SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2011
CHAPTER 24
SUNDAY, 9:50 A.M.
THE WOODS BY THE HELSINKI AIRPORT
The roar of the airplanes was noticeable, and the smell of kerosene mixed with the musty early-winter scent of the woods. The temperature hovered just under freezing, turning the snow into slush in sunny areas. The unit that had worked the overnight shift had left Joutsamo another grandma gig-an elderly lady had died earlier that morning.
Suhonen had avoided the case and driven to the north side of the Helsinki-Vantaa airport. A narrow, winding asphalt road circled the airport outside its safety perimeter. The area was sparsely populated because no one wanted to live with airport noise, or maybe the city of Vantaa had banned any building there. The Kiila neighborhood was a few miles away, with an industrial zone next to it, but the area immediately surrounding the airport was vacant. The perimeter road wound through fields and patches of woods.
Toukola’s Narcotics squad had arrived at the bar in Kannelmӓki, and Suhonen had left the case to them; they’d notify him of any progress. Sometimes tips didn’t lead anywhere, but if Makarov, Niskala, or the third guy was caught with drugs, the police would know where to start. Suhonen, Joutsamo, and Takamäki had gone over the Siwa robbery and Suhonen had informed the others about the events at the bar in the strip mall.
Though Salmela’s tip at the hospital was vague, he had been very specific about the location near the airport. Otherwise it would’ve been impossible to check out the lead. Suhonen figured it was just the usual prison rumors, but he had to do something. Maiju Rahkola was missing-that part of the story checked out. Still, he thought he might be wasting his time.
A dirt road toward the airport forked off the paved road. Suhonen parked there and pulled on his rubber boots. He walked up the gentle hill, carrying a small army-style shovel. The cold air seeped into his boots, and Suhonen wished he had worn his wool socks.
He recalled Salmela’s directions: “Myllypato Lane…a stretch of dirt road…into the woods…a large, sharp rock, and twenty yards from it straight toward the runway a patch of blueberries and a fallen tree.” Then he was supposed to dig down two feet.
The woods became a sparse cluster of pines and the sun shone through the trees. Most of the snow had melted, and the branches were dripping. Insects would make this place very annoying in the summer. Suhonen bent down to pick a blueberry. It was dry but the center was sweet. He didn’t want more.
The next aircraft in line revved its engines at the end of runway three. Though only a few hundred yards away, he couldn’t see the plane through the woods.
Suhonen smirked. He had searched and found lots of dead bodies during his police career-in homes, offices, and garages. He’d searched in the woods plenty of times, but this was the first time he was looking for something buried other than drugs.
Suhonen spotted the rock about a hundred feet in front of him on the right.
Maiju Rahkola had disappeared in Turku a little over a year ago. According to police records, the case was still open, and the young woman was still missing. The computer photo showed a seventeen-year-old blonde girl with a serious expression and an absent look in her eyes. The enlargement was grainy. It was a typical photo of a missing girl published by the police. Suhonen thought about contacting the Turku PD, but decided to check Salmela’s lead first.
He examined the ground for possible tracks or objects, but didn’t see anything out of place this deep in the woods. Closer to the road the ground was littered with junk and trash.
Suhonen came to the rock and circled a couple of feet around it. He saw the fallen tree branch and the blueberry patch next to it. This was the spot. At least the details checked out, and he knew the person who created the story had been here. Suhonen realized he was nervous.
He headed to the left and continued toward the runway. Then he turned around and approached the spot from the airport’s direction.
He could’ve used underground imaging technology so he wouldn’t need to dig. The police had used that in a few cases-once they searched for someone under a concrete bridge. The machine sent out a pulse that reflected back from the ground. But today Suhonen had only a shovel.
He remembered a case from Satakunta where an elderly woman had fallen into the river, and the police got a report of her body hanging on a tree branch just over the water. The bank was steep, and the junior officer climbed down first. By the time the sergeant scampered down, the body had vanished. The fifty-year-old sergeant was perplexed, and the junior officer confessed he had shoved the body back into the river. When the furious sergeant asked why, the younger man said he couldn’t handle seeing dead bodies. The river then carried the body into the next precinct.
Suhonen stopped six feet from the spot to examine it. Blueberries peeked through a thin layer of slushy snow that covered the patch. He didn’t notice anything strange-no signs of digging or dirt piles. The place looked like a forest where hardly anyone ever came.
For a minute he wondered if he should call in the Forensics guys, but he decided against it-he didn’t want to alert the boys for nothing, or he’d never stop hearing about the wasted treasure hunt. Putting on a pair of rubber gloves, he stepped closer. He squatted down and lifted a blueberry sprig. It was well rooted and the ground around it was firm.
Suhonen carefully pushed the shovel into the ground; it went in easily until it hit tree roots. He dumped a shovelful of dirt to the side and examined the pile, but didn’t see anything. The second dig was more forceful, followed by a third.
After thirty minutes Suhonen had dug about a foot and a half into the hard dirt mixed with pebbles and roots. He had run into tree roots at about six inches and had to continue digging to the side. The roots were thick enough that no one could have dug through it in the last couple of years.
The digging made him sweat, and he took off his leather jacket. He thought back to his time in the army digging trenches in Salpausselkӓ. That was easier and quicker; all they had to do was swing the shovel. Now, after each shovelful, he had to examine the hole that was getting deep enough to make his back feel the strain of squatting. He didn’t want to step in the hole. He wondered how deep he should dig. A little more, he decided. The imaging technology sure would’ve come in handy.
Suhonen pushed the shovel down carefully and felt something hard. He thought it was a root, but it gave way. He set the shovel down and leaned into the hole, carefully wiping the dirt away. He saw a piece of fabric that had originally been blue. Suhonen realized it was jeans.
He wanted to curse, but continued cautiously with his hand. The fabric had a hole in it and Suhonen pushed his finger through. As he felt something hard and then something soft, a stench of decomposing flesh hit him.
“Shit,” he said out loud. The lead was legitimate.
Suhonen stood up. He heard the roar of the airplanes again. He took a couple of steps back and breathed deeply. The smell of kerosene covered up the thin rotten stench.
He had found Maiju Rahkola.
CHAPTER 25
SUNDAY, 12:30 P.M.
HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA
Lind sat in the drab interrogation room with Jorma Korpivaara, who hadn’t shaven or combed his hair. The attorney noticed the tired and apathetic look in his eyes. Korpivaara evaded her gaze.