was afraid of those men. That they would do something to us…”
She burst into tears.
“We thought we’d be safe here… that we could raise our children without fear here… that we could give them a good, safe childhood… my husband didn’t want to get mixed up in anything bad… he was a good man, a good father to our children.”
Stenman let the woman vent her anguish for a moment before continuing: “We don’t believe that the caller killed your husband. We believe someone else did, someone who wanted information about the caller. We think that the caller is also dead. Do you have any idea about who could have killed the man who your husband was supposed to arrange a car for?”
“No.”
“Did your husband have any idea why they asked for his help specifically?”
“Because he was a Muslim and they were Muslims.”
“There are a lot of other Muslims here. Why him?”
“I don’t know, maybe because he had an auto-body shop.”
“Did your husband have any relatives or good friends in Finland?”
“One cousin.”
“We’d like the name and address.”
“Tagi, he studies at the restaurant school in Helsinki. I think he lives in Kannelmäki, at least he used to.”
I glanced at Stenman.
“The photos.”
Stenman took the photos of the deceased from one of her inside pockets and showed them to the woman.
“Do you recognize either one?”
The woman’s gaze locked in on the victim who had lost his nose and ears. The retouching had been a success. The photo looked almost normal; the eyes of the deceased were open, if slightly drowsy. But it couldn’t have been unclear to anyone that the man in the picture was already off in another dimension, well beyond consciousness.
“Tagi… That’s my husband’s cousin. Is he… also…”
“Unfortunately.”
“Was your husband in close contact with his cousin?”
“Tagi moved to Finland last year. At first they met often, because my husband gave him advice on all kinds of things. He even worked for my husband for a while and lived here. Then Tagi got into school, and they didn’t meet very often after that.”
“What about recently? When did you see Tagi last?” Stenman asked.
“He came here three days ago.”
“What did he want?”
“Want? He ate here and then he went with my husband to the mosque to pray. My husband went there three times a week.”
“Did anything special happen to him that evening?”
“He didn’t mention anything, at least.”
“What time did he come home?”
“Nine-thirty, like usual. He went straight to bed.”
The woman looked at me, eyes clouded over. I could see that she had reached her limit. Stenman saw it too. She left her card on the table.
“Please call us if you remember anything,” I said.
“Would you like us to arrange some company for you before we leave?” Stenman asked.
“Could you please just go now,” the woman pleaded.
Four bodies in one day was a lot, so much so that the Violent Crimes Unit was being pushed into overdrive. That meant a total of about ten detectives assigned to the case, only half of whom made it to the evening briefing. Also present were Huovinen, Deputy Police Chief Leivo, Lieutenant Toivakka from narcotics and Inspector Sillanpää from the Security Police.
Huovinen straightened his snazzy Italian tie and stepped over in front of the flipchart.
“It looks like everyone’s here, so let’s get started.”
Huovinen collected his thoughts for a moment or two.
“We’re starting from a pretty massive bloodbath, four dead, three killed in cold blood and one who apparently did himself in trying to escape from the killers. All of the deceased appear to be of Arab origin. The identities of three have been confirmed. One is an Iraqi who has been granted Finnish citizenship, one a fellow Iraqi who worked for him, and the third the first man’s cousin, a citizen of the UK who has lived in Finland for about a year. None has a criminal record, at least in
She burst into tears.
“We thought we’d be safe here… that we could raise our children without fear here… that we could give them a good, safe childhood… my husband didn’t want to get mixed up in anything bad… he was a good man, a good father to our children.”
Stenman let the woman vent her anguish for a moment before continuing: “We don’t believe that the caller killed your husband. We believe someone else did, someone who wanted information about the caller. We think that the caller is also dead. Do you have any idea about who could have killed the man who your husband was supposed to arrange a car for?”
“No.”
“Did your husband have any idea why they asked for his help specifically?”
“Because he was a Muslim and they were Muslims.”
“There are a lot of other Muslims here. Why him?”
“I don’t know, maybe because he had an auto-body shop.”
“Did your husband have any relatives or good friends in Finland?”
“One cousin.”
“We’d like the name and address.”
“Tagi, he studies at the restaurant school in Helsinki. I think he lives in Kannelmäki, at least he used to.”
I glanced at Stenman.
“The photos.”
Stenman took the photos of the deceased from one of her inside pockets and showed them to the woman.
“Do you recognize either one?”
The woman’s gaze locked in on the victim who had lost his nose and ears. The retouching had been a success. The photo looked almost normal; the eyes of the deceased were open, if slightly drowsy. But it couldn’t have been unclear to anyone that the man in the picture was already off in another dimension, well beyond consciousness.
“Tagi… That’s my husband’s cousin. Is he… also…”
“Unfortunately.”
“Was your husband in close contact with his cousin?”
“Tagi moved to Finland last year. At first they met often, because my husband gave him advice on all kinds of things. He even worked for my husband for a while and lived here. Then Tagi got into school, and they didn’t meet very often after that.”
“What about recently? When did you see Tagi last?” Stenman asked.
“He came here three days ago.”
“What did he want?”
“Want? He ate here and then he went with my husband to the mosque to pray. My husband went there three times a week.”
“Did anything special happen to him that evening?”
“He didn’t mention anything, at least.”
“What time did he come home?”
“Nine-thirty, like usual. He went straight to bed.”
The woman looked at me, eyes clouded over. I could see that she had reached her limit. Stenman saw it too. She left her card on the table.
“Please call us if you remember anything,” I said.
“Would you like us to arrange some company for you before we leave?” Stenman asked.
“Could you please just go now,” the woman pleaded.
Four bodies in one day was a lot, so much so that the Violent Crimes Unit was being pushed into overdrive. That meant a total of about ten detectives assigned to the case, only half of whom made it to the evening briefing. Also present were Huovinen, Deputy Police Chief Leivo, Lieutenant Toivakka from narcotics and Inspector Sillanpää from the Security Police.
Huovinen straightened his snazzy Italian tie and stepped over in front of the flipchart.
“It looks like everyone’s here, so let’s get started.”
Huovinen collected his thoughts for a moment or two.
“We’re starting from a pretty massive bloodbath, four dead, three killed in cold blood and one who apparently did himself in trying to escape from the killers. All of the deceased appear to be of Arab origin. The identities of three have been confirmed. One is an Iraqi who has been granted Finnish citizenship, one a fellow Iraqi who worked for him, and the third the first man’s cousin, a citizen of the UK who has lived in Finland for about a year. None has a criminal record, at least in
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