squeezed shut of their own accord. Sopanen turned his gaze away and lifted his foot off the gas.
2.
Koskinen heard the crash half a mile away. He had already been jogging for fifty minutes, and his runner’s high was peaking. His feet were moving by themselves, and even the continually intensifying rain wasn’t slowing him down. On the contrary, it was like the sweet icing on his masochism cake.
He had noticed how the cruiser driving past had slowed down. Its crew obviously thought he was barking mad. Who cares! It wasn’t anyone’s business what time he went running. A moment later the car had passed him again going the other direction. It had been chasing a motorcycle that was speeding with insane recklessness. Both vehicles had shot to the end of the street in a matter of seconds, and the ghostly blue flashing had still been visible around the corner. At least the police car hadn’t been blasting its siren—they would’ve been crazy to wake up the entire neighborhood over something like that.
Koskinen turned onto Opiskelija Street and saw the Ford, its emergency lights still flashing, at the other end of the street, but he couldn’t see anything else from this distance. He felt like running to see what had happened. But over-eagerness for the job was the most common subject of ridicule among police officers, so he veered off to the left at the next corner. He sped up a little and decided to continue on around the water tower.
A late-night dog walker glanced at the lone runner nervously from the shadows of a nearby park. Koskinen knew full well how sick his jogging around the neighborhood at night in the rain looked. But he had a 10K run marked on his training schedule for Monday, and there was no way he’d skip it. His sea navigation course at the adult education center had happened to fall on the same night, and so he had to push his jog later than he had planned.
Koskinen made a final sprint. He was passing the skateboard ramps at the park when he heard the yelp of a siren. The sound of the ambulance quickly receded toward the site of the accident. Apparently it was a matter of life and death; he doubted the ambulance driver would have made a racket like that in the middle of the night for anything less urgent.
The apartment building Koskinen lived in at Kemianraitti 8 was six-stories tall. The Monday Night Movie had ended hours ago, and every window in the place was dark. Koskinen didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the building with the droning of the elevator, so he climbed the stairs two at a time up to the fifth floor. Lactic acid was squeezing into his thighs, and he had to pant for a minute before opening the door.
He stripped down right in the entryway, stepped out onto the balcony naked, and hung up his jogging clothes to dry. In the bathroom he turned the faucet with exaggerated slowness, as if he could somehow muffle the gurgling of the water. He grimaced at the wall and stepped under the shower. He was sure someone in the building would be complaining again about someone showering in the middle of the night. In the old days he could bathe in his own sauna until dawn if he wanted. Not that he h ad hardly ever done that; he n ever jog ged back then.
A message had appeared on his voicemail during the shower. Koskinen put the phone to his ear and walked with a towel around his waist in the darkness of his one -bedroom apartment.
It was a familiar, husky voice. “Ev e nin’, Pekki here. You must be out for a midnight run again, since you aren’t picking up. I’m calling because somebody found a body in Peltolammi an hour and a half ago, at twenty minutes to twelve to be more precise. You said yourself we could call at any time whatsoever if something even a little bit shady goes down. And this is definitely that. We don’t have a clue about the guy’s identity—he didn’t have any ID in his pockets. But we can chat about it in the morning if you’re back from your nightly
2.
Koskinen heard the crash half a mile away. He had already been jogging for fifty minutes, and his runner’s high was peaking. His feet were moving by themselves, and even the continually intensifying rain wasn’t slowing him down. On the contrary, it was like the sweet icing on his masochism cake.
He had noticed how the cruiser driving past had slowed down. Its crew obviously thought he was barking mad. Who cares! It wasn’t anyone’s business what time he went running. A moment later the car had passed him again going the other direction. It had been chasing a motorcycle that was speeding with insane recklessness. Both vehicles had shot to the end of the street in a matter of seconds, and the ghostly blue flashing had still been visible around the corner. At least the police car hadn’t been blasting its siren—they would’ve been crazy to wake up the entire neighborhood over something like that.
Koskinen turned onto Opiskelija Street and saw the Ford, its emergency lights still flashing, at the other end of the street, but he couldn’t see anything else from this distance. He felt like running to see what had happened. But over-eagerness for the job was the most common subject of ridicule among police officers, so he veered off to the left at the next corner. He sped up a little and decided to continue on around the water tower.
A late-night dog walker glanced at the lone runner nervously from the shadows of a nearby park. Koskinen knew full well how sick his jogging around the neighborhood at night in the rain looked. But he had a 10K run marked on his training schedule for Monday, and there was no way he’d skip it. His sea navigation course at the adult education center had happened to fall on the same night, and so he had to push his jog later than he had planned.
Koskinen made a final sprint. He was passing the skateboard ramps at the park when he heard the yelp of a siren. The sound of the ambulance quickly receded toward the site of the accident. Apparently it was a matter of life and death; he doubted the ambulance driver would have made a racket like that in the middle of the night for anything less urgent.
The apartment building Koskinen lived in at Kemianraitti 8 was six-stories tall. The Monday Night Movie had ended hours ago, and every window in the place was dark. Koskinen didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the building with the droning of the elevator, so he climbed the stairs two at a time up to the fifth floor. Lactic acid was squeezing into his thighs, and he had to pant for a minute before opening the door.
He stripped down right in the entryway, stepped out onto the balcony naked, and hung up his jogging clothes to dry. In the bathroom he turned the faucet with exaggerated slowness, as if he could somehow muffle the gurgling of the water. He grimaced at the wall and stepped under the shower. He was sure someone in the building would be complaining again about someone showering in the middle of the night. In the old days he could bathe in his own sauna until dawn if he wanted. Not that he h ad hardly ever done that; he n ever jog ged back then.
A message had appeared on his voicemail during the shower. Koskinen put the phone to his ear and walked with a towel around his waist in the darkness of his one -bedroom apartment.
It was a familiar, husky voice. “Ev e nin’, Pekki here. You must be out for a midnight run again, since you aren’t picking up. I’m calling because somebody found a body in Peltolammi an hour and a half ago, at twenty minutes to twelve to be more precise. You said yourself we could call at any time whatsoever if something even a little bit shady goes down. And this is definitely that. We don’t have a clue about the guy’s identity—he didn’t have any ID in his pockets. But we can chat about it in the morning if you’re back from your nightly
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