tests and the autopsy report.
Heikki Peltonen had called me late Sunday night. It struck me as ominous that the duty officer had given him my phone number instead of my boss’s. The officer on guard duty at the summerhouse and Antti, who had returned to Vuosaari to look for his cat, told Heikki Peltonen what had happened. Tommi’s mother, Maisa, went into shock, but Heikki Peltonen wantedto meet me, the police officer investigating his son’s death—he was strictly avoiding the word “murder”—as soon as possible. He seemed irritated that we sealed off the boat dock and were looking for a possible murder weapon in the woods along the shoreline. I knew that his abrupt manner was probably a reaction to the traumatic news he’d just received. Grieving people often behaved irrationally, and Heikki Peltonen belonged to a generation of men who had been raised to get along without tears no matter what the situation.
The captain of the unit, the next person above me after Kinnunen, called right after I got off the phone with Peltonen. He explained briefly that Kinnunen would not be coming in to work for the next couple of days because of a “stomach flu,” and that I would be responsible for the investigation into Tommi’s death for the time being. He ended the conversation by saying he wanted to meet with me first thing in the morning.
I thought it might be necessary to have the divers take a look underwater. Though the seawater would have washed away any fingerprints, they might find the object that was used to strike Tommi.
How Tommi had died remained unclear. I wondered why I was automatically regarding this as a murder, when there was still no evidence that that was the case. Although it could just be manslaughter, I had a sense that the crime had been committed in anger, so there would probably be fingerprints on the weapon.
After speaking with the captain, I had called the pathologist, Salo, who had confirmed that the actual cause of death was drowning. The blow to the head had probably resulted in unconsciousness, but it would not have been enough to kill anyone outright. Tommi must either have fallen or been pushed into the water, and then gotten water in his lungs. Salo was still not surewhether the other contusions on Tommi’s body were the result of a struggle or caused by the shore rocks, but he confirmed that at least one of the bruises on his cheek had been inflicted before he died. Tommi’s blood-alcohol level was very high, so we couldn’t rule out the possibility that he had somehow slipped, hit his head, and then fallen into the sea. But what would have tripped him on an empty dock when he was barefoot?
“The blow to the head occurred at three or four, assuming he ended up in the water immediately. There isn’t any outside material in the wound, so we can assume that whatever he was struck with was something strong and solid.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, for example, it couldn’t have been a crumbly rock. Given the nature of the edges of the wound, the object was blunt, but not perfectly smooth.”
“How much force was needed for the blow?”
“That depends mostly on the weapon. Even a child could make a dent like this with something big and heavy. If all of your suspects are adults, I wouldn’t rule anyone out.”
There was nothing surprising or particularly enlightening in Salo’s evaluation, and I had finally made it home a little after nine. I had had trouble falling asleep and felt like having a drink, but the only booze I had in the house was some mild, sickly sweet kiwi liqueur, a memento from a trip to Sweden six months before. I momentarily considered going out for a beer, but I was afraid I would backslide again, and that one would turn into two and two into three...I wasn’t feeling especially sociable and would probably have taken out my frustrations on anyone who tried to sit down at my table, a constant annoyance at the corner pub.
Luckily, one of my
Heikki Peltonen had called me late Sunday night. It struck me as ominous that the duty officer had given him my phone number instead of my boss’s. The officer on guard duty at the summerhouse and Antti, who had returned to Vuosaari to look for his cat, told Heikki Peltonen what had happened. Tommi’s mother, Maisa, went into shock, but Heikki Peltonen wantedto meet me, the police officer investigating his son’s death—he was strictly avoiding the word “murder”—as soon as possible. He seemed irritated that we sealed off the boat dock and were looking for a possible murder weapon in the woods along the shoreline. I knew that his abrupt manner was probably a reaction to the traumatic news he’d just received. Grieving people often behaved irrationally, and Heikki Peltonen belonged to a generation of men who had been raised to get along without tears no matter what the situation.
The captain of the unit, the next person above me after Kinnunen, called right after I got off the phone with Peltonen. He explained briefly that Kinnunen would not be coming in to work for the next couple of days because of a “stomach flu,” and that I would be responsible for the investigation into Tommi’s death for the time being. He ended the conversation by saying he wanted to meet with me first thing in the morning.
I thought it might be necessary to have the divers take a look underwater. Though the seawater would have washed away any fingerprints, they might find the object that was used to strike Tommi.
How Tommi had died remained unclear. I wondered why I was automatically regarding this as a murder, when there was still no evidence that that was the case. Although it could just be manslaughter, I had a sense that the crime had been committed in anger, so there would probably be fingerprints on the weapon.
After speaking with the captain, I had called the pathologist, Salo, who had confirmed that the actual cause of death was drowning. The blow to the head had probably resulted in unconsciousness, but it would not have been enough to kill anyone outright. Tommi must either have fallen or been pushed into the water, and then gotten water in his lungs. Salo was still not surewhether the other contusions on Tommi’s body were the result of a struggle or caused by the shore rocks, but he confirmed that at least one of the bruises on his cheek had been inflicted before he died. Tommi’s blood-alcohol level was very high, so we couldn’t rule out the possibility that he had somehow slipped, hit his head, and then fallen into the sea. But what would have tripped him on an empty dock when he was barefoot?
“The blow to the head occurred at three or four, assuming he ended up in the water immediately. There isn’t any outside material in the wound, so we can assume that whatever he was struck with was something strong and solid.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, for example, it couldn’t have been a crumbly rock. Given the nature of the edges of the wound, the object was blunt, but not perfectly smooth.”
“How much force was needed for the blow?”
“That depends mostly on the weapon. Even a child could make a dent like this with something big and heavy. If all of your suspects are adults, I wouldn’t rule anyone out.”
There was nothing surprising or particularly enlightening in Salo’s evaluation, and I had finally made it home a little after nine. I had had trouble falling asleep and felt like having a drink, but the only booze I had in the house was some mild, sickly sweet kiwi liqueur, a memento from a trip to Sweden six months before. I momentarily considered going out for a beer, but I was afraid I would backslide again, and that one would turn into two and two into three...I wasn’t feeling especially sociable and would probably have taken out my frustrations on anyone who tried to sit down at my table, a constant annoyance at the corner pub.
Luckily, one of my
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