitchen door.

  “This picture contradicts what you just said. Why is that?” I came around to face Harju and leaned back against my desk, and still his face was only a little below my own. A faint stench of sweat rose off him.

  “Well, I guess I did go in there. How am I supposed to remember everything? I went to wash my hands. They were a little dirty. I was only there for five seconds. And why is the kitchen so important?”

  “Do you smoke?” I asked.

  “Not anymore. I gave it up when I stopped drinking. I figured if I was cleaning myself up, I should go all the way. Why? I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re getting at. I don’t know anything about anything, and Hillevi certainly didn’t do anything, even if Merja blames her for Pentti’s death. It must have just been some sort of crazy accident.”

  “Why do you think Merja Vainikainen blames Hillevi?”

  “Because that’s what Hillevi told me! She didn’t come to work again yesterday, and I gave her a buzz to ask about a couple of things. She said that Merja had called her on Wednesday and interrogated her about what she put in Vainikainen’s coffee. And now Hillevi is scared to death you’ll believe Merja.”

  Merja Vainikainen hadn’t told me anything about this phone call. Most likely she had overreacted and later regretted it, and maybe she also understood the seriousness of the charge. But why did she think that the poison was in the coffee rather than the sandwiches?

  I asked Harju to tell his own version of the events surrounding Pentti Vainikainen’s death. His story didn’t differ from Merja Vainikainen’s, Jutta’s, or Ristiluoma’s narratives, besides his having helped Hillevi pack up the dishes she’d brought and throw away the extra spread for the sandwiches, among other things. Harju remembered that it was the garlic mayonnaise, since the parsley butter had run out earlier. He flushed the mayonnaise down the toilet. Harju and Jutta had then taken Hillevi home in Jutta’s Renault, after which Harju drove Jutta’s car to her house.

  “They were both out of their minds. Luckily, from my old job I’m used to dealing with distraught people. Hillevi was afraid she’d done something wrong, and Jutta thought the gluten-free sandwiches must have contained poison meant for her. And I guess she was right. She asked me to stay with her for a little while, at least until she could call someone . . . Hey, wait, you’re the one she called!” Harju said, finally making the connection. “She said something about a Maria. But I didn’t realize you were a cop then.”

  I didn’t bother explaining, since it wasn’t any of Miikka Harju’s business. And he didn’t wait for me to reply anyway.

  “I stayed while Jutta checked to make sure no one was in the apartment. She said she’d been getting death threats again, like before her accident. I felt sorry for her. She still doesn’t know if she’ll ever walk without crutches.”

  “When you went in the kitchen to wash your hands, what did you see? Had the gluten-free sandwiches
already been made?” I sensed that Harju was trying to convince me what an empathetic guy he was, not the type who could poison anyone.

  “I don’t remember. Like I said, I was only in there for a minute. The kitchen was closer than the bathroom, and I didn’t want to have to go through the crowd. I came out right away to take pictures of Toni Väärä’s presentation. That was what the reporters were most interested in.”

  The television recording showed Toni Väärä talking about his lumbar spine support belt and the utility of the other products MobAbility provided during his recovery. None of the journalists had said that Väärä or his trainer, Ilpo Koskelo, had gone in the kitchen. Merja Vainikainen’s mention of coffee bothered me, but maybe Pentti had eaten first and then taken a sip of coffee. We’d have to ask her. Harju testified that no one else had any trouble from the coffee. So maybe I wouldn’t pay too much attention to the whole coffee angle.

  “Couldn’t it have been an accident?” Harju asked again. “There are so many solvents in kitchens these days, and wasn’t there goat cheese in some of the sandwiches? That can be dangerous if unpasteurized. Once, one of my old coworkers got listeria from cheese he brought from France.”

  “We’ll look into that. Did you know anyone at the campaign launch from before you came to work at Adaptive Sports?”

  “No,” Harju said quickly. Then he began to backpedal. “Well, of course I knew who Toni Väärä was, and Ilpo Koskelo. I went to that Finland-Sweden meet with my buddies. It was a pretty boozy trip, but we were in the stands to cheer for Väärä’s win. And I guess I knew about Jutta too. I followed that doping story back when I was unemployed and had time to hang out online and watch TV. In a way it was comforting to know I wasn’t the only person who had screwed up his life.”