spot for everyone involved. Kimmo was one of the hardest hit by his sister’s death, and without Armi, I doubt he would have come through it at all. Annamari had to take a medical leave for the whole rest of the spring semester.”
“What does all that have to do with whether or not Kimmo did it?” I asked pointedly.
“I just mean to say that the Hänninens aren’t the most balanced people you ever met. Who knows what someone like Kimmo might do in a…” Eki paused, clearly searching for the most roundabout expression he could find. “In a…state of sexual arousal. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was strangling Armi until she collapsed.”
“So you’re suggesting that Kimmo denies killing her because he can’t remember killing her?”
“Or doesn’t want to remember. Should we request a psychiatric examination? What do you recommend?”
“If we want Kimmo to avoid prosecution, first we have to demonstrate that the evidence the police have fails
prima facie
, and then we have to find some evidence that suggests someone other than Kimmo could be the murderer,” I answered like the model law school student.
We agreed that by the following day I would try to speak with as many people in Armi’s close circle of acquaintances aspossible. During that time, Eki would attempt to find any holes in the evidence against Kimmo.
“Let’s call Erik and let him know you’re coming,” Eki said, dialing Dr. Hellström’s number from memory. Someone answered on the other end, and Eki stated his business. I really liked his way of getting to the point and not dithering about things.
“Erik will be at home if you leave right now,” Eki said after hanging up. “Do you want to take the Honda or ride your bike?”
I let the company car rest in the garage. The bike ride would give me time to think about what it was I wanted to ask Dr. Hellström.
When I arrived fifteen minutes later, Erik Hellström was waiting for me on the street-side balcony of his row house.
“The door is open,” he announced in a trembling voice, seeming to expect that I would find my own way through the house to him. Hellström looked frightened. I had been mistaken in imagining that I would find him calm. I guess the uninitiated always expect calm, collected reactions to death from doctors, priests, and police officers, but from my own experience, I should have known how wrong that is.
I came through the dark entryway up the stairs, arriving at an enormous second-floor living room.
Lately I had seen a good number of handsomely decorated homes owned by the Espoo elite, but Hellström’s living room put them all to shame. I don’t know anything about antique furniture, but my instincts told me that the Gustavian-era relics I was seeing were extremely valuable. I glanced apprehensively at my pants, hoping they didn’t have chain grease on them. I was relieved when Hellström invited me out onto the balcony.
“Perhaps we could chat out here. This lane has so little traffic that it shouldn’t bother us. So, Maria—you don’t mind me using your first name, do you?—what do you want to know?”
Dr. Hellström lit a cigarette. Nicotine stained the skin on the inner surfaces of the joints of the first and second fingers of his right hand. Perhaps the same yellow had once colored his teeth, but since that would have clashed with his image as a successful physician, he had apparently recently had them whitened. Overall, he had a rather elegant look about him. Moderately tall, his body retained some of the athleticism of his younger years. In different circumstances, his brown eyes might be quite alluring, but now anxiety predominated. Remembering where his gaze had traveled on me two nights before, I couldn’t feel much sympathy toward him.
“First, give me your impression of Armi. What was she like as a person and as an employee?” I felt somehow stiff addressing Hellström. That he was my father’s age wasn’t what made it
“What does all that have to do with whether or not Kimmo did it?” I asked pointedly.
“I just mean to say that the Hänninens aren’t the most balanced people you ever met. Who knows what someone like Kimmo might do in a…” Eki paused, clearly searching for the most roundabout expression he could find. “In a…state of sexual arousal. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was strangling Armi until she collapsed.”
“So you’re suggesting that Kimmo denies killing her because he can’t remember killing her?”
“Or doesn’t want to remember. Should we request a psychiatric examination? What do you recommend?”
“If we want Kimmo to avoid prosecution, first we have to demonstrate that the evidence the police have fails
prima facie
, and then we have to find some evidence that suggests someone other than Kimmo could be the murderer,” I answered like the model law school student.
We agreed that by the following day I would try to speak with as many people in Armi’s close circle of acquaintances aspossible. During that time, Eki would attempt to find any holes in the evidence against Kimmo.
“Let’s call Erik and let him know you’re coming,” Eki said, dialing Dr. Hellström’s number from memory. Someone answered on the other end, and Eki stated his business. I really liked his way of getting to the point and not dithering about things.
“Erik will be at home if you leave right now,” Eki said after hanging up. “Do you want to take the Honda or ride your bike?”
I let the company car rest in the garage. The bike ride would give me time to think about what it was I wanted to ask Dr. Hellström.
When I arrived fifteen minutes later, Erik Hellström was waiting for me on the street-side balcony of his row house.
“The door is open,” he announced in a trembling voice, seeming to expect that I would find my own way through the house to him. Hellström looked frightened. I had been mistaken in imagining that I would find him calm. I guess the uninitiated always expect calm, collected reactions to death from doctors, priests, and police officers, but from my own experience, I should have known how wrong that is.
I came through the dark entryway up the stairs, arriving at an enormous second-floor living room.
Lately I had seen a good number of handsomely decorated homes owned by the Espoo elite, but Hellström’s living room put them all to shame. I don’t know anything about antique furniture, but my instincts told me that the Gustavian-era relics I was seeing were extremely valuable. I glanced apprehensively at my pants, hoping they didn’t have chain grease on them. I was relieved when Hellström invited me out onto the balcony.
“Perhaps we could chat out here. This lane has so little traffic that it shouldn’t bother us. So, Maria—you don’t mind me using your first name, do you?—what do you want to know?”
Dr. Hellström lit a cigarette. Nicotine stained the skin on the inner surfaces of the joints of the first and second fingers of his right hand. Perhaps the same yellow had once colored his teeth, but since that would have clashed with his image as a successful physician, he had apparently recently had them whitened. Overall, he had a rather elegant look about him. Moderately tall, his body retained some of the athleticism of his younger years. In different circumstances, his brown eyes might be quite alluring, but now anxiety predominated. Remembering where his gaze had traveled on me two nights before, I couldn’t feel much sympathy toward him.
“First, give me your impression of Armi. What was she like as a person and as an employee?” I felt somehow stiff addressing Hellström. That he was my father’s age wasn’t what made it
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